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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY VOLUME LXXXVI JULY TO SEPTEMBER,
1915

THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY VOLUME I OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1915

EDITED BY J. McKEEN CATTELL

THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY —— OCTOBER, 1915 ————-

THE EVOLUTION OF THE STARS AND THE FORMATION OF THE EARTH. II

BY DR. WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL

DIRECTOR OF THE LICK OBSERVATORY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

THE PRINCIPLES OF SPECTROSCOPY

THUS far our description of the stellar universe has been
confined to its geometrical properties. A serious study of the
evolution of the stars must seek to determine, first of all,
what the stars really are, what their chemical constitutions
and physical conditions are; and how they are related to each
other as to their physical properties. The application of the
spectroscope has advanced our knowledge of the subject by leaps
and bounds. This wonderful instrument, assisted by the
photographic plate, enables every visible celestial body to
write its own record of the conditions existing in itself,
within limits set principally by the brightness of the body.
Such records physicists have succeeded to some extent in
duplicating in their laboratories; and the known conditions
under which the laboratory experiments have been conducted are
the Rosetta Stones which are enabling us to interpret, with
more or less success, the records written by the stars.

It is well known that the ordinary image of a star, whether
formed by the eye alone, or by the achromatic telescope and the
eye combined, contains light of an infinite variety of colors
corresponding, speaking according to the mechanical theory of
light, to waves of energy of an infinite variety of lengths
which have traveled to us from the star. In the point image of
a star, these radiations fall in a confused heap. and the
observer is unable to say that radiations corresponding to any
given wave-lengths are present or absent. When the star's light
has been passed through the prism, or diffracted from the
grating of a spectroscope, these rays are separated one from
another and arranged side by side in perfect order, ready for
the observer to survey them and to determine which ones are
present in superabundance and which other ones are lacking
wholly or in part. The following comparison is a fair one: the
ordinary point image of a star is as if all the books in the
university library were thrown together in a disorderly but
compact pile in the center of the reading room: we could say
little concerning the contents and characteristics of that
library; whether it is strong in certain fields of human
endeavor, or weak in other fields. The spectrum of a star is as
the same library when the books are arranged on the shelves in
complete perfection and simplicity, so that he who looks may
appraise its contents at any or all points. Let us consider the
fundamental principles of spectroscopy.

1. When a solid body, a liquid, or a highly-condensed gas is
heated to incandescence, its light when passed through a
spectroscope forms a continuous spectrum: that is, a band of
light, red at one end and violet at the other, uninterrupted by
either dark or bright lines.

2. The light from the incandescent gas or vapor of a chemical
element, passed through a spectroscope, forms a bright-line
spectrum; that is, one consisting entirely of isolated bright
lines, distributed differently throughout the spectrum for the
different elements, or of bright lines superimposed upon a
relatively faint continuous spectrum.

3. If radiations from a continuous-spectrum source pass through
cooler gases or vapors before entering the spectroscope, a
dark-line spectrum results: that is, the positions which the
bright lines in the spectra of the vapors and gases would have
are occupied by dark or absorption lines. These are frequently
spoken of as Fraunhofer lines.

To illustrate: the gases and vapors forming the outer strata of
the Sun's atmosphere would in themselves produce bright-line
spectra of the elements involved. If these gases and vapors
could in effect be removed, without changing underlying
conditions, the remaining condensed body of the Sun should have
a continuous spectrum. The cooler overlying gases and vapors
absorb those radiations from the deeper and hotter sources
which the gases and vapors would themselves emit, and thus form
the dark-line spectrum of the Sun. The stretches of spectrum
between the dark lines are of course continuous-spectrum
radiations.

These principles are illustrated in Fig. 12. The essential
parts of a spectroscope are the slit–an opening perhaps
1/100th of an inch wide and 1/10th of an inch long–to admit
the light properly; a lens to render the light rays parallel
before they fall upon the prism or grating; a prism or grating;
a lens to receive the rays after they have been dispersed by
the prism or grating and to form an image of the spectrum a
short distance in front of the eye, where the eye will see the
spectrum or a sensitive dry-plate will photograph it. If we
place an alcohol lamp immediately in front of the slit and
sprinkle some common salt in the flame the two orange bright
lines of sodium will be seen in the eyepiece, close together,
as in the upper of the two spectra in the illustration. If we
sprinkle thallium salt in the flame the green line of that
element will be visible in the spectrum. If we take the lamp
away and place a lime light or a piece of white-hot iron in
front of the slit we shall get a brilliant continuous spectrum
not crossed by any lines, either bright or dark. Insert now the
alcohol-sodium-thallium lamp between the lime light and the
slit, and the observer will see the two sodium lines and one
thallium line in the same places as before, but as dark lines
on a background of bright continuous spectrum, as: illustrated
in the lower of the two spectra. Let us insert a screen between
the lamp and the lime light so as to cut out the latter, and we
shall see the bright lines of sodium and thallium reappear as
in the upper of the two spectra. These simple facts illustrate
Kirchhoff's immortal discovery of certain fundamental
principles of spectroscopy, in 1859. The gases and vapors in
the lamp flame are at a lower temperature than the lime source.
The cooler vapors of sodium and thallium have the power of
absorbing exactly those rays from the hotter lime or other
similar source which the vapors by themselves would emit to
form bright lines.

When we apply the spectroscope to celestial objects we find
apparently an endless variety of spectra. We shall illustrate
some of the leading characteristics of these spectra as in
Figs. 13 to 18, inclusive, and Figs. 21, 22, 23 and 24. The
spectra of some nebulae consist almost exclusively of isolated
bright lines, indicating that these bodies consist of luminous
gases, as Huggins determined in 1864; but a very faint
continuous band of light frequently forms a background for the
brilliant bright lines. Many of the nebular lines are due to
hydrogen, others are due to helium; but the majority, including
the two on the extreme right in Fig. 13, which we attribute to
the hypothetical element nebulium, and the close pair on the
extreme left, have not been matched in our laboratories and,
therefore, are of unknown origin. Most of the irregular nebulae
whose spectra have been observed, the ring nebulae, the
planetary and stellar nebulae, have very similar spectra,
though with many differences in the details.[1]

[1] My colleague, Wright, who has been making a study of the
nebular spectra, has determined the accurate positions of about
67 bright nebular lines.

The great spiral nebula in Andromeda has a continuous spectrum
crossed by a multitude of absorption lines. The spectrum is a
very close approach to the spectrum of our Sun. It is clear
that this spiral nebula is widely different from the
bright-line or gaseous nebulae in physical condition. The
spiral may be a great cluster of stars which are approximate
duplicates of our Sun, or there is a chance that it consists,
as Slipher has suggested, of a great central sun, or group of
suns, and of a multitude of small bodies or particles, such as
meteoric matter, revolving around the nucleus; this finely
divided matter being visible by reflected light which
originates in the center of the system.

There is an occasional star, like chi Carinae, whose spectrum
consists almost wholly of bright lines, in general bearing no
apparent relationship to the bright lines in the spectra of the
gaseous nebulae except that the hydrogen lines are there, as
they are almost everywhere. There is reason to believe that
such a spectrum indicates the existence of a very extensive and
very hot atmosphere surrounding the main body, or core, of the
star in question. This particular star is remarkable in that it
has undergone great changes in brilliancy and is located upon a
background of nebulosity. The chances are strong that the star
has rushed through the nebulosity with high rate of speed and
that the resulting bombardment of the star has expanded and
intensely heated its atmosphere.

There are the Wolf-Rayet stars, named from the French
astronomers who discovered the first three of this class, whose
spectra show a great variety of combinations of continuous
spectrum and bright bands. We believe that the continuous
spectrum in such a star comes from the more condensed central
part, or core, and that the bright-line light proceeds from a
hot atmosphere extending far out from the core.

The great majority of the stars have spectra which are
continuous, except for the presence of dark or absorption
lines: a few lines in the very blue stars, and an increasing
number of lines as we pass from the blue through the yellow and
red stars to those which are extremely red.

Secchi in the late 60's classified the spectra of the brighter
stars, according to the absorption lines in their spectra, into
Types I, II III and IV, which correspond: Type I, to the very
blue stars, such as Spica and Sirius; Type II, to the yellow
stars similar to our Sun; Type III, to the red stars such as
Aldebaran; and Type IV, to the extremely red stars, of which
the brightest representatives are near the limit of naked-eye
vision. Secchi knew little or nothing concerning stars whose
spectra contain bright lines, except as to the isolated
bright-line spectra of a few nebulae, and as to the bright
hydrogen lines in gamma Cassiopeia, and his system did not
include these.

One of the most comprehensive investigations ever undertaken by
a single institution was that of classifying the stars as to
their spectra, over the entire sky, substantially down to and
including the stars of eighth magnitude, by the Harvard College
Observatory, as a memorial to the lamented Henry Draper.
Professor Pickering and his associates have formulated a
classification system which is now in universal use. It starts
with the bright-line nebulae, passes to the bright-line stars,
and then to the stars in which the helium absorption lines are
prominent. The latter are called the helium stars, or
technically the Class B stars. The next main division includes
the stars in which hydrogen absorption is prominent, called
Class A. Classes B and A are blue stars. Then follows in
succession Class F, composed of bluish-yellow stars, which is
in a sense a transition class between the hydrogen stars and
those resembling our Sun, the latter called Class G. The Class
G stars are yellow. Class K stars are the yellowish-red; Class
M, the red; and Class N, the extremely red. Each of these
classes has several subdivisions which make the transition from
one main class to the next main class fairly gradual, and not
per saltum; though it should be said that the relationship of
Class N to Class M spectra is not clear. The illustration, Fig.
17, brings out the principal features of the spectra of Classes
B to M. The spectrum becomes more complicated as we pass from
Class B to the Class M, and the color changes from blue to
extreme red, because the violet and blue radiations become
rapidly weaker as we pass through the various classes.

GENERAL COURSE OF EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS

The general course of the evolutionary processes as applied to
the principal classes of celestial bodies is thought to be
fairly well known. With very few exceptions astronomers are
agreed as to the main trend of this order, but this must not be
interpreted to mean that there are no outstanding differences
of opinion. There are, in fact, some items of knowledge which
seem to run counter to every order of evolution that has been
proposed.

The large irregular nebulae, such as the great nebula in Orion,
the Trifid nebula, and the background of nebulosity which
embraces a large part of the constellation of Orion, are
thought to represent the earliest form of inorganic life known
to us. The material appears to be in a chaotic state. There is
no suggestion of order or system. The spectroscope shows that
in many cases the substance consists of glowing gases or
vapors; but whether they are glowing from the incandescence
resulting from high temperature, or electrical condition, or
otherwise, is unknown, though heat origin of their light is the
simplest hypothesis now available. Whether such nebulae are
originally hot or cold, we must believe that they are endowed
with gravitational power, and that their molecules or particles
are, or will ultimately be, in motion. It will happen that
there are regions of greater density, or nuclei, here and there
throughout the structure which will act as centers of
condensation, drawing surrounding materials into combination
with them. The processes of growth from nuclei originally small
to volumes and masses ultimately stupendous must be slow at
first, relatively more rapid after the masses have grown to
moderate dimensions and the supplies of outlying materials are
still plentiful, and again slow after the supplies shall have
been largely exhausted. By virtue of motions prevailing within
the original nebular structure, or because of inrushing
materials which strike the central masses, not centrally but
obliquely, low rotations of the condensed nebulous masses will
occur. Stupendous quantities of heat will be generated in the
building-up process. This heat will radiate rapidly into space
because the gaseous masses are highly rarefied and their
radiating surfaces are large in proportion to the masses. With
loss of heat the nebulous masses will contract in volume and
gradually assume forms more and more spherical. When the forms
become approximately spherical, the first stage of stellar life
may be said to have been reached.

It was Herschel's belief that by processes of condensation,
following the loss of heat by radiation into surrounding space,
formless nebulae gravitated into nebula of smaller and smaller
volumes until finally the planetary form was reached, and that
planetaries were the ancestors of stars in general. That the
planetaries do develop into stars, we have every reason to
believe; but that all nebulae, or relatively many nebulae, pass
through the planetary stage, or that many of our stars have
developed from planetaries, we shall later find good reason for
doubting. The probabilities are immensely stronger that the
stars in general have been formed directly from the irregular
nebulae, without the intervention of the planetaries. The
planetary nebula seem to be exceptional cases, but to this
point we shall return later.

It is quite possible, and even probable, that gaseous masses
have not in all cases passed directly to the stellar state. The
materials in a gaseous nebula may be so highly attenuated, or
be distributed so irregularly throughout a vast volume of
space, that they will condense into solids, small meteoric
particles for example, before they combine to form stars. Such
masses or clouds of non-shining or invisible matter are thought
to exist in considerable profusion within the stellar system.
The nebulosity connected more or less closely with the brighter
Pleiades stars may be a case in illustration. Slipher has
recently found that the spectra of two small regions observed
in this nebula are continuous, with absorption lines of
hydrogen and helium. This spectrum is apparently the same as
that of the bright Pleiades stars. Slipher's interpretation is
that the nebula is not shining by its own light, but is
reflecting to us the light of the Pleiades stars. That this
material will eventually be drawn into the stars already
existing in the neighborhood, or be condensed into new centers
and form other stars, we can scarcely doubt. The condensation
of such materials to form stars large enough to be seen from
the great distance of the Pleiades cluster must generate heat
in the process, and cause these stars in their earliest youth
to be substantially as hot as other stars formed directly from
gaseous materials. It is possible, also, that the spiral
nebulae will develop into stars, perhaps each such object into
many, or some of the larger ones into multitudes, of stars.

Let us attempt to visualize the conditions which we think exist
in a newly-formed star of average mass. It should be
essentially spherical, with surface fairly sharply defined. Our
Sun has average specific gravity of 1.4, as compared with that
of water. The average density of the very young star must
certainly be vastly lower; perhaps no greater than the density
of our atmosphere at the Earth's surface; it may even be
considerably lower than this estimate. The diameter of our Sun
is 1,400,000 kilometers. The diameter of the average young star
may be ten or twenty or forty times as great. The central
volume or core of the star is undoubtedly a great deal denser
than the surface strata, on account of pressure due to the
star's own gravitational forces. The conditions in the outer
strata should bear some resemblance to those existing in the
gaseous nebula. The star may or may not have a corona closely
or remotely similar to our Sun's corona. The deep interior of
the star must be very hot, though not nearly so hot as the
interiors of older stars; but the surface strata of the young
star should be remarkably hot; for, being composed of highly
attenuated gases, any lowering of the temperature by radiation
into surrounding space will be compensated promptly through the
medium of highly-heated convection currents which can travel
more rapidly from the interior to the surface than in the case
of stars in middle or old age. Even though the star, as
observed in our most powerful telescopes, is a point of light,
without apparent diameter, its outer strata should supply some
bright lines in the spectrum, because these strata project out
beyond what we may call the core of the star and themselves act
as sources of light. The spectrum should, therefore, consist of
some of the bright lines which were observed in the nebular
spectrum, these proceeding from the outer strata of the star;
and of a continuous spectrum made up of radiations proceeding
from the deeper strata or core of the star, in which a few dark
lines may be introduced by the absorption from those parts of
the outer gaseous strata which lie between us and the core.

A few hundred stellar spectra resembling this description are
well known, discovered mostly at the Harvard Observatory. Their
details differ greatly, but they have certain features in
common. The bright lines of helium are extremely rare in stars,
but they have been observed in a few stellar spectra. The
bright lines of nebulium have never been observed in a true
star: they and the radiations in the ultra-violet known as at
3726A, seem to be confined to the nebular state; and the
absorption lines of nebulium have never been observed in any
spectrum. As soon as the stellar state is reached nebulium is
no longer in evidence. Stellar spectra containing bright lines
seem always to include hydrogen bright lines. This is as we
should expect; hydrogen is the lightest known gas, and it is
probably the substance which can best exist in the outer strata
of stars in general. The extensive outer strata of very young
stars seem to be composed largely of hydrogen, though other
elements are in some cases present, as indicated by the weaker
bright lines in a few cases. This preference of hydrogen for
the outermost strata is illustrated by several very interesting
observations of the nebulae. The nebulium lines are relatively
strong in the central denser parts of the Orion and Trifid
nebulae, but the hydrogen bright-lines are relatively very
strong in the faint outlying parts of these nebulae. The
planetary nebula B.D.–12 degrees.1172 is seen in the ordinary
telescope to consist of a circular disc (probably a sphere or
spheroid) of light and a faint star in its center. When this
nebula is observed with a slitless spectrograph the hydrogen
and nebulium components are seen as circular discs, but the
hydrogen discs are larger than the nebulium discs. In other
words, the hydrogen forms an atmosphere about the central star
which extends out into space in all directions a great deal
farther than the nebulium discs extend. The Wolf-Rayet
star-planetary nebula D. M. + 30 degrees.3639 looks hazy in a
powerful telescope, and when examined in a spectroscope the
haziness is seen to be due to a sharply defined globe of
hydrogen 5 seconds of arc in diameter surrounding the star in
its center. Wolf and Burns have shown that in the Ring Nebula
in Lyra the 3726A and the hydrogen images are larger as to
outer diameter than the nebulium images, but that the latter
are the more condensed on the inner edge of the ring. Wright
has in the present year examined these and other nebulae with
special reference to the distribution of the principal
ingredients. He finds in general that the radiations at 4363A
and 4686A, of unknown or possibly helium origin, are most
closely compressed around the central nuclei of nebulae; that
the matter definitely known to be helium is more extended in
size; that the nebulium structure is still larger; and that the
hydrogen uniformly extends out farther than the nebulium; and
that the ultra violet radiation at 3726A seems to proceed from
the largest volume of all. The 37726A line, like the nebulium
line, is unknown in stellar spectra; it seems also to be
confined to true nebulosity. Neglecting the elements which have
never been observed in true stars, we may say that all these
observations are in harmony with the view that hydrogen should
be and is the principal element in the outer stratum of the
very young star. A few of the stars whose spectra contain
bright hydrogen lines have also a number of bright lines whose
chemical origin is not known. They appear to exist exactly at
this state of stellar life: several of them have not been found
in the spectra of the gaseous nebulae, and they are not
represented in the later types of stellar spectra. The strata
which produce these bright lines are thought to be a little
deeper in the stars than the outer hydrogen stratum.

A slightly older stage of stellar existence is indicated by the
type of spectrum in which some of the lines of hydrogen, always
those at the violet end, are dark, and the remaining hydrogen
lines, always those toward the red end, are bright. The
brightest star in the Pleiades group, Alcyone, presents
apparently the last of this series, for all of the hydrogen
lines are dark except H alpha, in the red. In some of the
bright-line stars which we have described, technically known as
Oe5, Harvard College Observatory found that the dark helium and
hydrogen lines exist, and apparently increase in intensity, on
the average, as the bright lines become fainter. Wright has
observed the absorption lines of helium and hydrogen in the
spectra of the nuclei of some planetary nebulae, although the
helium and hydrogen lines are bright in the nebulosity
surrounding the nuclei. We may say that when all of the bright
lines have disappeared from the spectra of stars, the helium
lines, and likewise the hydrogen lines, have in general become
fairly conspicuous. These stars are known as the helium stars,
or stars of Class B. Proceeding through the subdivisions of
Class B, the helium lines increase to a maximum of intensity
and then decrease. The dark hydrogen lines are more and more in
evidence, with intensities increasing slowly. In the middle and
later subdivisions of the helium stars silicon, oxygen and
nitrogen are usually represented by a few absorption lines.

Just as the gaseous nebulae radiate heat into space and
condense, so must the stars, with this difference: the nebulae
are highly rarified bodies, with surfaces enormously large in
proportion to the heat contents; and the radiation from them
must be relatively rapid. In fact, some of the nebulae seem to
be so highly rarified that radiation may take place from their
interiors almost as well as from their surfaces. The radiation
from a star just formed must occur at a much slower rate. The
continued condensation of the star, following the loss of heat,
must lead to a change of physical condition, which will be
apparent in the spectrum. It should pass from the so-called
helium group, to the hydrogen, or Class A group, not suddenly
but by insensible gradations of spectrum. In the Class A stars
the hydrogen lines are the most prominent features. The helium
lines have disappeared, except in a few stars where faint
helium remnants are in evidence. The magnesium lines have
become prominent and the calcium lines are growing rapidly in
strength. The so-called metallic lines, usually beginning with
iron and titanium lines, which have a few extremely faint
representatives in the last of the helium stars, become visible
here and there in the Class A spectra, but they are not
conspicuous.

In the next main division, the Class F spectra, the metallic
lines increase rapidly in prominence, and the hydrogen lines
decrease slightly in strength. These stars are not so blue as
the helium and hydrogen stars. They are intermediate between
the blue stars and the yellow stars, which begin with the next
class, G, of which our Sun is a representative.

The metallic lines are in Class G spectra in great number and
intensity, and the hydrogen lines are greatly reduced in
prominence. The calcium bands are very wide and intense.

Another step brings us to the very yellow and the
slightly-reddish stars, known as Class K. These stars are weak
in violet light, the hydrogen lines are substantially of the
same intensity as the most prominent metallic lines, and the
metallic lines are more and more in evidence.

Stars in the last subdivisions of the Class K and all of the
Class M stars are decidedly red. In these the hydrogen lines
are still further weakened and the metallic lines are even more
prominent. Their spectra are further marked by absorption bands
of titanium oxide, which reach their maximum strength in the
later subdivisions of Class M.

The extremely red stars compose Class N on the Harvard scale.
Their spectra are almost totally lacking in violet light, the
metallic absorption is very strong, and there are conspicuous
absorption bands of carbon.

Deep absorbing strata of titanium and carbon oxides seem to
exist in the atmospheres of the Class M and N stars,
respectively. The presence of these oxides indicates a
relatively low temperature, and this is what we should expect
from stars so far advanced in life.

The period of existence succeeding the very red stars has
illustrations near at hand, we think, in Jupiter, Saturn,
Uranus and Neptune, and in the Earth and the other small
planets and the Moon: bodies which still contain much heat, but
which are invisible save by means of reflected light.

The progression of stellar development, which we have
described, has been based upon the radiation of heat. This is
necessarily gradual, and the corresponding changes of spectrum
should likewise be gradual and continuous. It is not intended
to give the impression that only a few types of spectra are in
evidence: the variety is very great. The labels, Class B, Class
A, and so on to Class N, are intended to mark the miles in the
evolutionary journey. The Harvard experts have put up other
labels to mark the tenths of miles, so to speak, and some day
we shall expect to see the hundredths labeled. Further, it is
not here proposed that heat radiation is the only vital factor
in the processes of evolution. The mass of a star may be an
important item, and the electrical conditions may be concerned.
A very small star and a very massive star may develop
differently, and it is conceivable that there may be actual
differences of composition. But heat-radiation is doubtless the
most important factor.

The evolutionary processes must proceed with extreme
deliberation. The radiation of the heat actually present at any
moment in a large helium star would probably not require many
tens of thousands of years, but this quantity of heat is
negligible in comparison with the quantity generated within the
star during and by the processes of condensation from the
helium age down to the Class M state. We know that the
compression of any body against resistance generates or
releases heat. Now a gaseous star at any instant is in a state
of equilibrium. Its internal heat and the centrifugal force due
to its rotation about an axis are trying to expand it. Its own
gravitational power is trying to draw all of its materials to
the center. Until there is a loss of heat no contraction can
occur; but just as soon as there is such a loss gravity
proceeds to diminish the stellar volume. Contraction will
proceed more slowly than we should at first thought expect,
because in the process of contraction additional heat is
generated and this becomes a factor in resisting further
compression. Contraction is resisted vastly more by the heat
generated in the process of contraction than it is by the store
of heat already in evidence. The quantity of heat in our Sun,
now existing as heat, would suffice to maintain its present
rate of outflow only a few thousands of years. The heat
generated in the process of the Sun's shrinkage under gravity,
however, is so extensive as to maintain the supply during
millions of years to come. Helmholtz has shown that the
reduction of the Sun's radius at the rate of 45 meters per year
would generate as much heat within the Sun as is now radiated.
This rate of shrinkage is so slow that our most refined
instruments could not detect a change in the solar diameter
until after the lapse of 4,000 or 5,000 years. Again, there are
reasons for suspecting that the processes of evolution in our
Sun, and in other stars as well, may be enormously prolonged
through the influence of energy within the atoms or molecules
of matter composing them. The subatomic forces residing in the
radioactive elements represent the most condensed form of
energy of which we have any conception. It is believed that the
subatomic energy in a mass of radium is at least a million-fold
greater than the energy represented in the combustion or other
chemical transformation of any ordinary substance having the
same mass. These radioactive forces are released with extreme
slowness, in the form of heat or the equivalent; and if these
substances exist moderately in the Sun and stars, as they do in
the Earth, they may well be important factors in prolonging the
lives of these bodies.

Speaking somewhat loosely, I think we may say that the
processes of evolution from an extended nebula to a condensed
nebula and from the latter to a spherical star, are
comparatively rapid, perhaps normally confined to a few tens of
millions of years; but that the further we proceed in the
development process, from the blue star to the yellow, and
possibly but not certainly on to the red star, the slower is
the progress made, for the radiating surface through which all
the energy from the interior must pass becomes smaller and
smaller in proportion to the mass, and the convection currents
which carry heat from the interior to the surface must slow
down in speed.

A HISTORY OF FIJI.

BY DR. ALFRED GOLDSBOROUGH MAYER

IV

THE Fijians had a well-organized social system which recognized
six classes of society. (1) Kings and queens (Tuis and Andis).
(2) Chiefs of districts (Rokos). (3) Chiefs of villages,
priests (Betes), and land owners (Mata-ni-vanuas). (4)
Distinguished warriors of low birth, chiefs of the carpenter
caste (Rokolas), and chiefs of the turtle fishermen. (5) Common
people (Kai-si). (6) Slaves taken in battle.

The high chiefs still inspire great respect, and indeed it has
been the policy of the British government to maintain a large
measure of their former authority. Thus of the 17 provinces
into which the group was divided, 11 are governed by high
chiefs entitled Roko Tui, and there are about 176 inferior
chiefs who are the head men of districts, and 31 native
magistrates. In so far as may be consistent with order and
civilization these chiefs are permitted to govern in the old
paternal manner, and they are veritably patriarchs of their
people. The district chiefs are still elected by the land
owners, mata-ni-vanuas, by a showing of hands as of old.

Independent of respect paid to those in authority, rank is
still reverenced in Fiji. Once acting under the kind permission
and advice of our generous friend Mr. Allardyce, the colonial
secretary, and accompanied by my ship-mates Drs. Charles H.
Townsend, and H. F. Moore, I went upon a journey of some days
into the interior of Viti Levu, our guide and companion being
Ratu Pope Seniloli, a grandson of king Thakombau, and one of
the high chiefs of Mbau. Upon meeting Ratu Pope every native
dropped his burdens, stepped to the side of the wood-path and
crouched down, softly chanting the words of the tame, muduo!
wo! No one ever stepped upon his shadow, and if desirous of
crossing his path they passed in front, never behind him. Clubs
were lowered in his presence, and no man stood fully erect when
he was near. The very language addressed to high chiefs is
different from that used in conversation between ordinary men,
these customs being such that the inferior places himself in a
defenceless position with respect to his superior.

It is a chief's privilege to demand service from his subjects;
which was fortunate for us, for when we started down the
Waidina River from Nabukaluka our canoes were so small and
overloaded that the ripples were constantly lapping in over the
gunwale, threatening momentarily to swamp us. Soon, however, we
came upon a party of natives in a fine large canoe, and after
receiving their tama Ratu Pope demanded: "Where are you going"?
The men, who seemed somewhat awestricken, answered that it had
been their intention to travel up the river. Whereupon Ratu
Pope told them that this they might do, but we would take their
canoe and permit them to continue in ours. To this they acceded
with the utmost cheerfulness, although our noble guide would
neither heed our protests nor permit us to reward them for
their service, saying simply, "I am a chief. You may if you
choose pay me." In this manner we continued to improve our
situation by "exchanging" with every canoe we met which
happened to be better than our own, until finally our princely
friend ordered a gay party of merry-makers out of a fine large
skiff, which they cheerfully "exchanged" for our leaky canoes
and departed singing happily, feeling honored indeed that this
opportunity had come to them to serve the great chief Ratu Pope
Seniloli; and thus suffering qualms of conscience, we sailed to
our destination leaving a wake of confusion behind us. Moreover
I forgot to mention that many natives had by Ratu Pope's orders
been diverted from their intended paths and sent forward to
announce the coming of himself and the "American chiefs." Thus
does one of the Royal house of Mbau proceed through Fiji.

At first sight such behavior must appear autocratic, to say the
least, but it should be remembered that a high chief has it in
his power fully to recompense those about him, and this without
the payment of a penny. Indeed, many intelligent natives still
regret the introduction of money into their land, saying that
all the white man's selfishness had been developed through its
omnipotence. In Fiji to-day there are no poor, for such would
be fed and given a house by those who lived beside them. The
white man's callous brutality in ignoring the appeal of misery
is incomprehensible to the natives of Fiji. "Progress" they
have not in the sense that one man possesses vast wealth and
many around him struggle helplessly, doomed to life-long
poverty; nor have they ambition to toil beyond that occasional
employment required to satisfy immediate wants. Yet if life be
happy in proportion as the summation of its moments be
contented, the Fijians are far happier than we. Old men and
women rest beneath the shade of cocoa-palms and sing with the
youths and maidens, and the care-worn faces and bent bodies of
"civilization" are still unknown in Fiji. They still have
something we have lost and never can regain.

It is impossible to draw a line between personal service such
as was rendered to Ratu Pope and a regular tax (lala) for the
benefit of the entire community or the support of the communal
government; and the recognition of this fact actuated the
English to preserve much of the old system and to command the
payment of taxes in produce, rather than in money.

Land tenure in Fiji is a subject so complex that heavy volumes
might be written upon it. In general it may be said that the
chief can sell no land without the consent of his tribe.
Cultivated land belonged to the man who originally farmed it,
and is passed undivided to all his heirs. Waste land is held in
common. Native settlers who have been taken into the tribes
from time to time have been permitted to farm some of the waste
land, and for this privilege they and their heirs must pay a
yearly tribute to the chief either in produce or in service.
Thus this form of personal lala is simply rent. The whole
subject of land-ownership has given the poor English a world of
trouble, as one may see who cares to read the official reports
of the numerous intricate cases that have come before the
courts.

For example, one party based their claims to land on the
historic fact that their ancestors had eaten the chief of the
original owners, and the solemn British court allowed the
claim.

Basil Thomson in his interesting work upon "The Fijians; a
Study of the Decline of Custom," has given an authoritative
summary of the present status of taxation and land tenure, land
being registered under a modification of the Australian Torrens
system.

In order to protect these child-like people from the avarice of
our own race they are not permitted to sell their lands, and
the greater portion of the area of Fiji is still held by the
natives. The Hawaiian Islands now under our own rule furnish a
sad contrast, for here the natives are reduced by poverty to a
degraded state but little above that of peonage. The Fijians.
on the other hand, may not sell, but may with the consent of
the commissioner of native affairs lease their lands for a
period of not more than twenty years.

The Fijians appear never to have been wholly without a medium
of exchange, for sperm-whale's teeth have always had a
recognized purchasing power, but are more especially regarded
as a means of expressing good will and honesty of purpose. A
whale's tooth is as effective to secure compliance with the
terms of a bargain as an elaborately engraved bond would be
with us. More commonly, however, exchanges are direct, each man
bringing to the village green his taro, yaqona, yams or fish
and exchanging with his neighbors; the rare disputes being
settled by the village chief.

In traveling you will discover no hotels, but will be
entertained in the stranger's houses, and in return for your
host's hospitality you should make presents to the chief.
Indeed to journey in good fashion you should be accompanied by
a train of bearers carrying heavy bags full of purposed gifts,
and nowhere in the world is the "rate per mile" higher than in
Polynesia.

As in all communities, including our own world of finance, a
man's wealth consists not only in what he possesses but even
more so in the number of people from whom he can beg or borrow.
Wilkes records an interesting example of this, for he found
that the rifle and other costly presents he had presented to
King Tanoa were being seized upon by his (Tanoa's) nephew who
as his vasu had a right to take whatever he might select from
the king's possessions. Indeed, in order to keep his property
in sight, Tanoa was forced to give it to his own sons, thus
escaping the rapacity of his nephew. The construction of the
British law is such that a vasu who thus appropriates property
to himself could be sued and forced to restore it, but not a
single Fijian has yet been so mean as to bring such a matter
into court.

An individual as such can hardly be said to own property, for
nearly all things belong to his family or clan, and are shared
among cousins. This condition is responsible for that absence
of personal ambition and that fatal contentment with existing
conditions, which strikes the white man as so illogical, but
which is nevertheless the dominant feature of the social fabric
of the Polynesians, and which has hitherto prevented the
introduction of "ideals of modern progress." The natives are
happy; why work when every reasonable want is already supplied?
None are rich in material things, but none are beggars
excepting in the sense that all are such. No one can be a
miser, a capitalist, a banker, or a "promoter" in such a
community, and thieves are almost unknown. Indeed, the honesty
of the Fijians is one of those virtues which has excited the
comment of travelers. Wilkes, who loathed them as "condor-eyed
savages," admits that the only thing which any native attempted
to steal from the Peacock was a hatchet, and upon being
detected the chief requested the privilege of taking the man
ashore in order that he might be roasted and eaten. Theft was
always severely punished by the chief; Maafu beating a thief
with the stout stalk of a cocoanut leaf until the culprit's
life was despaired of, and Tui Thakau wrapping one in a tightly
wound rope so that not a muscle could move while the wretch
remained exposed for an entire day to the heat of the sun.

During Professor Alexander Agassiz's cruises in which he
visited nearly every island of the Fijis, and the natives came
on board by hundreds, not a single object was stolen, although
things almost priceless in native estimation lay loosely upon
the deck. Once, indeed, when the deck was deserted by both
officers and crew and fully a hundred natives were on board, we
found a man who had been gazing wistfully for half an hour at a
bottle which lay upon the laboratory table. Somehow he had
managed to acquire a shilling, a large coin in Fiji, and this
he offered in exchange for the coveted bottle. One can never
forget his shout of joy and the radiance of his honest face as
he leaped into his canoe after having received it as a gift.

Even the great chief Ratu Epele of Mbau beamed with joy when
presented with a screw-capped glass tobacco jar, and Tui Thakau
of Somo somo had a veritable weakness for bottles and possessed
a large collection of these treasures.

Intelligent and well-educated natives who know whereof they
speak have told me that they desire not the white man's system,
entailing as it does untold privation and heart-burnings to the
many that the few may enjoy a surfeit of mere material things.
As the natives say, "The white man possesses more than we, but
his life is full of toil and sorrow, while our days are happy
as they pass."

Thus in the Pacific life is of to-day; the past is dead, and
the future when it comes will pass as to-day is passing. Life
is a dream, an evanescent thing, all but meaningless, and real
only as is the murmur of the surf when the sea-breeze comes in
the morning, and man awakens from the oblivion of night.

Hoarded wealth inspires no respect in the Pacific, and indeed,
were it discovered, its possession would justify immediate
confiscation. Yet man must raise idols to satisfy his instinct
to worship things above his acquisition, and thus rank is the
more reverenced because respect for property is low. Even
to-day there is something god-like in the presence of the high
chiefs, and none will cross the shadow of the king's house.
Even in war did a common man kill a chief he himself was killed
by men of his own tribe.

As it is with property so with relationships. The family ties
seem loosened; every child has two sets of parents, the adopted
and the real, and relationships founded upon adoption are more
respected than the real. Rank descends mainly through the
mother. The son of a high chief by a common woman is a low
chief, or even a commoner, but the son of a chieftainess by a
common man is a chief. Curiously, there are no words in Fijian
which are the exact equivalent of widow and widower. In the
Marshall group the chief is actually the husband of all the
women of his tribe, and as Lorimer Fison has said in his "Tales
from Old Fiji," their designation and understanding of
relationships suggests that there was once a time when "all the
women were the wives of every man, and all the men were the
husbands of every woman," as indeed was almost the case in
Tahiti at the time of Captain Cook's visit to this island.

The social customs of Fiji are rarely peculiar to Fiji itself,
but commonly show their relationship or identity with those of
the Polynesians or Papuans. Curiously indeed, while the
original stock of the Fijians was probably pure Papuan, their
social and economic systems are now dominated by Polynesian
ideas, and only among the mountain tribes do we find a clear
expression of the crude Papuan systems of life and thought.
This in itself shows that under stimulation the Fijians are
capable of advancement in cultural ideals.

This superposition of a Polynesian admixture upon a barbarous
negroid stock may account for the anomalous character of the
Fijians, for in the arts they equalled or in some things
excelled the other island peoples of the Pacific, and some of
their customs approached closely to the cultural level of the
Polynesians, but in certain fundamental things they remained
the most fiendish savages upon earth. Indeed we should expect
that contact with a somewhat high culture would introduce new
wants, and thus affect their arts more profoundly than their
customs.

In common with all primitive peoples, their names of men and
women are descriptive of some peculiarity or circumstance
associated with the person named. Indeed, names were often
changed after important events in a person's life, thus our old
friend Thakombau began life as Seru, then after the coup d'etat
in which he slaughtered his father's enemies and reestablished
Tanoa's rule in Mbau he was called Thakombau (evil to Mbau). At
the time he also received another name Thikinovu (centipede) in
allusion to his stealthiness in approaching to bite his enemy,
but this designation, together with his "missionary" name
"Ebenezer," did not survive the test of usage. Miss Gordon
Cumming gives an interesting list of Fijian names translated
into English. For women they were such as Spray of the Coral
Reef, Queen of Parrot's Land, Queen of Strangers, Smooth Water,
Wife of the Morning Star, Mother of Her Grandchildren, Ten
Whale's Teeth, Mother of Cockroaches, Lady Nettle, Drinker of
Blood, Waited For, Rose of Rewa, Lady Thakombau, Lady Flag,
etc. The men's names were such as The Stone (eternal) God,
Great Shark, Bad Earth, Bad Stranger, New Child, More Dead
Man's Flesh, Abode of Treachery, Not Quite Cooked, Die Out of
Doors, Empty Fire, Fire in the Bush, Eats Like a God, King of
Gluttony, Ill Cooked, Dead Man, Revenge, etc.

In the religion of a people we have the most reliable clue to
the history of their progress in culture and intelligence, for
religions even when unwritten are potent to conserve old
conceptions, and thus their followers advance beyond them, as
does the intelligence of the twentieth century look pityingly
upon the conception of the cruel and jealous God of the Old
Testament, whose praises are nevertheless still sung in every
Christian church. Thus in Tahiti the people were not cannibals,
but the gods still appeared in the forms of birds that fed upon
the bodies of the sacrificed. The eye of the victim was,
indeed, offered to the chief, who raised it to his lips but did
not eat it. In Samoa also where the practice of cannabalism was
very rare and indulged in only under great provocation, some of
the gods remained cannibals, and the surest way of appeasing
any god was to be laid upon the stones of a cold oven. In
Tahiti and Samoa, while most of the gods were malevolent, a few
were kindly disposed towards mortals; in Fiji, however, they
were all dreaded as the most powerful, sordid, cruel and
vicious cannibal ghosts that have ever been conjured into being
in the realm of thought.

All over the Pacific from New Zealand to Japan, and from New
Guinea to Hawaii, ancestor-worship forms the backbone of every
religion as clearly as it did in Greece or Rome. There are
everywhere one or more very ancient gods who may always have
existed and from whom all others are descended. Next in order
of reverence, although not always in power, come their
children, and finally the much more numerous grandchildren and
remote descendants of these oldest and highest gods. Finally,
after many generations, men of chieftain's rank were born to
the gods. Thus a common man could never attain the rank of a
high chief, for such were the descendants of the gods, while
commoners were created out of other clay and designed to be
servants to the chiefs.

But the process of god-making did not end with the appearance
of men, for great chiefs and warriors after death became kalou
yalo, or spirits, and often remained upon earth a menace to the
unwary who might offend them. Curiously, these deified mortals
might suffer a second death which would result in their utter
annihilation, and while in Fiji we heard a tale of an old chief
who had met with the ghost of his dead enemy and had killed him
for the second and last time; the club which served in this
miraculous victory having been hung up in the Mbure as an
object of veneration.

Of a still lower order were the ghosts of common men or of
animals, and most dreaded of all was the vengeful spirit of the
man who had been devoured. The ghosts of savage Fiji appear all
to have been malevolent and fearful beings, whereas those of
the more cultured Polynesians were some of them benevolent. As
Ellis says of the Tahitian mythology:

Each lovely island was made a sort of fairyland and the spells
of enchantment were thrown over its varied scenes. The
sentiment of the poet that

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth,
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep"

was one familiar to their minds, and it is impossible not to
feel interested in a people who were accustomed to consider
themselves surrounded by invisible intelligences, anti who
recognized in the rising sun, the mild and silver moon, the
shooting star, the meteor's transient flame, the ocean's roar,
the tempest's blast, or the evening breeze the movements of
mighty spirits.

The gods and ghosts of Fiji often entered into the bodies of
animals or men, especially idiots.

Thus when the Carnegie Institution Expedition arrived at the
Murray Islands in Torres Straits, the scientific staff were
much pleased at the decided evidences of respect shown by the
natives until it came out that the Islanders considered their
white guests to be semi-idiots, and hence powerful sorcerers to
be placated. Fijian religion had developed into the oracular
stage, and the priest after receiving prayers and offerings
would on occasions be entered into by the god. Tremors would
overspread his body, the flesh of which would creep horribly.
His veins would swell, his eyeballs protrude with excitement
and his voice, becoming quavering and unnatural, would whine
out strange words, words spoken by the god himself and unknown
to the priest who as his unconscious agent was overcome by
violent convulsions. Slowly the contortions grew less and with
a start the priest would awaken, dash his club upon the ground
and the god would leave him. It may well be imagined that the
priests were the most powerful agents of the chiefs in
forwarding the interests of their masters, for, as in ancient
Greece or Rome, nothing of importance was undertaken without
first consulting the oracle.

Surrounded by multitudes of demons, ghosts, and genii who were
personified in everything about him, religion was the most
powerful factor in controlling Fijian life and politics. In
fact, it entered deeply into every act the native performed.
The gods were more monstrous in every way than man, but in all
attributes only the exaggerated counterparts of Fijian chiefs.

War was constantly occurring among these gods and spirits, and
even high gods could die by accident or be killed by those of
equal rank so that at least one god, Samu, was thus dropped out
of the mythology in 1847.

Ndengei was the oldest and greatest, but not the most
universally reverenced god. He lived in a cavern in the
northeastern end of Viti Levu, and usually appeared as a snake,
or as a snake's head with a body of stone symbolizing eternal
life. Among the sons and grandsons of Ndengei were Roko
Mbati-ndua, the one-toothed lord; a fiend with a huge tooth
projecting from his lower jaw and curving over the top of his
head. He had bat's wings armed with claws and was usually
regarded as a harbinger of pestilence. The mechanic's god was
eight-handed, gluttony had eighty stomachs, wisdom possessed
eight eyes. Other gods were the adulterer, the abductor of
women of rank and beauty, the rioter, the brain-eater, the
killer of men, the slaughter god, the god of leprosy, the
giant, the spitter of miracles, the gods of fishermen and of
carpenters, etc. One god hated mosquitoes and drove them away
from the place where he lived. The names and stations of the
gods are described by Thomas Williams, who has given the most
detailed account of the old religion.

As with all peoples whose religion is barbarous, there were
ways of obtaining sanctuary and many a man has saved his life
by taking advantage of the tabus which secured their operation.
No matter how desirous your host might be of murdering you, as
long as you remained a guest under his roof you were safe,
although were you only a few yards away from his door he would
eagerly attack you.

But not only did the Fijians live in a world peopled by
witches, wizards, prophets, seers and fortune-tellers, but
there was a perfect army of fairies which overran the whole
land, and the myths concerning which would have filled volumes
could they ever have been gathered. The gnome-like spirits of
the mountains had peaked heads, and were of a vicious, impish
disposition, but were powerless to injure any one who carried a
fern leaf in his hand.

Sacred relics such as famous clubs, stones possessing
miraculous powers, etc., were sometimes kept in Fijian temples,
but there were no idols such as were prayed to by the
Polynesians.

The fearful alternatives of heaven and hell were unknown to the
Fijians. They believed in an eternal existence for men,
animals, and even canoes and other inanimate things, but the
future life held forth no prospect either of reward for virtues
or punishment for evil acts committed while alive. So certain
were they of a future life that they always referred to the
dead as "the absent ones," and their land of shades (Mbulu) was
not essentially different from the world they lived in. Indeed,
their chief idea of death was that of rest, for as William's
states, they have an adage: "Death is easy: Of what use is
life? To die is rest."

There were, however, certain precautions the Fijian felt it
advisable to take before entering the world to come. If he had
been so unfortunate as not to have killed a man, woman or
child, his duty would be the dismal one of pounding filth
throughout eternity, and disgraceful careers awaited those
whose ears were not bored or women who were not tatooed upon
parts covered by the liku. Moreover, should a wife not
accompany him (be strangled at the time of his death) his
condition would be the dismal one of a spirit without a cook.
Thirdly, as one was at the time of death so would the spirit be
in the next world. It was therefore an advantage to die young,
and people often preferred to be buried alive, or strangled,
than to survive into old age. Lastly and most important, one
must not die a bachelor, for such are invariably dashed to
pieces by Nangganangga, even if they should succeed in elud-
ing the grasp of the Great Woman, Lewa-levu, who flaunts the
path of the departed spirits and searches for the ghosts of
good-looking men. Let us imagine, however, that our shade
departs this life in the best of form, young, married, with the
lobes of his ears pierced, not dangerously handsome and a
slayer of at least one human being. He starts upon the long
journey to the Valhalla of Fiji. Soon he comes to a spiritual
Pandanus at which he must throw the ghost of the whale's tooth
which was placed in his hand at time of burial. If he succeeds
in hitting the Pandanus, he may then wait until the spirit of
his strangled wife comes to join him, after which he boards the
canoe of the Fijian Charon and proceeds to Nambanggatai, where
until 1847 there dwelt the god Samu, and after his death
Samuyalo "the killer of souls."

This god remains in ambush in some spiritual mangrove bushes
and thrusts a reed within the ground upon the path of the ghost
as a warning not to pass the spot. Should the ghost be brave he
raises his club in defiance, whereupon Samuyalo appears, club
in hand, and gives battle. If killed in this combat, the ghost
is cooked and eaten by the soul killer, and if wounded he must
wander forever among the mountains, but if the ghost be
victorious over the god he may pass on to be questioned by
Ndengei, who may consign him either to Mburotu, the highest
heaven, or drop him over a precipice into a somewhat inferior
but still tolerable abode, Murimuria. This Ndengei does in
accordance with the caprice of the moment and without reference
either to the virtues or the faults of the deceased. Thus of
those who die only a few can enter the higher heaven for the
Great Woman and the Soul destroyer overcome the greater number
of those who dare to face them. As for the victims of cannibal
feasts, their souls are devoured by the gods when their bodies
are eaten by man.

In temperament and ambitions the spirits of the dead remained
as they were upon earth, but of more monstrous growth in all
respects, resembling giants greater and more vicious than man.
War and cannibalism still prevailed in heaven, and the
character of the inhabitants seems to have been fiendish or
contemptible as on earth; for the spirits of women who were not
tattooed were unceasingly pursued by their more fortunate
sisters, who tore their bodies with sharp shells, often making
mince-meat of them for the gods to eat. Also the shade of any
one whose ears had not been pierced was condemned to carry a
masi log over his shoulder and submit to the eternal ridicule
of his fellow spirits.

Altogether, this religion seems to have been as sordid, brutal
and vicious as was the ancestral negroid stock of the Fijians.
Connected with it there was, however, a rude mythology, clumsy
but romantic, too much of which has been lost; for the natives
of to-day have largely forgotten its stories or are ashamed to
repeat it to the whites. In recent times the natives have
tended to make their folk-lore conform to Biblical stories, or
to adapt them to conditions of the present day. The interesting
subject of the lingering influence of old beliefs upon the life
of the natives of to-day has engaged the attention of Basil
Thomson in "The Fijians, a Study of the Decay of Custom."

As in every British colony, the people are taught to respect
the law. Sentences of imprisonment are meted out to natives for
personal offences which if committed by white men would be
punished by small fines, but the reason for this is that in the
old native days such acts were avenged by murder, and it is to
prevent crime that a prison term has been ordained. The natives
take their imprisonment precisely as boys in boarding school
regard a flogging, the victim commonly becoming quite a hero
and losing no caste among his fellows. Indeed it is a common
sight to see bands of from four to eight stalwart "convicts" a
mile or more from the prison marching unguarded through the
woods as they sing merrily on their way "home" to the jail.
Once I recall seeing two hundred prisoners, all armed with long
knives, engaged in cutting weeds along the roadside, chanting
happily as they slashed, while a solitary native dressed only
in a waist-cloth and armed only with a club stood guard at one
end of the line, and this not near the prison, but in a lonely
wood fully a mile from the nearest house.

In 1874, the British undertook the unique task of civilizing
without exploiting a barbarous and degraded race which was
drifting hopelessly into ruin. They began the solution of this
complex problem by arresting the entire race and immuring them
within the protecting walls of a system which recognized as its
cardinal principle that the natives were unfit to think or act
for themselves. For a generation the Fijians have been in a
prison wherein they have become the happiest and best behaved
captives upon earth. During this time they have become
reconciled to a life of peace, and have forgotten the taste of
human flesh; and while they cherish no love for the white man,
they feel the might of his law and know that his decrees are as
finalities of fate. All are serving life sentences to the white
man's will, and the fire of their old ambition has cooled into
the dull embers of resignation and then died into the apathy of
contentment with things that are. Worse still, they have grown
fond of their prison world, and the most pessimistic feature in
the Fijian situation of to-day is the evident fact that there
is almost no discontent among the natives. Old things have
withered and decayed, but new ambition has not been born.

It is in no spirit of criticism of British policy that I have
written the above paragraph for it was absolutely necessary
that the race should "calm down" for a generation at least
before it could be trusted to arise. Now, however, there are no
more old chiefs whose memories hark back to days of savagery,
and now for the first and only time has come the critical
period in the unique governmental experiment the British have
undertaken to perform, for now is the time when the child must
learn to walk alone and the support of guardian arms must in
kindness be withdrawn, else there must be nurtured but a
cripple, not a man.

Among the generation of to-day the light of a new ambition must
appear in Fiji or the race shall dwindle to its death. No real
progress has been made by the Fijians; they have received much
from their teachers, but have given nothing in return. They are
in the position of a youth whose schooling has just been
finished, life and action lie before him; will he awaken to his
responsibility, develop his latent talent, character and power,
and recompense his teachers by achievement, or will he sink
into the apathy of a vile content?

The situation in Fiji is one of peculiar delicacy for the
desire for better things must arise among the Fijians
themselves, and should it once appear, the paternalism of the
present government must be wisely withdrawn to permit of more
and more freedom in proportion as the natives may become
competent to think and act rightly for themselves. A cardinal
difficulty is the unfortunate fact that the natives DESIRE no
change, and even if individually discontented and ambitious,
they know of no profession, arts or trades to which they might
turn with hope of fortune. The establishment of manual training
schools wherein money-making trades should be taught, if
possible BY NATIVE teachers, is sorely needed in Fiji.

At present there is too little freedom of thought in Fiji; fear
of the chief and of Samuyalo's club has been replaced by fear
of the European and his hell. Free, fearless thought is the
father of high action, and while their minds remain steeped in
an apathy of dread there can be no soil in which the seed of
independence can germinate.

Yet it is still possible that the Fijians may attain
civilization. Of all the archipelagoes of Polynesia, Fiji alone
may still be called the "Isles of Hope." As one who has known
and grown to love these honest, hospitable, simple people, I
can only hope that the day is not far distant when a leader may
arise among them who will turn their faces toward the light of
a brighter sky, and their hands to a worthier task than has
ever yet been performed in Polynesia.

Yet why civilize them? Often does one ask oneself this
question, but the answer comes as the voice of fate, "they must
attain civilization or they must die." Should the population
continue to decline at its present rate, the time is imminent
when the dark-skinned men of Fiji will be not the natives, but
the swarming progeny of the coolies of Calcutta.

Nowhere over all the wide Pacific have the natives been more
wisely or unselfishly ruled than in Fiji, yet even here native
life seems to be growing less and less purposeful year by year.
In time it is hoped a reaction may set in and that with the
decline of communism new ambitions may replace the old, but
then will come the problem of the rich and the poor–a thing
unknown in Fijian life to-day.

Hardly the first lessons in civilization have been taught in
Polynesia, yet who can predict the noon day, should even the
faintest glow appear in native hope. In former ages the
Japanese were a barbarous insular people, and as in our own
civilization the traditions and habits of rude Aryan ancestors
still color our fundamental thoughts so in Japan we find
evidences of a culture essentially similar to that of the
Pacific Islands of to-day. The ancient ancestor worship of
Japan is strangely like that of the tropical Pacific with its
gods, the ghosts of long departed chiefs, and its high chief a
living god to-day. Moreover in the Pacific Islands the house
consists of but a single room, and such to-day is essentially
the case in Japan, save only that delicate paper screens divide
its originally unitary floor-space into temporary compartments.
As in the South Seas, matting still covers the floor of the
Japanese house, its roof is thatched, and is constructed before
the sides are made, there is no chimney, the fire-place is an
earthen space upon the floor or is sustained within an
artistically molded bronze brazier, the refined descendant of
the cruder hearth. In Polynesia as in Japan one seats oneself
anywhere in tailor-fashion upon the floor, and upon this floor
the meals are served, and here one sleeps at night, nor will
the women partake of food in the presence of the men. In
essential fundamental things of life the Japanese show their
kinship in custom and tradition to the insular peoples of
Asiatic origin now occupying the Pacific, and if Japan has
attained to so great a height in culture and civilization, why
may we not hope for better days for the South Sea Islanders?

WAR SELECTION IN THE ANCIENT WORLD

BY CHANCELLOR DAVID STARR JORDAN

LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY

"The human harvest was bad!" Thus the historian sums up the
conditions in Rome in the days of the good emperor, Marcus
Aurelius. By this he meant that while population and wealth
were increasing, manhood had failed. There were men enough in
the streets, men enough in the camps, menial laborers enough
and idlers enough, but of good soldiers there were too few. For
the business of the state, which in those days was mainly war,
its men were inadequate.

In recognition of this condition we touch again the
overshadowing fact in the history of Europe, the effect of
"military selection" on the human breed.

In rapid survey of the evidence brought from history one must
paint the picture, such as it is, with a broad brush, not
attempting to treat exceptions and qualifications, for which
this article has no space and concerning which records yield no
data. Such exceptions, if fully understood, would only prove
the rule. The evil effects of military selection and its
associated influences have long been recognized in theory by
certain students of social evolution. But the ideas derived
from the sane application of our knowledge of Darwinism to
history are even now just beginning to penetrate the current
literature of war and peace. In public affairs most nations
have followed the principle of opportunism, "striking while the
iron is hot," without regard to future results, whether of
financial exhaustion or of race impoverishment.

The recorded history of Rome begins with small and vigorous
tribes inhabiting the flanks of the Apennines and the valleys
down to the sea, and blending together to form the Roman
republic. They were men of courage and men of action, virile,
austere, severe and dominant.[1] They were men who "looked on
none as their superior and none as their inferior." For this
reason, Rome was long a republic. Free-born men control their
own destinies. "The fault," says Cassius, "is not in our stars,
but in ourselves that we are underlings." Thus in freedom, when
Rome was small without glory, without riches, without colonies
and without slaves, she laid the foundations of greatness.

[1] Virilis, austerus, severus, dominous, good old words
applied by Romans to themselves.

But little by little the spirit of freedom gave way to that of
domination. Conscious of power, men sought to exercise it, not
on themselves but on one another. Little by little this meant
aggression, suppression, plunder, struggle, glory and all that
goes with the pomp and circumstance of war. So the
individuality in the mass was lost in the aggrandizement of the
few. Independence was swallowed up in ambition and patriotism
came to have a new meaning, being transferred from hearth and
home to the camp and the army.

In the subsequent history of Rome, we have now to consider only
a single factor, the reversal of selection." In Rome's
conquests, Vir, the real man, went forth to battle and foreign
invasion; Homo, the human being, remained on the farm and in
the workshop and begat the new generations. "Vir gave place to
Homo," says the Latin author. Men of good stock were replaced
by the sons of slaves and camp-followers, the riff-raff of
those the army sucked in but could not use.

The Fall of Rome was due not to luxury, effeminacy or
corruption, not to Nero's or Caligula's wickedness, nor to the
futility of Constantine's descendants. It began at Philippi,
where the spirit of domination overcame the spirit of freedom.
It was forecast still earlier in the rise of consuls and
triumvirs incident to the thinning out of the sturdy and
self-sufficient strains who brooked no arbitrary rule. While
the best men were falling in war, civil or foreign, or remained
behind in faraway colonies, the stock at home went on repeating
its weakling parentage. A condition significant in Roman
history is marked by the gradual swelling of the mob, with the
rise in authority of the Emperor who was the mob's exponent.
Increase of arbitrary power went with the growing weakness of
the Romans themselves. Always the "Emperor" serves as a sort of
historical barometer by which to measure the abasement of the
people. The concentrated power of Julius Caesar, resting on his
own tremendous personality, showed that the days of Cincinnatus
and of Junius Brutus were past. The strength of Augustus rested
likewise in personality. The rising authority of later emperors
had its roots in the ineffectiveness of the mob, until it came
to pass that "the little finger of Constantine was thicker than
the loins of Augustus." This was due not to Constantine's
force, but to the continued reversal of selection among the
people over whom he ruled. The emperor, no longer the strong
man holding in check all lesser men and organizations, became
the creature of the mob; and "the mob, intoxicated with its own
work, worshipped him as divine." Doubtless the last emperor,
Augustulus Romulus, before the Goths threw him into the
scrap-heap of history, was regarded by the mob and himself as
the most god-like of the whole succession.

The Romans of the Republic might perhaps have made a history
very different. Had they held aloof from world-conquering
schemes Rome might have remained a republic, enduring even down
to our day. The seeds of Rome's fall lay not in race nor in
form of government, nor in wealth nor in senility, but in the
influences by which the best men were cut off from parenthood,
leaving its own weaker strains and strains of lower races to be
fathers of coming generations.

"The Roman Empire," says Professor Seely, "perished for want of
men." Even Julius Caesar notes the dire scarcity of men, while
at the same time there were people enough. The population
steadily grew; Rome was filling up like an overflowing marsh.
Men of a certain type were plenty, but self-reliant farmers,
"the hardy dwellers on the flanks of the Apennines," men of the
early Roman days, these were fast going, and with the change in
type of population came the turn in Roman history.

The mainspring of the Roman army for centuries has been the
patient strength and courage, capacity for enduring hardships,
instinctive submission to military discipline of the population
that lined the Apennines.

"The effect of the wars was that the ranks of the small farmers
were decimated, while the number of slaves who did not serve in
the army multiplied," says Professor Bury. Thus "Vir gave place
to Homo," thus the mob filled Rome and the mob-hero rose to the
imperial throne. No wonder that Constantine seemed greater than
Augustus. No wonder that "if Tiberius chastised his subjects
with whips, Valentinian chastised them with scorpions."[2]

[2] The point of this is that the cruel Tiberius was less
severe on the Romans of his day than was the relatively
benevolent Valentinian on his decadent people.

With Marcus Aurelius and the Antonines came a "period of
sterility and barrenness in human beings." Bounties were
offered for marriage. Penalties were devised against
race-suicide. "Marriage," says Metellus, "is a duty which,
however painful, every citizen ought manfully to discharge."
Wars were conducted in the face of a declining birth-rate, and
the decline in quality and quantity in the human breed engaged
very early the attention of Roman statesmen. Deficiencies of
numbers were made up by immigration, willing or enforced.
Failure in quality was beyond remedy.

Says Professor Zumpt:

'Government having assumed godhead, took at the same time the
appurtenances of it. Officials multiplied. Subjects lost their
rights. Abject fear paralyzed the people and those that ruled
were intoxicated with insolence and cruelty…. The worst
government is that which is most worshipped as divine. . . .
The emperor possessed in the army an overwhelming force over
which citizens had no influence, which was totally deaf to
reason or eloquence, which had no patriotism because it had no
country, which had no humanity because it had no domestic ties.
. . . There runs through Roman literature a brigand's and
barbarian's contempt for honest industry. . . . Roman
civilization was not a creative kind, it was military, that is,
destructive.'

What was the end of it all? The nation bred Romans no more. To
cultivate the Roman fields "whole tribes were borrowed." The
man with quick eye and strong arm gave place to the slave, the
scullion, the pariah, whose lot is fixed because in him there
lies no power to alter it. So at last the Roman world, devoid
of power to resist, was overwhelmed by the swarming Ostrogoths.

The barbarian settled and peopled the empire rather than
conquered it. It was the weakness of war-worn Rome that gave
the Germanic races their first opportunity.

"The nation is like a bee," wisely observes Bernard Shaw, "as
it stings it dies."

In his monumental history of the "Downfall of the Ancient
World" (Der Untergang der Antikenwelt) Dr. Otto Seeck of the
University of Munster in Westphalia, treats in detail the
causes of such decline. He first calls attention to the
intellectual stagnation which came over the Roman Empire about
the beginning of the Christian Era. This manifested itself in
all fields of intellectual activity. No new idea of any
importance was advanced in science nor in technical and
political studies. In the realm of literature and art also one
finds a complete lack of originality and a tendency to imitate
older models. All this Seeck asserts, was brought about by the
continuous "rooting out (Ausrottung) of the best"[3] through
war.

[3] "Die Ausrottung der Besten, die jenen schwacheren Volken
die Vernichtung brachte, hat die starken Germanen erst
befahigt, auf den Trummern der antiken Welt neue dauerende
Gemeinschaften zu errichten." Seeck.

Such extermination which took place in Greece as well as in
Rome, was due to persistent internal conflicts, the constant
murderous struggle going on between political parties, in
which, in rapid succession, first one and then the other was
victorious. The custom of the victors being to kill and banish
the leaders and all prominent men in the defeated party, often
destroying their children as well, it is evident that in time
every strain distinguished for moral courage, initiative or
intellectual strength was exterminated. By such a systematic
killing off of men of initiative and brains, the intellectual
level of a nation must necessarily be lowered more and more. In
Rome as in Greece observes Seeck:

'A wealth of force of spirit went down in the suicidal wars. .
. . In Rome, Marius and Cinna slew the aristocrats by hundreds
and thousands. Sulla destroyed the democrats, and not less
thoroughly. Whatever of strong blood survived, fell as an
offering to the proscription of the Triumvirate. . . . The
Romans had less of spontaneous force to lose than the Greeks.
Thus desolation came sooner to them. Whoever was bold enough to
rise politically in Rome was almost without exception thrown to
the ground. ONLY COWARDS REMAINED, AND FROM THEIR BLOOD CAME
FORWARD THE NEW GENERATIONS.[4] Cowardice showed itself in lack
of originality and in slavish following of masters and
traditions.'

[4] Author's italics.

Certain authors, following Varro, have maintained that Rome
died a "natural death," the normal result of old age. It is
mere fancy to suppose that nations have their birth, their
maturity and their decline under an inexorable law like that
which determines the life history of the individual. A nation
is a body of living men. It may be broken up if wrongly led or
attacked by a superior force. When its proportion of men of
initiative or character is reduced, its future will necessarily
be a resultant of the forces that are left.

Dr. Seeck speaks with especial scorn of the idea that Rome died
of "old age." He also repudiates the theory that her fall was
due to the corruption of luxury, neglect of military tactics or
over-diffusion of culture.

'It is inconceivable that the mass of Romans suffered from
over-culture.[5] In condemning the sinful luxury of wealthy
Romans we forget that the trade-lords of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries were scarcely inferior in this regard to
Lucullus and Apicius, their waste and luxury not constituting
the slightest check to the advance of the nations to which
these men belonged. The people who lived in luxury in Rome were
scattered more thinly than in any modern state of Europe. The
masses lived at all times more poorly and frugally because they
could do nothing else. Can we conceive that a war force of
untold millions of people is rendered effeminate by the luxury
of a few hundreds? . . . Too long have historians looked on the
rich and noble as marking the fate of the world. Half the Roman
Empire was made up of rough barbarians untouched by Greek or
Roman culture.

Whatever the remote and ultimate cause may have been, the
immediate cause to which the fall of the empire can be traced
is a physical, not a moral decay. In valor, discipline and
science the Roman armies remained what they had always been,
and the peasant emperors of Illyricum were worthy successors of
Cincinnatus and Calus Marius. But the problem was, how to
replenish those armies. Men were wanting. The empire perished
for want of men.'

[5] "Damitsprechend hat man das Wort `Ueberkultur' uberhaupt
erfunden, als wenn ein zu grosses Maass von Kultur uberhaupt
denkbar ware."

In a volume entitled "Race or Mongrel" published as I write
these pages, Dr. Alfred P. Schultz of New York, author of "The
End of Darwinism," takes essentially the same series of facts
as to the fall of Rome and draws from them a somewhat different
conclusion. In his judgment the cause was due to "bastardy," to
the mixing of Roman blood with that of neighboring and
subjective races. To my mind, bastardy was the result and not
the cause of Rome's decline, inferior and subject races having
been sucked into Rome to fill the vacuum left as the Romans
themselves perished in war. The continuous killing of the best
left room for the "post-Roman herd," who once sold the imperial
throne at auction to the highest bidder. As the Romans vanished
through warfare at home and abroad, came an inrush of foreign
blood from all regions roundabout. As Schultz graphically
states:

'The degeneration and depravity of the mongrels was so great
that they deified the emperors. And many of the emperors were
of a character so vile that their deification proves that the
post-Roman soul must have been more depraved than that of the
Egyptian mongrel, who deified nothing lower than dogs, cats,
crocodiles, bugs and vegetables.'

It must not be overlooked, however, that the Roman race was
never a pure race. It was a union of strong elements of
frontier democratic peoples, Sabines, Umbrians, Sicilians,
Etruscans, Greeks, being blended in republican Rome. Whatever
the origins, the worst outlived the best, mingling at last with
the odds and ends of Imperial slavery, the "Sewage of Races"
("cloaca gentium") left at the Fall.

Gibbon says:

'This diminutive stature of mankind was daily sinking below the
old standard and the Roman world was indeed peopled by a race
of pygmies when the fierce giants of the north broke in and
mended the puny breed. They restored the manly spirit of
freedom and after the revolutions of ten centuries, freedom
became the parent of taste and science.'

But again, the redeemed Italian was of no purer blood than the
post-Roman-Ostrogoth ancestry from which he sprang. The "puny
Roman" of the days of Theodoric owed his inheritance to the
cross of Roman weaklings with Roman slaves. He was not weak
because he was "mongrel" but because he sprang from bad stock
on both sides. The Ostrogoth and the Lombard who tyrannized
over him brought in a great strain of sterner stuff, followed
by crosses with captive and slave such as always accompany
conquest. To understand the fall of Rome one must consider the
disastrous effects of crossings of this sort. Neither can one
overlook the waste of war which made them inevitable through
the wholesale influx of inferior tribes. Neither can one speak
of the Roman, the Italian, the Spaniard, the French, the
Roumanian, nor of any of the so-called "Latin" peoples as
representing a simple pure stock, or as being, except in
language, direct descendants of those ancient Latins who
constituted the Roman Republic. The failure of Rome arose not
from hybridization, but from the wretched quality on both sides
of its mongrel stock, descendants of Romans unfit for war and
of base immigrants that had filled the vacancies.

Greece.–Once Greece led the world in intellectual pursuits, in
art, in poetry, in philosophy. A large and vital part of
European culture is rooted directly in the language and thought
of Athens. The most beautiful edifice in the world was the
Peace Palace of the Parthenon, erected by Pericles, to
celebrate the end of Greece's suicidal wars. This endured 2,187
years, to be wrecked at last (1687) in Turkish hands by the
Christian bombs of the Venetian Republic.

But the glory of Greece had passed away long before the fall of
the Parthenon. Its cause was the one cause of all such
downfalls–the extinction of strong men by war. At the best,
the civilization of Greece was built on slavery, one freeman to
ten slaves. And when the freemen were destroyed, the slaves, an
original Mediterranean stock, overspread the territory of
Hellas along with the Bulgarians, Albanians and Vlachs,
barbarians crowding down from the north.

The Grecian language still lives, the tongue of a spirited and
rising modern people. But the Greeks of the classic period–the
Hellenes of literature, art and philosophy–will never be known
again. Says Mr. W. H. Ireland:

'Most of the old Greek race has been swept away, and the
country is now inhabited by persons of Slavonic descent.
Indeed, there is a strong ground for the statement that there
was more of the old heroic blood of Hellas in the Turkish army
of Edhem Pasha than in the soldiers of King George.'

The modern Greek has been called a "Byzantinized Slav." King
George himself and Constantine his son are only aliens placed
on the Grecian throne to suit the convenience of outer powers,
being in fact descendants of tribes which to the ancient Greeks
were merely barbarians.

It is maintained that the modern Greeks are in the main the
descendants of the population that inhabited Greece in the
earlier centuries of Byzantine rule. Owing to the operation of
various causes, historical, social and economic, that
population was composed of many heterogeneous elements and
represented in very limited degree the race which repulsed the
Persians and built the Parthenon. The internecine conflicts of
the Greek communities, wars with foreign powers, and the deadly
struggles of factions in the various cities had to a large
extent obliterated the old race of free citizens by the
beginning of Roman period. The extermination of the Plataeans
by the Spartans and of the Melians by the Athenians during the
Peloponnesian war, the proscription of the Athenian citizens
after the war, the massacre of the Coreyrean oligarchs by the
democratic party, the slaughter of the Thebans by Alexander and
of the Corinthians by Mummius are among the more familiar
instances of the catastrophes which overtook the civic element
in the Greek cities. The void can only have been filled from
the ranks of the metics or resident aliens and of the
descendants of the far more numerous slave population. In the
classic period four fifths of the population of Attica were
slaves; of the remainder, half were meties In A.D. 100 only
three thousand free arm-bearing men were in Greece. (James D.
Bourchier.)

The constant little struggles of the Greeks among themselves
made no great showing as to numbers compared to other wars, but
they wiped out the most valuable people, the best blood, the
most promising heredity on earth. This cost the world more than
the killing of millions of barbarians. In two centuries there
were born under the shadow of the Parthenon more men of genius
than the Roman Empire had in its whole existence. Yet this
empire included all the civilized world, even Greece herself.
(La Pouge.)

The downfall of Greece,[6] like that of Rome, has been ascribed
by Schultz to the crossing of the Greeks with the barbaric
races which flocked into Hellas from every side. These resident
aliens, or metics, steadily increased in number as the free
Greeks disappeared. Selected slaves or helots were then made
free in order to furnish fighting men, and again as these fell
their places were taken by immigrants.

[6] Certain recent writers who find in environment the causes
of the rise and fall of nations, ascribe the failure of Greece
to the introduction in Athens and Sparta of the malaria-bearing
mosquito. As to the facts in question, we have little evidence.
But while the prevalence of malaria may have affected the
general activity of the people, it could in no way have
obliterated the mental leadership which made the strength of
classic Hellas, nor could it have injected its poison into the
stream of Greek heredity.

It is doubtless true at this day that "no race inhabits
Greece," and the main difference between Greeks and other
Balkan peoples is that, inhabiting the mountains and valleys of
Hellas, they speak in dialects of the ancient tongue.
Environment, except through selection and segregation, can not
alter race inheritance and the modern "Greeks" have not been
changed by it. Schultz observes:

'We are told that the Hellenes owed their greatness largely to
the country it was their fortune to dwell in. To that same
country, with the same wonderful coast line and harbors,
mountains and brooks, and the same sun of Homer, the modern
Greeks owe their nothingness.'

In other words, it is quite true that the Greece of Pericles
owed its strength to Greek blood, not to Hellenic scenery. When
all the good Greek blood was spent in suicidal wars, only
slaves and foreign-born were left. " 'Tis Greece, but living
Greece no more."[7]

[7] In contrasting a new race with the old–as the modern
Greeks with the incomparable Hellenes–we must not be unjust to
the men of to-day whose limitations are evident, contrasted
with a race we know mainly by its finest examples. In spite of
poverty, touchiness and vanity characteristic of the modern
Greek, there is good stuff in him. He is frank, hopeful,
enthusiastic. The mountain Greek, at least, knows the value of
freedom, and has more than once put up a brave fight for it.
The valleys breed subserviency, and the Greeks of Thessaly are
said to be less independent than the mountain-born.

Furthermore, we do not know that even the first Hellenes of
Mycenae were an unmixed race, or that any unmixed races ever
rose to such prominence as to command the world's attention. We
do know that when war depletes a nation slaves and foreigners
come in to fill the vacuum, and that the decline of a great
race in history has always been accompanied by a debasing of
its blood.

Yet out of this decadence natural selection may in time bring
forward better strains, and with normal conditions of security
and peace nature may begin again her work of recuperation.

In the fall of Greece we have another count against war,
scarcely realized until the facts of Louvain and Malines, of
Rheims and Ypres, have brought it again so vividly before us.
War respects nothing, while the human soul increasingly demands
veneration for its own noble and beautiful achievements. As I
write this, there rise before me the paintings in the "Neue
Pinakothek" at Munich, representing the twenty-one Cities of
Ancient Greece, from Sparta to Salamis, from Eleusis to
Corinth, not as they were, "in the glory which was Greece," not
as they are now, largely fishing hamlets by the blue Aegean
Sea, but as ruined arches and broken columns half hid in the
ashes of war, wars which blotted out Greece from world history.

ANTI-SUFFRAGISTS AND WAR

BY ELSIE CLEWS PARSONS

NEW YORK CITY

ONE of the most curious of those misstatements of fact and
confusions of thought the conservative seems even more prone to
make than the radical has to do with a certain suppositiously
historical relation between women and war. It is assumed[1]
that early society is ever militant and that because of its
militarism it excludes women, women not being fighters, not
only from its government, but from all its privileges, even
making of them its drudges and its beasts of burden. And so,
argues the conservative, women are for the same reasons
disfranchised, and properly disfranchised, to-day. Whether more
or less militant than it was, society is still founded on
force, and because women are not as strong as men, men will not
give them the vote. Besides it is only right, since they can
not fight, they should not vote. It has always been so, and so
it should continue to be, at any rate until war becomes a thing
of the past, and that will never be, you can't change human
nature, etc., etc.

[1] And, let us admit, not merely by the conservative
anti-feminist. As radical and discerning a feminist as Thomas
Wentworth Higginson, after asserting that physical strength was
once "sole ruler," cites in agreement Walter Bagehot's
reference to "the contempt for physical weakness and for women
which marks early society." ("Women and the Alphabet," p. 49.
Boston and New York, 1900.)

There are of course various answers to this militarist
anti-suffrage argument, answers which in spite of the logic of
current events are still likely to be satisfactory or not
according to previous convictions, but the only point I wish to
challenge is the appeal in this connection to the past. Let the
militarist anti-suffragist assert his belief in government by
force if he likes, but let him not try to justify it by the
precedents of primitive life. Nor may he–or she–explain the
exclusion of women to-day as a survival of their subjection in
primitive society to brute force. The government of primitive
society is not based on physical prowess, and although modern
woman is excluded from men's activities for the same reason as
primitive woman was excluded, the reason is not muscular
inferiority.

It is a pity in the feminist controversies of the last hundred
years or so that the "exclusion of women" did not become a more
popular phrase than the "subjection of women." That term gave a
fallacious twist both to observation and analysis. Primitive
and modern men alike commonly EXCLUDE women, they seldom
subject them. Similarly, in some societies, children and young
people, all in fact but the elderly, are treated to methods of
exclusion rather than of subjection.

Early society is dominated by the elders; its practices and
customs have been determined by them and, in the most primitive
society, government is nothing but a gerontocracy, a government
of old men. Even with chieftaincy the council of the elders is
weighty and the heads of households have considerable
influence. Are the elders the fighters or raiders of the tribe?
No, they are its judges, its legislators and, most important of
all, its magicians. Nor is the chief or king the fighter par
excellence of the tribe. But he too may be and often is the
tribal magician. Through their powers of magic elders and
chiefs are responsible for the weather, for the reproduction of
plants and animals, for the success of the crops, of hunts and
catches, for the health and general welfare of the people. And
in war? In war they are the most important personages too.
Because they fight? No, because in war too they make magic;
they charm the approaches to the village, they "doctor" the
trails or the weapons or the canoes, they make war medicine,
they invoke and propitiate the war gods. The warriors are the
younger men, men whose efforts would be vain without the
backing of their magic-working seniors or chiefs. The elders
make peace and declare war. And it is at their dictate that the
young men take to head-hunting or to raiding or even to
stealing women.

As to the subjection of women, what exists of it the elders are
responsible for. It is they who scare a girl or shame her into
being docile. It is they who marry her off against her will, it
is they who set her unending tasks or shut her up in idleness.
It is they who make her undergo the discomforts or miseries of
what we call conventional life or bully her into exile or
death.

With this control of girls or women the warriors, the "standing
army," have little or nothing to do, even less in primitive
life than in modern. It is the old people, the old women at
times as well as the old men. Again it is the old men who are
leaders in the exclusion of the women. In control of the
initiation of the youths, they separate them from their mothers
or sisters and often decree for the initiates a ceremonial
avoidance of all women for a set time. The penalties they
threaten–sickness, decrepitude, effeminacy–are too dire to
pass unheeded. This "avoidance" has been explained as due to
the monopolistic spirit of the elders. With their women they
want no interference by the youths. But a far more plausible
explanation, I think, takes the avoidance as a concentration
rite, so to speak, a symbol, if you like, of the life ahead,
the life in which the boys, "made" men, are going to have
little to do in public with women. For even after the special
avoidance of the initiation period ends, the segregation of the
sexes continues. Men keep together and away from women in their
club-houses, and in all the places of assembly which are
differentiated from the primitive club-house–the church, the
council, the workshop, the gymnasium, the university, the
play-house. And from all the interests which center in these
places men have from time to time excluded women, they have
excluded them from magic and religion, from arts and letters,
from games, from politics and, let me add, from war.

Why are men so exclusive? Because–the reason will seem almost
too simple, I fear, for acceptance–because now and always men
do not want to be bothered by women. Women get in our way, they
say, women are a nuisance. Almost anywhere away from home women
are a nuisance–in church organization, in the university, in
business, etc. Of course if women can be kept apart from us in
these activities and will stay in their place, if they join an
order of nuns or deaconesses, if they go to a separate college
in the university, if they will become good stenographers, we
don't mind having their cooperation, we welcome it. Women may
even go to war–as an absolutely separate division of the army,
said the men of Dahomi, as non-combatant pahia women or workers
of magic, said the Roro-speaking tribesmen of New Guinea, or as
Red (dross nurses, say the men of Europe and America. If we men
can be sure women will not interfere with us, we really do not
mind. Women have only to give us that assurance of
non-interference to make us doubt the assertion we sometimes
make that in going to war they are interfering with the order
of nature.

AN INTERPRETATION OF SLAVOPHILISM

BY ARTHUR D. REES

PHILADELPHIA, PA.

THERE are good reasons for believing that the Russians are
practically the greatest peace people in Christendom. They are
the least commercial in the competitive sense, the least
capitalistic also, and as a people, the least combative in
Europe, despite the wrecks of warring dynasties that ten
centuries have left upon their plains and the miscellaneous
strifes and calamities of all kinds that have beset them.

Always expanding along lines of least resistance; absorbing by
comparatively petty conquests, decaying or scanty peoples;
reaching Kamchatka in the Far East with more ease than she
reached the shores of the Baltic; never flinging her legions
far and wide victoriously as did Rome, Spain, France or Great
Britain–Russia remains to-day, for the most part, humble, and,
in reality, a conquered people, living, dreaming and preaching
a morality born both of this humility and of the physical
environment that has helped to foster it. All Muscovy can not
be judged by those few who live in the saddle–the Cossack
population, men and women, numbers only about two million–nor
by the pitiable pageant of despotism the observer beholds in
their land: pogroms, poverty, disease, distress, militarism,
orthodoxy and Pan-Slavism. Russia has a soul in spite of these;
a gentle and beautiful soul, only half revealed, and too much
concealed by her dilapidation and her dilemma; a peaceful soul,
abnormally humble and devout, and in respect to these qualities
unequalled in Christendom.

Since the age of Vladimir the Holy, "The Beautiful Sun of
Kief," in the tenth century, Russia has had the tradition of
international peace. Vladimir wandered over the country, sword
and battle ax in hand, like a reincarnation of Thor, armed with
his mighty and wondrous hammer. Then came his yearning for a
new religion–something to inspire his life better than
Perun–Russia's old god of thunder–and the other idols, and a
little later, the picturesque investigation of his peripatetic
commissioners having been completed, he became a Christian of
the Greek church, was baptized with many fine and grand
ceremonies, compelled his docile people to do likewise, and,
like a true Northman that he was–the great grandson of Rurik
of the Baltic wilds–he so impressed his frowsy hordes, half
Scythian and half Slav, that now in the hearts of their
descendants, in their popular songs and legends, in those
concerning Kief especially–a beautiful and pathetic strain of
music eight centuries old–he, Vladimir, is still the central
heroic figure; once a man, but now a kind of god, sent from
Heaven to rule, enlighten and bring peace to his people and be
known in story and song as "Vladimir the Holy, the Beautiful
Sun of Kief."

An old chronicle describes for us how his hordes drank their
cup of trembling at his hands. There, around about the low
hills of the southern Dnieper River, probably on the crumbling
sandstone cliffs of Kief–the city, studded with jewel-like
legends and famed for its "golden palaces," stood his
candidates for baptism; near by were priests from
Constantinople, gorgeously arrayed, chanting, in strains
unknown to the populace, the Greek church baptismal service.
Then the democratic immersion!–rich man, poor man and all, at
Vladimir's command, wade into the baptismal waters, some up to
their knees, some to their waists, some to their necks, and,
thus finding a new faith from Heaven, they crossed themselves
for the first time as the thunder rolled on high! Here is
Russia remembering her Creator in the days of her youth–and
forgetting Him ever since; from then on, Holy Russia! Possibly
Holy Vladimir, at any rate, for becoming, with that ceremony,
peaceable, except for self-defence, he gave up all of his idols
and his aggressive sword. The former he scourged and cast into
the river, the latter he sheathed in its scabbard. And all this
about 988–the first peace movement of Holy Russia. The faith
of it, and its vision and dream came early in her history and
have not yet gone out or been extinguished.

Before the next such movement, time enough passed by to give
the seasons and the winds and rains full opportunity to whittle
down old Kief's storied sandstone hills. In 1815, the
much-expanded realm of Muscovy, then a partner in the holy
alliance, proclaimed under Alexander the First, the ideal of
peace. This Czar declared he would rule as a father over his
children and in the interest of "justice, charity and peace,"
and, in so doing, created the leading precedent for the peace
program of Nicolas the Second.

Alexander, who in the first half of his reign ruled liberally
for the days of Napoleonic supremacy, no doubt was sincere in
his desire to govern in the "spirit of brotherhood," but in the
latter years of his power, he fell sadly short of this
standard.

Alexander the Second, the emancipator of forty-six million
serfs, may have had some world peace ideal in mind when he in
1874 promoted a conference in Brussels to codify the usages of
war, but the reaction from his earlier liberalism was setting
in about this time and, growing worse, led to his assassination
in 1881.

The next move in the direction of peace came, as the world
rather well knows, through the present Czar, Nicolas the
Second, who on ascending the throne in 1894, proclaimed that
Russia would rule in the interests of peace and would cultivate
the arts of it. In 1898 followed the first call for a World
Peace Conference, and in 1899 came another circular with a
similar object.

But it is out of the kind heart of Muscovy, and from the
troubled, humble and penitent soul of Russia that the real
peace movement of her land has arisen. For many centuries
calamities have been pouring upon her plains, profusely
pouring–drought, famine and invasions without number; now
Rurik and his Northmen to start the empire out of its
prehistoric lethargy; their dynasty of conquering blood still
sharing in the rulership of the land to-day; now the Tartars,
remnants of whom with their high cheek bones are still visible
in the Baltic provinces; particularly and always and ever
poverty beyond description; poverty, disaster and conquest,
like triple demons to humiliate the soul of Russia and keep her
dumb for many centuries, except for the beauty of her unending
song.

And out of these conditions of life has grown the peace
morality that is native to the Russian people; out of their
sorrows and their conquered plains, out of their broken hearts
too, although the economic genesis of it all is very apparent.

The Russian people's Russia has ever been under the overlords
heel, downtrodden years without number, and yet it is a land
which has never produced a system of military tactics and
training–forever dependent for these creations upon her
neighbors; a land which has produced scarcely one great naval
or military commander who to-day holds a place in history as do
those of other nations; a land whose people have been usually
led to slaughter like sheep by Northman or Teutonic or Polish
generals; whose armies have never been noted for their great
campaigns, and always have been poorly drilled, managed and
fed, and never yet successful in any foreign wars. Surely from
such a land as this, no widespread war-morality or
world-conquering legions could come.

In fact the very reverse has come to pass: the philosophy of
Slavophilism has arisen in Muscovy, yet not so much arisen as
it has developed with the Russian soul, not as a thing apart,
but as a quality thereof, blossoming somehow with all other
Russian things, out of the primitive Scythian darkness. The
rebellious spirit having been crushed out of the generations
since, what is left but non-resistance? Yet in these latter
years a resisting spirit, nursed and suckled largely in western
Europe, has falsely made it appear that all Russia was in arms,
storming with chaotic unity at the church, the state and the
army, deluging their ancient customs with the destructive and
re-creative might of radicalism. Far and wide of the truth is
this! Let no one think the vast heart of Russia has changed!
Only the few have cast away the ancient quiet; only the few
have the modern consciousness instead of the medieval,
theocratic one; only the few are not at heart Slavophiles in
feeling and in morality.

This philosophy existed long in the national or social mind
before it was crystallized into public doctrines, and exists
even yet largely in its more primitive unworded or instinctive
form, although it was Peter the Great who unconsciously awoke
the latent and then unexpressed Slavophilic feelings and
moralities when he, like a civilizing Pied Piper, charmed the
chieftains of industry of Western Europe to follow his trail
into Muscovy, his "Empire of Little Villages," and there
regenerate them.

The Scarlet Letter

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Contents

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE
THE SCARLET LETTER
I. THE PRISON DOOR
II. THE MARKET-PLACE
III. THE RECOGNITION
IV. THE INTERVIEW
V. HESTER AT HER NEEDLE
VI. PEARL
VII. THE GOVERNOR’S HALL
VIII. THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER
IX. THE LEECH
X. THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT
XI. THE INTERIOR OF A HEART
XII. THE MINISTER’S VIGIL
XIII. ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER
XIV. HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN
XV. HESTER AND PEARL
XVI. A FOREST WALK
XVII. THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER
XVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE
XIX. THE CHILD AT THE BROOKSIDE
XX. THE MINISTER IN A MAZE
XXI. THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY
XXII. THE PROCESSION
XXIII. THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER
XXIV. CONCLUSION

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE

INTRODUCTORY TO “THE SCARLET LETTER”

It is a little remarkable, that—though disinclined to talk overmuch of
myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my personal friends—an
autobiographical impulse should twice in my life have taken possession
of me, in addressing the public. The first time was three or four years
since, when I favoured the reader—inexcusably, and for no earthly
reason that either the indulgent reader or the intrusive author could
imagine—with a description of my way of life in the deep quietude of an
Old Manse. And now—because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enough to
find a listener or two on the former occasion—I again seize the public
by the button, and talk of my three years’ experience in a
Custom-House. The example of the famous “P. P., Clerk of this Parish,”
was never more faithfully followed. The truth seems to be, however,
that when he casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author
addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take
it up, but the few who will understand him better than most of his
schoolmates or lifemates. Some authors, indeed, do far more than this,
and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as
could fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and
mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on
the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the
writer’s own nature, and complete his circle of existence by bringing
him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak
all, even where we speak impersonally. But, as thoughts are frozen and
utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with
his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and
apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk;
and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness,
we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of
ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil. To this extent,
and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical,
without violating either the reader’s rights or his own.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has a certain
propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as explaining how
a large portion of the following pages came into my possession, and as
offering proofs of the authenticity of a narrative therein contained.
This, in fact—a desire to put myself in my true position as editor, or
very little more, of the most prolix among the tales that make up my
volume—this, and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal
relation with the public. In accomplishing the main purpose, it has
appeared allowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint
representation of a mode of life not heretofore described, together
with some of the characters that move in it, among whom the author
happened to make one.

In my native town of Salem, at the head of what, half a century ago, in
the days of old King Derby, was a bustling wharf—but which is now
burdened with decayed wooden warehouses, and exhibits few or no
symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps, a bark or brig, half-way
down its melancholy length, discharging hides; or, nearer at hand, a
Nova Scotia schooner, pitching out her cargo of firewood—at the head, I
say, of this dilapidated wharf, which the tide often overflows, and
along which, at the base and in the rear of the row of buildings, the
track of many languid years is seen in a border of unthrifty
grass—here, with a view from its front windows adown this not very
enlivening prospect, and thence across the harbour, stands a spacious
edifice of brick. From the loftiest point of its roof, during precisely
three and a half hours of each forenoon, floats or droops, in breeze or
calm, the banner of the republic; but with the thirteen stripes turned
vertically, instead of horizontally, and thus indicating that a civil,
and not a military, post of Uncle Sam’s government is here established.
Its front is ornamented with a portico of half-a-dozen wooden pillars,
supporting a balcony, beneath which a flight of wide granite steps
descends towards the street. Over the entrance hovers an enormous
specimen of the American eagle, with outspread wings, a shield before
her breast, and, if I recollect aright, a bunch of intermingled
thunderbolts and barbed arrows in each claw. With the customary
infirmity of temper that characterizes this unhappy fowl, she appears
by the fierceness of her beak and eye, and the general truculency of
her attitude, to threaten mischief to the inoffensive community; and
especially to warn all citizens careful of their safety against
intruding on the premises which she overshadows with her wings.
Nevertheless, vixenly as she looks, many people are seeking at this
very moment to shelter themselves under the wing of the federal eagle;
imagining, I presume, that her bosom has all the softness and snugness
of an eiderdown pillow. But she has no great tenderness even in her
best of moods, and, sooner or later—oftener soon than late—is apt to
fling off her nestlings with a scratch of her claw, a dab of her beak,
or a rankling wound from her barbed arrows.

The pavement round about the above-described edifice—which we may as
well name at once as the Custom-House of the port—has grass enough
growing in its chinks to show that it has not, of late days, been worn
by any multitudinous resort of business. In some months of the year,
however, there often chances a forenoon when affairs move onward with a
livelier tread. Such occasions might remind the elderly citizen of that
period, before the last war with England, when Salem was a port by
itself; not scorned, as she is now, by her own merchants and
ship-owners, who permit her wharves to crumble to ruin while their
ventures go to swell, needlessly and imperceptibly, the mighty flood of
commerce at New York or Boston. On some such morning, when three or
four vessels happen to have arrived at once usually from Africa or
South America—or to be on the verge of their departure thitherward,
there is a sound of frequent feet passing briskly up and down the
granite steps. Here, before his own wife has greeted him, you may greet
the sea-flushed ship-master, just in port, with his vessel’s papers
under his arm in a tarnished tin box. Here, too, comes his owner,
cheerful, sombre, gracious or in the sulks, accordingly as his scheme
of the now accomplished voyage has been realized in merchandise that
will readily be turned to gold, or has buried him under a bulk of
incommodities such as nobody will care to rid him of. Here,
likewise—the germ of the wrinkle-browed, grizzly-bearded, careworn
merchant—we have the smart young clerk, who gets the taste of traffic
as a wolf-cub does of blood, and already sends adventures in his
master’s ships, when he had better be sailing mimic boats upon a
mill-pond. Another figure in the scene is the outward-bound sailor, in
quest of a protection; or the recently arrived one, pale and feeble,
seeking a passport to the hospital. Nor must we forget the captains of
the rusty little schooners that bring firewood from the British
provinces; a rough-looking set of tarpaulins, without the alertness of
the Yankee aspect, but contributing an item of no slight importance to
our decaying trade.

Cluster all these individuals together, as they sometimes were, with
other miscellaneous ones to diversify the group, and, for the time
being, it made the Custom-House a stirring scene. More frequently,
however, on ascending the steps, you would discern— in the entry if it
were summer time, or in their appropriate rooms if wintry or inclement
weathers—a row of venerable figures, sitting in old-fashioned chairs,
which were tipped on their hind legs back against the wall. Oftentimes
they were asleep, but occasionally might be heard talking together, in
voices between a speech and a snore, and with that lack of energy that
distinguishes the occupants of alms-houses, and all other human beings
who depend for subsistence on charity, on monopolized labour, or
anything else but their own independent exertions. These old
gentlemen—seated, like Matthew at the receipt of custom, but not very
liable to be summoned thence, like him, for apostolic errands—were
Custom-House officers.

Furthermore, on the left hand as you enter the front door, is a certain
room or office, about fifteen feet square, and of a lofty height, with
two of its arched windows commanding a view of the aforesaid
dilapidated wharf, and the third looking across a narrow lane, and
along a portion of Derby Street. All three give glimpses of the shops
of grocers, block-makers, slop-sellers, and ship-chandlers, around the
doors of which are generally to be seen, laughing and gossiping,
clusters of old salts, and such other wharf-rats as haunt the Wapping
of a seaport. The room itself is cobwebbed, and dingy with old paint;
its floor is strewn with grey sand, in a fashion that has elsewhere
fallen into long disuse; and it is easy to conclude, from the general
slovenliness of the place, that this is a sanctuary into which
womankind, with her tools of magic, the broom and mop, has very
infrequent access. In the way of furniture, there is a stove with a
voluminous funnel; an old pine desk with a three-legged stool beside
it; two or three wooden-bottom chairs, exceedingly decrepit and infirm;
and—not to forget the library—on some shelves, a score or two of
volumes of the Acts of Congress, and a bulky Digest of the Revenue
laws. A tin pipe ascends through the ceiling, and forms a medium of
vocal communication with other parts of the edifice. And here, some six
months ago—pacing from corner to corner, or lounging on the long-legged
stool, with his elbow on the desk, and his eyes wandering up and down
the columns of the morning newspaper—you might have recognised,
honoured reader, the same individual who welcomed you into his cheery
little study, where the sunshine glimmered so pleasantly through the
willow branches on the western side of the Old Manse. But now, should
you go thither to seek him, you would inquire in vain for the Locofoco
Surveyor. The besom of reform hath swept him out of office, and a
worthier successor wears his dignity and pockets his emoluments.

This old town of Salem—my native place, though I have dwelt much away
from it both in boyhood and maturer years—possesses, or did possess, a
hold on my affection, the force of which I have never realized during
my seasons of actual residence here. Indeed, so far as its physical
aspect is concerned, with its flat, unvaried surface, covered chiefly
with wooden houses, few or none of which pretend to architectural
beauty—its irregularity, which is neither picturesque nor quaint, but
only tame—its long and lazy street, lounging wearisomely through the
whole extent of the peninsula, with Gallows Hill and New Guinea at one
end, and a view of the alms-house at the other—such being the features
of my native town, it would be quite as reasonable to form a
sentimental attachment to a disarranged checker-board. And yet, though
invariably happiest elsewhere, there is within me a feeling for Old
Salem, which, in lack of a better phrase, I must be content to call
affection. The sentiment is probably assignable to the deep and aged
roots which my family has stuck into the soil. It is now nearly two
centuries and a quarter since the original Briton, the earliest
emigrant of my name, made his appearance in the wild and
forest-bordered settlement which has since become a city. And here his
descendants have been born and died, and have mingled their earthly
substance with the soil, until no small portion of it must necessarily
be akin to the mortal frame wherewith, for a little while, I walk the
streets. In part, therefore, the attachment which I speak of is the
mere sensuous sympathy of dust for dust. Few of my countrymen can know
what it is; nor, as frequent transplantation is perhaps better for the
stock, need they consider it desirable to know.

But the sentiment has likewise its moral quality. The figure of that
first ancestor, invested by family tradition with a dim and dusky
grandeur, was present to my boyish imagination as far back as I can
remember. It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with
the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of
the town. I seem to have a stronger claim to a residence here on
account of this grave, bearded, sable-cloaked, and steeple-crowned
progenitor—who came so early, with his Bible and his sword, and trode
the unworn street with such a stately port, and made so large a figure,
as a man of war and peace—a stronger claim than for myself, whose name
is seldom heard and my face hardly known. He was a soldier, legislator,
judge; he was a ruler in the Church; he had all the Puritanic traits,
both good and evil. He was likewise a bitter persecutor; as witness the
Quakers, who have remembered him in their histories, and relate an
incident of his hard severity towards a woman of their sect, which will
last longer, it is to be feared, than any record of his better deeds,
although these were many. His son, too, inherited the persecuting
spirit, and made himself so conspicuous in the martyrdom of the
witches, that their blood may fairly be said to have left a stain upon
him. So deep a stain, indeed, that his dry old bones, in the
Charter-street burial-ground, must still retain it, if they have not
crumbled utterly to dust! I know not whether these ancestors of mine
bethought themselves to repent, and ask pardon of Heaven for their
cruelties; or whether they are now groaning under the heavy
consequences of them in another state of being. At all events, I, the
present writer, as their representative, hereby take shame upon myself
for their sakes, and pray that any curse incurred by them—as I have
heard, and as the dreary and unprosperous condition of the race, for
many a long year back, would argue to exist—may be now and henceforth
removed.

Doubtless, however, either of these stern and black-browed Puritans
would have thought it quite a sufficient retribution for his sins that,
after so long a lapse of years, the old trunk of the family tree, with
so much venerable moss upon it, should have borne, as its topmost
bough, an idler like myself. No aim that I have ever cherished would
they recognise as laudable; no success of mine—if my life, beyond its
domestic scope, had ever been brightened by success—would they deem
otherwise than worthless, if not positively disgraceful. “What is he?”
murmurs one grey shadow of my forefathers to the other. “A writer of
story books! What kind of business in life—what mode of glorifying God,
or being serviceable to mankind in his day and generation—may that be?
Why, the degenerate fellow might as well have been a fiddler!” Such are
the compliments bandied between my great grandsires and myself, across
the gulf of time! And yet, let them scorn me as they will, strong
traits of their nature have intertwined themselves with mine.

Planted deep, in the town’s earliest infancy and childhood, by these
two earnest and energetic men, the race has ever since subsisted here;
always, too, in respectability; never, so far as I have known,
disgraced by a single unworthy member; but seldom or never, on the
other hand, after the first two generations, performing any memorable
deed, or so much as putting forward a claim to public notice.
Gradually, they have sunk almost out of sight; as old houses, here and
there about the streets, get covered half-way to the eaves by the
accumulation of new soil. From father to son, for above a hundred
years, they followed the sea; a grey-headed shipmaster, in each
generation, retiring from the quarter-deck to the homestead, while a
boy of fourteen took the hereditary place before the mast, confronting
the salt spray and the gale which had blustered against his sire and
grandsire. The boy, also in due time, passed from the forecastle to the
cabin, spent a tempestuous manhood, and returned from his
world-wanderings, to grow old, and die, and mingle his dust with the
natal earth. This long connexion of a family with one spot, as its
place of birth and burial, creates a kindred between the human being
and the locality, quite independent of any charm in the scenery or
moral circumstances that surround him. It is not love but instinct. The
new inhabitant—who came himself from a foreign land, or whose father or
grandfather came—has little claim to be called a Salemite; he has no
conception of the oyster-like tenacity with which an old settler, over
whom his third century is creeping, clings to the spot where his
successive generations have been embedded. It is no matter that the
place is joyless for him; that he is weary of the old wooden houses,
the mud and dust, the dead level of site and sentiment, the chill east
wind, and the chillest of social atmospheres;—all these, and whatever
faults besides he may see or imagine, are nothing to the purpose. The
spell survives, and just as powerfully as if the natal spot were an
earthly paradise. So has it been in my case. I felt it almost as a
destiny to make Salem my home; so that the mould of features and cast
of character which had all along been familiar here—ever, as one
representative of the race lay down in the grave, another assuming, as
it were, his sentry-march along the main street—might still in my
little day be seen and recognised in the old town. Nevertheless, this
very sentiment is an evidence that the connexion, which has become an
unhealthy one, should at last be severed. Human nature will not
flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and re-planted, for
too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My
children have had other birth-places, and, so far as their fortunes may
be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.

On emerging from the Old Manse, it was chiefly this strange, indolent,
unjoyous attachment for my native town that brought me to fill a place
in Uncle Sam’s brick edifice, when I might as well, or better, have
gone somewhere else. My doom was on me. It was not the first time, nor
the second, that I had gone away—as it seemed, permanently—but yet
returned, like the bad halfpenny, or as if Salem were for me the
inevitable centre of the universe. So, one fine morning I ascended the
flight of granite steps, with the President’s commission in my pocket,
and was introduced to the corps of gentlemen who were to aid me in my
weighty responsibility as chief executive officer of the Custom-House.

I doubt greatly—or, rather, I do not doubt at all—whether any public
functionary of the United States, either in the civil or military line,
has ever had such a patriarchal body of veterans under his orders as
myself. The whereabouts of the Oldest Inhabitant was at once settled
when I looked at them. For upwards of twenty years before this epoch,
the independent position of the Collector had kept the Salem
Custom-House out of the whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes
the tenure of office generally so fragile. A soldier—New England’s most
distinguished soldier—he stood firmly on the pedestal of his gallant
services; and, himself secure in the wise liberality of the successive
administrations through which he had held office, he had been the
safety of his subordinates in many an hour of danger and heart-quake.
General Miller was radically conservative; a man over whose kindly
nature habit had no slight influence; attaching himself strongly to
familiar faces, and with difficulty moved to change, even when change
might have brought unquestionable improvement. Thus, on taking charge
of my department, I found few but aged men. They were ancient
sea-captains, for the most part, who, after being tossed on every sea,
and standing up sturdily against life’s tempestuous blast, had finally
drifted into this quiet nook, where, with little to disturb them,
except the periodical terrors of a Presidential election, they one and
all acquired a new lease of existence. Though by no means less liable
than their fellow-men to age and infirmity, they had evidently some
talisman or other that kept death at bay. Two or three of their number,
as I was assured, being gouty and rheumatic, or perhaps bed-ridden,
never dreamed of making their appearance at the Custom-House during a
large part of the year; but, after a torpid winter, would creep out
into the warm sunshine of May or June, go lazily about what they termed
duty, and, at their own leisure and convenience, betake themselves to
bed again. I must plead guilty to the charge of abbreviating the
official breath of more than one of these venerable servants of the
republic. They were allowed, on my representation, to rest from their
arduous labours, and soon afterwards—as if their sole principle of life
had been zeal for their country’s service—as I verily believe it
was—withdrew to a better world. It is a pious consolation to me that,
through my interference, a sufficient space was allowed them for
repentance of the evil and corrupt practices into which, as a matter of
course, every Custom-House officer must be supposed to fall. Neither
the front nor the back entrance of the Custom-House opens on the road
to Paradise.

The greater part of my officers were Whigs. It was well for their
venerable brotherhood that the new Surveyor was not a politician, and
though a faithful Democrat in principle, neither received nor held his
office with any reference to political services. Had it been
otherwise—had an active politician been put into this influential post,
to assume the easy task of making head against a Whig Collector, whose
infirmities withheld him from the personal administration of his
office—hardly a man of the old corps would have drawn the breath of
official life within a month after the exterminating angel had come up
the Custom-House steps. According to the received code in such matters,
it would have been nothing short of duty, in a politician, to bring
every one of those white heads under the axe of the guillotine. It was
plain enough to discern that the old fellows dreaded some such
discourtesy at my hands. It pained, and at the same time amused me, to
behold the terrors that attended my advent, to see a furrowed cheek,
weather-beaten by half a century of storm, turn ashy pale at the glance
of so harmless an individual as myself; to detect, as one or another
addressed me, the tremor of a voice which, in long-past days, had been
wont to bellow through a speaking-trumpet, hoarsely enough to frighten
Boreas himself to silence. They knew, these excellent old persons,
that, by all established rule—and, as regarded some of them, weighed by
their own lack of efficiency for business—they ought to have given
place to younger men, more orthodox in politics, and altogether fitter
than themselves to serve our common Uncle. I knew it, too, but could
never quite find in my heart to act upon the knowledge. Much and
deservedly to my own discredit, therefore, and considerably to the
detriment of my official conscience, they continued, during my
incumbency, to creep about the wharves, and loiter up and down the
Custom-House steps. They spent a good deal of time, also, asleep in
their accustomed corners, with their chairs tilted back against the
walls; awaking, however, once or twice in the forenoon, to bore one
another with the several thousandth repetition of old sea-stories and
mouldy jokes, that had grown to be passwords and countersigns among
them.

The discovery was soon made, I imagine, that the new Surveyor had no
great harm in him. So, with lightsome hearts and the happy
consciousness of being usefully employed—in their own behalf at least,
if not for our beloved country—these good old gentlemen went through
the various formalities of office. Sagaciously under their spectacles,
did they peep into the holds of vessels. Mighty was their fuss about
little matters, and marvellous, sometimes, the obtuseness that allowed
greater ones to slip between their fingers! Whenever such a mischance
occurred—when a waggon-load of valuable merchandise had been smuggled
ashore, at noonday, perhaps, and directly beneath their unsuspicious
noses—nothing could exceed the vigilance and alacrity with which they
proceeded to lock, and double-lock, and secure with tape and
sealing-wax, all the avenues of the delinquent vessel. Instead of a
reprimand for their previous negligence, the case seemed rather to
require an eulogium on their praiseworthy caution after the mischief
had happened; a grateful recognition of the promptitude of their zeal
the moment that there was no longer any remedy.

Unless people are more than commonly disagreeable, it is my foolish
habit to contract a kindness for them. The better part of my
companion’s character, if it have a better part, is that which usually
comes uppermost in my regard, and forms the type whereby I recognise
the man. As most of these old Custom-House officers had good traits,
and as my position in reference to them, being paternal and protective,
was favourable to the growth of friendly sentiments, I soon grew to
like them all. It was pleasant in the summer forenoons—when the fervent
heat, that almost liquefied the rest of the human family, merely
communicated a genial warmth to their half torpid systems—it was
pleasant to hear them chatting in the back entry, a row of them all
tipped against the wall, as usual; while the frozen witticisms of past
generations were thawed out, and came bubbling with laughter from their
lips. Externally, the jollity of aged men has much in common with the
mirth of children; the intellect, any more than a deep sense of humour,
has little to do with the matter; it is, with both, a gleam that plays
upon the surface, and imparts a sunny and cheery aspect alike to the
green branch and grey, mouldering trunk. In one case, however, it is
real sunshine; in the other, it more resembles the phosphorescent glow
of decaying wood.

It would be sad injustice, the reader must understand, to represent all
my excellent old friends as in their dotage. In the first place, my
coadjutors were not invariably old; there were men among them in their
strength and prime, of marked ability and energy, and altogether
superior to the sluggish and dependent mode of life on which their evil
stars had cast them. Then, moreover, the white locks of age were
sometimes found to be the thatch of an intellectual tenement in good
repair. But, as respects the majority of my corps of veterans, there
will be no wrong done if I characterize them generally as a set of
wearisome old souls, who had gathered nothing worth preservation from
their varied experience of life. They seemed to have flung away all the
golden grain of practical wisdom, which they had enjoyed so many
opportunities of harvesting, and most carefully to have stored their
memory with the husks. They spoke with far more interest and unction of
their morning’s breakfast, or yesterday’s, today’s, or tomorrow’s
dinner, than of the shipwreck of forty or fifty years ago, and all the
world’s wonders which they had witnessed with their youthful eyes.

The father of the Custom-House—the patriarch, not only of this little
squad of officials, but, I am bold to say, of the respectable body of
tide-waiters all over the United States—was a certain permanent
Inspector. He might truly be termed a legitimate son of the revenue
system, dyed in the wool, or rather born in the purple; since his sire,
a Revolutionary colonel, and formerly collector of the port, had
created an office for him, and appointed him to fill it, at a period of
the early ages which few living men can now remember. This Inspector,
when I first knew him, was a man of fourscore years, or thereabouts,
and certainly one of the most wonderful specimens of winter-green that
you would be likely to discover in a lifetime’s search. With his florid
cheek, his compact figure smartly arrayed in a bright-buttoned blue
coat, his brisk and vigorous step, and his hale and hearty aspect,
altogether he seemed—not young, indeed—but a kind of new contrivance of
Mother Nature in the shape of man, whom age and infirmity had no
business to touch. His voice and laugh, which perpetually re-echoed
through the Custom-House, had nothing of the tremulous quaver and
cackle of an old man’s utterance; they came strutting out of his lungs,
like the crow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion. Looking at him
merely as an animal—and there was very little else to look at—he was a
most satisfactory object, from the thorough healthfulness and
wholesomeness of his system, and his capacity, at that extreme age, to
enjoy all, or nearly all, the delights which he had ever aimed at or
conceived of. The careless security of his life in the Custom-House, on
a regular income, and with but slight and infrequent apprehensions of
removal, had no doubt contributed to make time pass lightly over him.
The original and more potent causes, however, lay in the rare
perfection of his animal nature, the moderate proportion of intellect,
and the very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients;
these latter qualities, indeed, being in barely enough measure to keep
the old gentleman from walking on all-fours. He possessed no power of
thought, no depth of feeling, no troublesome sensibilities: nothing, in
short, but a few commonplace instincts, which, aided by the cheerful
temper which grew inevitably out of his physical well-being, did duty
very respectably, and to general acceptance, in lieu of a heart. He had
been the husband of three wives, all long since dead; the father of
twenty children, most of whom, at every age of childhood or maturity,
had likewise returned to dust. Here, one would suppose, might have been
sorrow enough to imbue the sunniest disposition through and through
with a sable tinge. Not so with our old Inspector. One brief sigh
sufficed to carry off the entire burden of these dismal reminiscences.
The next moment he was as ready for sport as any unbreeched infant: far
readier than the Collector’s junior clerk, who at nineteen years was
much the elder and graver man of the two.

I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with, I think,
livelier curiosity than any other form of humanity there presented to
my notice. He was, in truth, a rare phenomenon; so perfect, in one
point of view; so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable such an absolute
nonentity, in every other. My conclusion was that he had no soul, no
heart, no mind; nothing, as I have already said, but instincts; and
yet, withal, so cunningly had the few materials of his character been
put together that there was no painful perception of deficiency, but,
on my part, an entire contentment with what I found in him. It might be
difficult—and it was so—to conceive how he should exist hereafter, so
earthly and sensuous did he seem; but surely his existence here,
admitting that it was to terminate with his last breath, had been not
unkindly given; with no higher moral responsibilities than the beasts
of the field, but with a larger scope of enjoyment than theirs, and
with all their blessed immunity from the dreariness and duskiness of
age.

One point in which he had vastly the advantage over his four-footed
brethren was his ability to recollect the good dinners which it had
made no small portion of the happiness of his life to eat. His
gourmandism was a highly agreeable trait; and to hear him talk of roast
meat was as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster. As he possessed no
higher attribute, and neither sacrificed nor vitiated any spiritual
endowment by devoting all his energies and ingenuities to subserve the
delight and profit of his maw, it always pleased and satisfied me to
hear him expatiate on fish, poultry, and butcher’s meat, and the most
eligible methods of preparing them for the table. His reminiscences of
good cheer, however ancient the date of the actual banquet, seemed to
bring the savour of pig or turkey under one’s very nostrils. There were
flavours on his palate that had lingered there not less than sixty or
seventy years, and were still apparently as fresh as that of the mutton
chop which he had just devoured for his breakfast. I have heard him
smack his lips over dinners, every guest at which, except himself, had
long been food for worms. It was marvellous to observe how the ghosts
of bygone meals were continually rising up before him—not in anger or
retribution, but as if grateful for his former appreciation, and
seeking to reduplicate an endless series of enjoyment, at once shadowy
and sensual: a tenderloin of beef, a hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib
of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey,
which had perhaps adorned his board in the days of the elder Adams,
would be remembered; while all the subsequent experience of our race,
and all the events that brightened or darkened his individual career,
had gone over him with as little permanent effect as the passing
breeze. The chief tragic event of the old man’s life, so far as I could
judge, was his mishap with a certain goose, which lived and died some
twenty or forty years ago: a goose of most promising figure, but which,
at table, proved so inveterately tough, that the carving-knife would
make no impression on its carcase, and it could only be divided with an
axe and handsaw.

But it is time to quit this sketch; on which, however, I should be glad
to dwell at considerably more length, because of all men whom I have
ever known, this individual was fittest to be a Custom-House officer.
Most persons, owing to causes which I may not have space to hint at,
suffer moral detriment from this peculiar mode of life. The old
Inspector was incapable of it; and, were he to continue in office to
the end of time, would be just as good as he was then, and sit down to
dinner with just as good an appetite.

There is one likeness, without which my gallery of Custom-House
portraits would be strangely incomplete, but which my comparatively few
opportunities for observation enable me to sketch only in the merest
outline. It is that of the Collector, our gallant old General, who,
after his brilliant military service, subsequently to which he had
ruled over a wild Western territory, had come hither, twenty years
before, to spend the decline of his varied and honourable life.

The brave soldier had already numbered, nearly or quite, his
three-score years and ten, and was pursuing the remainder of his
earthly march, burdened with infirmities which even the martial music
of his own spirit-stirring recollections could do little towards
lightening. The step was palsied now, that had been foremost in the
charge. It was only with the assistance of a servant, and by leaning
his hand heavily on the iron balustrade, that he could slowly and
painfully ascend the Custom-House steps, and, with a toilsome progress
across the floor, attain his customary chair beside the fireplace.
There he used to sit, gazing with a somewhat dim serenity of aspect at
the figures that came and went, amid the rustle of papers, the
administering of oaths, the discussion of business, and the casual talk
of the office; all which sounds and circumstances seemed but
indistinctly to impress his senses, and hardly to make their way into
his inner sphere of contemplation. His countenance, in this repose, was
mild and kindly. If his notice was sought, an expression of courtesy
and interest gleamed out upon his features, proving that there was
light within him, and that it was only the outward medium of the
intellectual lamp that obstructed the rays in their passage. The closer
you penetrated to the substance of his mind, the sounder it appeared.
When no longer called upon to speak or listen—either of which
operations cost him an evident effort—his face would briefly subside
into its former not uncheerful quietude. It was not painful to behold
this look; for, though dim, it had not the imbecility of decaying age.
The framework of his nature, originally strong and massive, was not yet
crumpled into ruin.

To observe and define his character, however, under such disadvantages,
was as difficult a task as to trace out and build up anew, in
imagination, an old fortress, like Ticonderoga, from a view of its grey
and broken ruins. Here and there, perchance, the walls may remain
almost complete; but elsewhere may be only a shapeless mound, cumbrous
with its very strength, and overgrown, through long years of peace and
neglect, with grass and alien weeds.

Nevertheless, looking at the old warrior with affection—for, slight as
was the communication between us, my feeling towards him, like that of
all bipeds and quadrupeds who knew him, might not improperly be termed
so,—I could discern the main points of his portrait. It was marked with
the noble and heroic qualities which showed it to be not a mere
accident, but of good right, that he had won a distinguished name. His
spirit could never, I conceive, have been characterized by an uneasy
activity; it must, at any period of his life, have required an impulse
to set him in motion; but once stirred up, with obstacles to overcome,
and an adequate object to be attained, it was not in the man to give
out or fail. The heat that had formerly pervaded his nature, and which
was not yet extinct, was never of the kind that flashes and flickers in
a blaze; but rather a deep red glow, as of iron in a furnace. Weight,
solidity, firmness—this was the expression of his repose, even in such
decay as had crept untimely over him at the period of which I speak.
But I could imagine, even then, that, under some excitement which
should go deeply into his consciousness—roused by a trumpet’s peal,
loud enough to awaken all of his energies that were not dead, but only
slumbering—he was yet capable of flinging off his infirmities like a
sick man’s gown, dropping the staff of age to seize a battle-sword, and
starting up once more a warrior. And, in so intense a moment his
demeanour would have still been calm. Such an exhibition, however, was
but to be pictured in fancy; not to be anticipated, nor desired. What I
saw in him—as evidently as the indestructible ramparts of Old
Ticonderoga, already cited as the most appropriate simile—was the
features of stubborn and ponderous endurance, which might well have
amounted to obstinacy in his earlier days; of integrity, that, like
most of his other endowments, lay in a somewhat heavy mass, and was
just as unmalleable or unmanageable as a ton of iron ore; and of
benevolence which, fiercely as he led the bayonets on at Chippewa or
Fort Erie, I take to be of quite as genuine a stamp as what actuates
any or all the polemical philanthropists of the age. He had slain men
with his own hand, for aught I know—certainly, they had fallen like
blades of grass at the sweep of the scythe before the charge to which
his spirit imparted its triumphant energy—but, be that as it might,
there was never in his heart so much cruelty as would have brushed the
down off a butterfly’s wing. I have not known the man to whose innate
kindliness I would more confidently make an appeal.

Many characteristics—and those, too, which contribute not the least
forcibly to impart resemblance in a sketch—must have vanished, or been
obscured, before I met the General. All merely graceful attributes are
usually the most evanescent; nor does nature adorn the human ruin with
blossoms of new beauty, that have their roots and proper nutriment only
in the chinks and crevices of decay, as she sows wall-flowers over the
ruined fortress of Ticonderoga. Still, even in respect of grace and
beauty, there were points well worth noting. A ray of humour, now and
then, would make its way through the veil of dim obstruction, and
glimmer pleasantly upon our faces. A trait of native elegance, seldom
seen in the masculine character after childhood or early youth, was
shown in the General’s fondness for the sight and fragrance of flowers.
An old soldier might be supposed to prize only the bloody laurel on his
brow; but here was one who seemed to have a young girl’s appreciation
of the floral tribe.

There, beside the fireplace, the brave old General used to sit; while
the Surveyor—though seldom, when it could be avoided, taking upon
himself the difficult task of engaging him in conversation—was fond of
standing at a distance, and watching his quiet and almost slumberous
countenance. He seemed away from us, although we saw him but a few
yards off; remote, though we passed close beside his chair;
unattainable, though we might have stretched forth our hands and
touched his own. It might be that he lived a more real life within his
thoughts than amid the unappropriate environment of the Collector’s
office. The evolutions of the parade; the tumult of the battle; the
flourish of old heroic music, heard thirty years before—such scenes and
sounds, perhaps, were all alive before his intellectual sense.
Meanwhile, the merchants and ship-masters, the spruce clerks and
uncouth sailors, entered and departed; the bustle of his commercial and
Custom-House life kept up its little murmur round about him; and
neither with the men nor their affairs did the General appear to
sustain the most distant relation. He was as much out of place as an
old sword—now rusty, but which had flashed once in the battle’s front,
and showed still a bright gleam along its blade—would have been among
the inkstands, paper-folders, and mahogany rulers on the Deputy
Collector’s desk.

There was one thing that much aided me in renewing and re-creating the
stalwart soldier of the Niagara frontier—the man of true and simple
energy. It was the recollection of those memorable words of his—“I’ll
try, Sir”—spoken on the very verge of a desperate and heroic
enterprise, and breathing the soul and spirit of New England hardihood,
comprehending all perils, and encountering all. If, in our country,
valour were rewarded by heraldic honour, this phrase—which it seems so
easy to speak, but which only he, with such a task of danger and glory
before him, has ever spoken—would be the best and fittest of all
mottoes for the General’s shield of arms.

It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health to
be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike
himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and
abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate. The accidents of my
life have often afforded me this advantage, but never with more fulness
and variety than during my continuance in office. There was one man,
especially, the observation of whose character gave me a new idea of
talent. His gifts were emphatically those of a man of business; prompt,
acute, clear-minded; with an eye that saw through all perplexities, and
a faculty of arrangement that made them vanish as by the waving of an
enchanter’s wand. Bred up from boyhood in the Custom-House, it was his
proper field of activity; and the many intricacies of business, so
harassing to the interloper, presented themselves before him with the
regularity of a perfectly comprehended system. In my contemplation, he
stood as the ideal of his class. He was, indeed, the Custom-House in
himself; or, at all events, the mainspring that kept its variously
revolving wheels in motion; for, in an institution like this, where its
officers are appointed to subserve their own profit and convenience,
and seldom with a leading reference to their fitness for the duty to be
performed, they must perforce seek elsewhere the dexterity which is not
in them. Thus, by an inevitable necessity, as a magnet attracts
steel-filings, so did our man of business draw to himself the
difficulties which everybody met with. With an easy condescension, and
kind forbearance towards our stupidity—which, to his order of mind,
must have seemed little short of crime—would he forth-with, by the
merest touch of his finger, make the incomprehensible as clear as
daylight. The merchants valued him not less than we, his esoteric
friends. His integrity was perfect; it was a law of nature with him,
rather than a choice or a principle; nor can it be otherwise than the
main condition of an intellect so remarkably clear and accurate as his
to be honest and regular in the administration of affairs. A stain on
his conscience, as to anything that came within the range of his
vocation, would trouble such a man very much in the same way, though to
a far greater degree, than an error in the balance of an account, or an
ink-blot on the fair page of a book of record. Here, in a word—and it
is a rare instance in my life—I had met with a person thoroughly
adapted to the situation which he held.

Such were some of the people with whom I now found myself connected. I
took it in good part, at the hands of Providence, that I was thrown
into a position so little akin to my past habits; and set myself
seriously to gather from it whatever profit was to be had. After my
fellowship of toil and impracticable schemes with the dreamy brethren
of Brook Farm; after living for three years within the subtle influence
of an intellect like Emerson’s; after those wild, free days on the
Assabeth, indulging fantastic speculations, beside our fire of fallen
boughs, with Ellery Channing; after talking with Thoreau about
pine-trees and Indian relics in his hermitage at Walden; after growing
fastidious by sympathy with the classic refinement of Hillard’s
culture; after becoming imbued with poetic sentiment at Longfellow’s
hearthstone—it was time, at length, that I should exercise other
faculties of my nature, and nourish myself with food for which I had
hitherto had little appetite. Even the old Inspector was desirable, as
a change of diet, to a man who had known Alcott. I looked upon it as an
evidence, in some measure, of a system naturally well balanced, and
lacking no essential part of a thorough organization, that, with such
associates to remember, I could mingle at once with men of altogether
different qualities, and never murmur at the change.

Literature, its exertions and objects, were now of little moment in my
regard. I cared not at this period for books; they were apart from me.
Nature—except it were human nature—the nature that is developed in
earth and sky, was, in one sense, hidden from me; and all the
imaginative delight wherewith it had been spiritualized passed away out
of my mind. A gift, a faculty, if it had not been departed, was
suspended and inanimate within me. There would have been something sad,
unutterably dreary, in all this, had I not been conscious that it lay
at my own option to recall whatever was valuable in the past. It might
be true, indeed, that this was a life which could not, with impunity,
be lived too long; else, it might make me permanently other than I had
been, without transforming me into any shape which it would be worth my
while to take. But I never considered it as other than a transitory
life. There was always a prophetic instinct, a low whisper in my ear,
that within no long period, and whenever a new change of custom should
be essential to my good, change would come.

Meanwhile, there I was, a Surveyor of the Revenue and, so far as I have
been able to understand, as good a Surveyor as need be. A man of
thought, fancy, and sensibility (had he ten times the Surveyor’s
proportion of those qualities), may, at any time, be a man of affairs,
if he will only choose to give himself the trouble. My fellow-officers,
and the merchants and sea-captains with whom my official duties brought
me into any manner of connection, viewed me in no other light, and
probably knew me in no other character. None of them, I presume, had
ever read a page of my inditing, or would have cared a fig the more for
me if they had read them all; nor would it have mended the matter, in
the least, had those same unprofitable pages been written with a pen
like that of Burns or of Chaucer, each of whom was a Custom-House
officer in his day, as well as I. It is a good lesson—though it may
often be a hard one—for a man who has dreamed of literary fame, and of
making for himself a rank among the world’s dignitaries by such means,
to step aside out of the narrow circle in which his claims are
recognized and to find how utterly devoid of significance, beyond that
circle, is all that he achieves, and all he aims at. I know not that I
especially needed the lesson, either in the way of warning or rebuke;
but at any rate, I learned it thoroughly: nor, it gives me pleasure to
reflect, did the truth, as it came home to my perception, ever cost me
a pang, or require to be thrown off in a sigh. In the way of literary
talk, it is true, the Naval Officer—an excellent fellow, who came into
the office with me, and went out only a little later—would often engage
me in a discussion about one or the other of his favourite topics,
Napoleon or Shakespeare. The Collector’s junior clerk, too a young
gentleman who, it was whispered occasionally covered a sheet of Uncle
Sam’s letter paper with what (at the distance of a few yards) looked
very much like poetry—used now and then to speak to me of books, as
matters with which I might possibly be conversant. This was my all of
lettered intercourse; and it was quite sufficient for my necessities.

No longer seeking nor caring that my name should be blasoned abroad on
title-pages, I smiled to think that it had now another kind of vogue.
The Custom-House marker imprinted it, with a stencil and black paint,
on pepper-bags, and baskets of anatto, and cigar-boxes, and bales of
all kinds of dutiable merchandise, in testimony that these commodities
had paid the impost, and gone regularly through the office. Borne on
such queer vehicle of fame, a knowledge of my existence, so far as a
name conveys it, was carried where it had never been before, and, I
hope, will never go again.

But the past was not dead. Once in a great while, the thoughts that had
seemed so vital and so active, yet had been put to rest so quietly,
revived again. One of the most remarkable occasions, when the habit of
bygone days awoke in me, was that which brings it within the law of
literary propriety to offer the public the sketch which I am now
writing.

In the second storey of the Custom-House there is a large room, in
which the brick-work and naked rafters have never been covered with
panelling and plaster. The edifice—originally projected on a scale
adapted to the old commercial enterprise of the port, and with an idea
of subsequent prosperity destined never to be realized—contains far
more space than its occupants know what to do with. This airy hall,
therefore, over the Collector’s apartments, remains unfinished to this
day, and, in spite of the aged cobwebs that festoon its dusky beams,
appears still to await the labour of the carpenter and mason. At one
end of the room, in a recess, were a number of barrels piled one upon
another, containing bundles of official documents. Large quantities of
similar rubbish lay lumbering the floor. It was sorrowful to think how
many days, and weeks, and months, and years of toil had been wasted on
these musty papers, which were now only an encumbrance on earth, and
were hidden away in this forgotten corner, never more to be glanced at
by human eyes. But then, what reams of other manuscripts—filled, not
with the dulness of official formalities, but with the thought of
inventive brains and the rich effusion of deep hearts—had gone equally
to oblivion; and that, moreover, without serving a purpose in their
day, as these heaped-up papers had, and—saddest of all—without
purchasing for their writers the comfortable livelihood which the
clerks of the Custom-House had gained by these worthless scratchings of
the pen. Yet not altogether worthless, perhaps, as materials of local
history. Here, no doubt, statistics of the former commerce of Salem
might be discovered, and memorials of her princely merchants—old King
Derby—old Billy Gray—old Simon Forrester—and many another magnate in
his day, whose powdered head, however, was scarcely in the tomb before
his mountain pile of wealth began to dwindle. The founders of the
greater part of the families which now compose the aristocracy of Salem
might here be traced, from the petty and obscure beginnings of their
traffic, at periods generally much posterior to the Revolution, upward
to what their children look upon as long-established rank.

Prior to the Revolution there is a dearth of records; the earlier
documents and archives of the Custom-House having, probably, been
carried off to Halifax, when all the king’s officials accompanied the
British army in its flight from Boston. It has often been a matter of
regret with me; for, going back, perhaps, to the days of the
Protectorate, those papers must have contained many references to
forgotten or remembered men, and to antique customs, which would have
affected me with the same pleasure as when I used to pick up Indian
arrow-heads in the field near the Old Manse.

But, one idle and rainy day, it was my fortune to make a discovery of
some little interest. Poking and burrowing into the heaped-up rubbish
in the corner, unfolding one and another document, and reading the
names of vessels that had long ago foundered at sea or rotted at the
wharves, and those of merchants never heard of now on ’Change, nor very
readily decipherable on their mossy tombstones; glancing at such
matters with the saddened, weary, half-reluctant interest which we
bestow on the corpse of dead activity—and exerting my fancy, sluggish
with little use, to raise up from these dry bones an image of the old
town’s brighter aspect, when India was a new region, and only Salem
knew the way thither—I chanced to lay my hand on a small package,
carefully done up in a piece of ancient yellow parchment. This envelope
had the air of an official record of some period long past, when clerks
engrossed their stiff and formal chirography on more substantial
materials than at present. There was something about it that quickened
an instinctive curiosity, and made me undo the faded red tape that tied
up the package, with the sense that a treasure would here be brought to
light. Unbending the rigid folds of the parchment cover, I found it to
be a commission, under the hand and seal of Governor Shirley, in favour
of one Jonathan Pue, as Surveyor of His Majesty’s Customs for the Port
of Salem, in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. I remembered to have
read (probably in Felt’s “Annals”) a notice of the decease of Mr.
Surveyor Pue, about fourscore years ago; and likewise, in a newspaper
of recent times, an account of the digging up of his remains in the
little graveyard of St. Peter’s Church, during the renewal of that
edifice. Nothing, if I rightly call to mind, was left of my respected
predecessor, save an imperfect skeleton, and some fragments of apparel,
and a wig of majestic frizzle, which, unlike the head that it once
adorned, was in very satisfactory preservation. But, on examining the
papers which the parchment commission served to envelop, I found more
traces of Mr. Pue’s mental part, and the internal operations of his
head, than the frizzled wig had contained of the venerable skull
itself.

They were documents, in short, not official, but of a private nature,
or, at least, written in his private capacity, and apparently with his
own hand. I could account for their being included in the heap of
Custom-House lumber only by the fact that Mr. Pue’s death had happened
suddenly, and that these papers, which he probably kept in his official
desk, had never come to the knowledge of his heirs, or were supposed to
relate to the business of the revenue. On the transfer of the archives
to Halifax, this package, proving to be of no public concern, was left
behind, and had remained ever since unopened.

The ancient Surveyor—being little molested, I suppose, at that early
day with business pertaining to his office—seems to have devoted some
of his many leisure hours to researches as a local antiquarian, and
other inquisitions of a similar nature. These supplied material for
petty activity to a mind that would otherwise have been eaten up with
rust. A portion of his facts, by the by, did me good service in the
preparation of the article entitled “MAIN STREET,” included in the
present volume. The remainder may perhaps be applied to purposes
equally valuable hereafter, or not impossibly may be worked up, so far
as they go, into a regular history of Salem, should my veneration for
the natal soil ever impel me to so pious a task. Meanwhile, they shall
be at the command of any gentleman, inclined and competent, to take the
unprofitable labour off my hands. As a final disposition I contemplate
depositing them with the Essex Historical Society. But the object that
most drew my attention to the mysterious package was a certain affair
of fine red cloth, much worn and faded, There were traces about it of
gold embroidery, which, however, was greatly frayed and defaced, so
that none, or very little, of the glitter was left. It had been
wrought, as was easy to perceive, with wonderful skill of needlework;
and the stitch (as I am assured by ladies conversant with such
mysteries) gives evidence of a now forgotten art, not to be discovered
even by the process of picking out the threads. This rag of scarlet
cloth—for time, and wear, and a sacrilegious moth had reduced it to
little other than a rag—on careful examination, assumed the shape of a
letter.

It was the capital letter A. By an accurate measurement, each limb
proved to be precisely three inches and a quarter in length. It had
been intended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental article of
dress; but how it was to be worn, or what rank, honour, and dignity, in
by-past times, were signified by it, was a riddle which (so evanescent
are the fashions of the world in these particulars) I saw little hope
of solving. And yet it strangely interested me. My eyes fastened
themselves upon the old scarlet letter, and would not be turned aside.
Certainly there was some deep meaning in it most worthy of
interpretation, and which, as it were, streamed forth from the mystic
symbol, subtly communicating itself to my sensibilities, but evading
the analysis of my mind.

When thus perplexed—and cogitating, among other hypotheses, whether the
letter might not have been one of those decorations which the white men
used to contrive in order to take the eyes of Indians—I happened to
place it on my breast. It seemed to me—the reader may smile, but must
not doubt my word—it seemed to me, then, that I experienced a sensation
not altogether physical, yet almost so, as of burning heat, and as if
the letter were not of red cloth, but red-hot iron. I shuddered, and
involuntarily let it fall upon the floor.

In the absorbing contemplation of the scarlet letter, I had hitherto
neglected to examine a small roll of dingy paper, around which it had
been twisted. This I now opened, and had the satisfaction to find
recorded by the old Surveyor’s pen, a reasonably complete explanation
of the whole affair. There were several foolscap sheets, containing
many particulars respecting the life and conversation of one Hester
Prynne, who appeared to have been rather a noteworthy personage in the
view of our ancestors. She had flourished during the period between the
early days of Massachusetts and the close of the seventeenth century.
Aged persons, alive in the time of Mr. Surveyor Pue, and from whose
oral testimony he had made up his narrative, remembered her, in their
youth, as a very old, but not decrepit woman, of a stately and solemn
aspect. It had been her habit, from an almost immemorial date, to go
about the country as a kind of voluntary nurse, and doing whatever
miscellaneous good she might; taking upon herself, likewise, to give
advice in all matters, especially those of the heart, by which means—as
a person of such propensities inevitably must—she gained from many
people the reverence due to an angel, but, I should imagine, was looked
upon by others as an intruder and a nuisance. Prying further into the
manuscript, I found the record of other doings and sufferings of this
singular woman, for most of which the reader is referred to the story
entitled “THE SCARLET LETTER”; and it should be borne carefully in mind
that the main facts of that story are authorized and authenticated by
the document of Mr. Surveyor Pue. The original papers, together with
the scarlet letter itself—a most curious relic—are still in my
possession, and shall be freely exhibited to whomsoever, induced by the
great interest of the narrative, may desire a sight of them. I must not
be understood affirming that, in the dressing up of the tale, and
imagining the motives and modes of passion that influenced the
characters who figure in it, I have invariably confined myself within
the limits of the old Surveyor’s half-a-dozen sheets of foolscap. On
the contrary, I have allowed myself, as to such points, nearly, or
altogether, as much license as if the facts had been entirely of my own
invention. What I contend for is the authenticity of the outline.

This incident recalled my mind, in some degree, to its old track. There
seemed to be here the groundwork of a tale. It impressed me as if the
ancient Surveyor, in his garb of a hundred years gone by, and wearing
his immortal wig—which was buried with him, but did not perish in the
grave—had met me in the deserted chamber of the Custom-House. In his
port was the dignity of one who had borne His Majesty’s commission, and
who was therefore illuminated by a ray of the splendour that shone so
dazzlingly about the throne. How unlike alas the hangdog look of a
republican official, who, as the servant of the people, feels himself
less than the least, and below the lowest of his masters. With his own
ghostly hand, the obscurely seen, but majestic, figure had imparted to
me the scarlet symbol and the little roll of explanatory manuscript.
With his own ghostly voice he had exhorted me, on the sacred
consideration of my filial duty and reverence towards him—who might
reasonably regard himself as my official ancestor—to bring his mouldy
and moth-eaten lucubrations before the public. “Do this,” said the
ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue, emphatically nodding the head that looked so
imposing within its memorable wig; “do this, and the profit shall be
all your own. You will shortly need it; for it is not in your days as
it was in mine, when a man’s office was a life-lease, and oftentimes an
heirloom. But I charge you, in this matter of old Mistress Prynne, give
to your predecessor’s memory the credit which will be rightfully due”
And I said to the ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue—“I will”.

On Hester Prynne’s story, therefore, I bestowed much thought. It was
the subject of my meditations for many an hour, while pacing to and fro
across my room, or traversing, with a hundredfold repetition, the long
extent from the front door of the Custom-House to the side entrance,
and back again. Great were the weariness and annoyance of the old
Inspector and the Weighers and Gaugers, whose slumbers were disturbed
by the unmercifully lengthened tramp of my passing and returning
footsteps. Remembering their own former habits, they used to say that
the Surveyor was walking the quarter-deck. They probably fancied that
my sole object—and, indeed, the sole object for which a sane man could
ever put himself into voluntary motion—was to get an appetite for
dinner. And, to say the truth, an appetite, sharpened by the east wind
that generally blew along the passage, was the only valuable result of
so much indefatigable exercise. So little adapted is the atmosphere of
a Custom-house to the delicate harvest of fancy and sensibility, that,
had I remained there through ten Presidencies yet to come, I doubt
whether the tale of “The Scarlet Letter” would ever have been brought
before the public eye. My imagination was a tarnished mirror. It would
not reflect, or only with miserable dimness, the figures with which I
did my best to people it. The characters of the narrative would not be
warmed and rendered malleable by any heat that I could kindle at my
intellectual forge. They would take neither the glow of passion nor the
tenderness of sentiment, but retained all the rigidity of dead corpses,
and stared me in the face with a fixed and ghastly grin of contemptuous
defiance. “What have you to do with us?” that expression seemed to say.
“The little power you might have once possessed over the tribe of
unrealities is gone! You have bartered it for a pittance of the public
gold. Go then, and earn your wages!” In short, the almost torpid
creatures of my own fancy twitted me with imbecility, and not without
fair occasion.

It was not merely during the three hours and a half which Uncle Sam
claimed as his share of my daily life that this wretched numbness held
possession of me. It went with me on my sea-shore walks and rambles
into the country, whenever—which was seldom and reluctantly—I bestirred
myself to seek that invigorating charm of Nature which used to give me
such freshness and activity of thought, the moment that I stepped
across the threshold of the Old Manse. The same torpor, as regarded the
capacity for intellectual effort, accompanied me home, and weighed upon
me in the chamber which I most absurdly termed my study. Nor did it
quit me when, late at night, I sat in the deserted parlour, lighted
only by the glimmering coal-fire and the moon, striving to picture
forth imaginary scenes, which, the next day, might flow out on the
brightening page in many-hued description.

If the imaginative faculty refused to act at such an hour, it might
well be deemed a hopeless case. Moonlight, in a familiar room, falling
so white upon the carpet, and showing all its figures so
distinctly—making every object so minutely visible, yet so unlike a
morning or noontide visibility—is a medium the most suitable for a
romance-writer to get acquainted with his illusive guests. There is the
little domestic scenery of the well-known apartment; the chairs, with
each its separate individuality; the centre-table, sustaining a
work-basket, a volume or two, and an extinguished lamp; the sofa; the
book-case; the picture on the wall—all these details, so completely
seen, are so spiritualised by the unusual light, that they seem to lose
their actual substance, and become things of intellect. Nothing is too
small or too trifling to undergo this change, and acquire dignity
thereby. A child’s shoe; the doll, seated in her little wicker
carriage; the hobby-horse—whatever, in a word, has been used or played
with during the day is now invested with a quality of strangeness and
remoteness, though still almost as vividly present as by daylight.
Thus, therefore, the floor of our familiar room has become a neutral
territory, somewhere between the real world and fairy-land, where the
Actual and the Imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with the
nature of the other. Ghosts might enter here without affrighting us. It
would be too much in keeping with the scene to excite surprise, were we
to look about us and discover a form, beloved, but gone hence, now
sitting quietly in a streak of this magic moonshine, with an aspect
that would make us doubt whether it had returned from afar, or had
never once stirred from our fireside.

The somewhat dim coal fire has an essential Influence in producing the
effect which I would describe. It throws its unobtrusive tinge
throughout the room, with a faint ruddiness upon the walls and ceiling,
and a reflected gleam upon the polish of the furniture. This warmer
light mingles itself with the cold spirituality of the moon-beams, and
communicates, as it were, a heart and sensibilities of human tenderness
to the forms which fancy summons up. It converts them from snow-images
into men and women. Glancing at the looking-glass, we behold—deep
within its haunted verge—the smouldering glow of the half-extinguished
anthracite, the white moon-beams on the floor, and a repetition of all
the gleam and shadow of the picture, with one remove further from the
actual, and nearer to the imaginative. Then, at such an hour, and with
this scene before him, if a man, sitting all alone, cannot dream
strange things, and make them look like truth, he need never try to
write romances.

But, for myself, during the whole of my Custom-House experience,
moonlight and sunshine, and the glow of firelight, were just alike in
my regard; and neither of them was of one whit more avail than the
twinkle of a tallow-candle. An entire class of susceptibilities, and a
gift connected with them—of no great richness or value, but the best I
had—was gone from me.

It is my belief, however, that had I attempted a different order of
composition, my faculties would not have been found so pointless and
inefficacious. I might, for instance, have contented myself with
writing out the narratives of a veteran shipmaster, one of the
Inspectors, whom I should be most ungrateful not to mention, since
scarcely a day passed that he did not stir me to laughter and
admiration by his marvelous gifts as a story-teller. Could I have
preserved the picturesque force of his style, and the humourous
colouring which nature taught him how to throw over his descriptions,
the result, I honestly believe, would have been something new in
literature. Or I might readily have found a more serious task. It was a
folly, with the materiality of this daily life pressing so intrusively
upon me, to attempt to fling myself back into another age, or to insist
on creating the semblance of a world out of airy matter, when, at every
moment, the impalpable beauty of my soap-bubble was broken by the rude
contact of some actual circumstance. The wiser effort would have been
to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of
today, and thus to make it a bright transparency; to spiritualise the
burden that began to weigh so heavily; to seek, resolutely, the true
and indestructible value that lay hidden in the petty and wearisome
incidents, and ordinary characters with which I was now conversant. The
fault was mine. The page of life that was spread out before me seemed
dull and commonplace only because I had not fathomed its deeper import.
A better book than I shall ever write was there; leaf after leaf
presenting itself to me, just as it was written out by the reality of
the flitting hour, and vanishing as fast as written, only because my
brain wanted the insight, and my hand the cunning, to transcribe it. At
some future day, it may be, I shall remember a few scattered fragments
and broken paragraphs, and write them down, and find the letters turn
to gold upon the page.

These perceptions had come too late. At the Instant, I was only
conscious that what would have been a pleasure once was now a hopeless
toil. There was no occasion to make much moan about this state of
affairs. I had ceased to be a writer of tolerably poor tales and
essays, and had become a tolerably good Surveyor of the Customs. That
was all. But, nevertheless, it is anything but agreeable to be haunted
by a suspicion that one’s intellect is dwindling away, or exhaling,
without your consciousness, like ether out of a phial; so that, at
every glance, you find a smaller and less volatile residuum. Of the
fact there could be no doubt and, examining myself and others, I was
led to conclusions, in reference to the effect of public office on the
character, not very favourable to the mode of life in question. In some
other form, perhaps, I may hereafter develop these effects. Suffice it
here to say that a Custom-House officer of long continuance can hardly
be a very praiseworthy or respectable personage, for many reasons; one
of them, the tenure by which he holds his situation, and another, the
very nature of his business, which—though, I trust, an honest one—is of
such a sort that he does not share in the united effort of mankind.

An effect—which I believe to be observable, more or less, in every
individual who has occupied the position—is, that while he leans on the
mighty arm of the Republic, his own proper strength departs from him.
He loses, in an extent proportioned to the weakness or force of his
original nature, the capability of self-support. If he possesses an
unusual share of native energy, or the enervating magic of place do not
operate too long upon him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable. The
ejected officer—fortunate in the unkindly shove that sends him forth
betimes, to struggle amid a struggling world—may return to himself, and
become all that he has ever been. But this seldom happens. He usually
keeps his ground just long enough for his own ruin, and is then thrust
out, with sinews all unstrung, to totter along the difficult footpath
of life as he best may. Conscious of his own infirmity—that his
tempered steel and elasticity are lost—he for ever afterwards looks
wistfully about him in quest of support external to himself. His
pervading and continual hope—a hallucination, which, in the face of all
discouragement, and making light of impossibilities, haunts him while
he lives, and, I fancy, like the convulsive throes of the cholera,
torments him for a brief space after death—is, that finally, and in no
long time, by some happy coincidence of circumstances, he shall be
restored to office. This faith, more than anything else, steals the
pith and availability out of whatever enterprise he may dream of
undertaking. Why should he toil and moil, and be at so much trouble to
pick himself up out of the mud, when, in a little while hence, the
strong arm of his Uncle will raise and support him? Why should he work
for his living here, or go to dig gold in California, when he is so
soon to be made happy, at monthly intervals, with a little pile of
glittering coin out of his Uncle’s pocket? It is sadly curious to
observe how slight a taste of office suffices to infect a poor fellow
with this singular disease. Uncle Sam’s gold—meaning no disrespect to
the worthy old gentleman—has, in this respect, a quality of enchantment
like that of the devil’s wages. Whoever touches it should look well to
himself, or he may find the bargain to go hard against him, involving,
if not his soul, yet many of its better attributes; its sturdy force,
its courage and constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, and all that
gives the emphasis to manly character.

Here was a fine prospect in the distance. Not that the Surveyor brought
the lesson home to himself, or admitted that he could be so utterly
undone, either by continuance in office or ejectment. Yet my
reflections were not the most comfortable. I began to grow melancholy
and restless; continually prying into my mind, to discover which of its
poor properties were gone, and what degree of detriment had already
accrued to the remainder. I endeavoured to calculate how much longer I
could stay in the Custom-House, and yet go forth a man. To confess the
truth, it was my greatest apprehension—as it would never be a measure
of policy to turn out so quiet an individual as myself; and it being
hardly in the nature of a public officer to resign—it was my chief
trouble, therefore, that I was likely to grow grey and decrepit in the
Surveyorship, and become much such another animal as the old Inspector.
Might it not, in the tedious lapse of official life that lay before me,
finally be with me as it was with this venerable friend—to make the
dinner-hour the nucleus of the day, and to spend the rest of it, as an
old dog spends it, asleep in the sunshine or in the shade? A dreary
look-forward, this, for a man who felt it to be the best definition of
happiness to live throughout the whole range of his faculties and
sensibilities. But, all this while, I was giving myself very
unnecessary alarm. Providence had meditated better things for me than I
could possibly imagine for myself.

A remarkable event of the third year of my Surveyorship—to adopt the
tone of “P. P.”—was the election of General Taylor to the Presidency.
It is essential, in order to form a complete estimate of the advantages
of official life, to view the incumbent at the incoming of a hostile
administration. His position is then one of the most singularly
irksome, and, in every contingency, disagreeable, that a wretched
mortal can possibly occupy; with seldom an alternative of good on
either hand, although what presents itself to him as the worst event
may very probably be the best. But it is a strange experience, to a man
of pride and sensibility, to know that his interests are within the
control of individuals who neither love nor understand him, and by
whom, since one or the other must needs happen, he would rather be
injured than obliged. Strange, too, for one who has kept his calmness
throughout the contest, to observe the bloodthirstiness that is
developed in the hour of triumph, and to be conscious that he is
himself among its objects! There are few uglier traits of human nature
than this tendency—which I now witnessed in men no worse than their
neighbours—to grow cruel, merely because they possessed the power of
inflicting harm. If the guillotine, as applied to office-holders, were
a literal fact, instead of one of the most apt of metaphors, it is my
sincere belief that the active members of the victorious party were
sufficiently excited to have chopped off all our heads, and have
thanked Heaven for the opportunity! It appears to me—who have been a
calm and curious observer, as well in victory as defeat—that this
fierce and bitter spirit of malice and revenge has never distinguished
the many triumphs of my own party as it now did that of the Whigs. The
Democrats take the offices, as a general rule, because they need them,
and because the practice of many years has made it the law of political
warfare, which unless a different system be proclaimed, it was weakness
and cowardice to murmur at. But the long habit of victory has made them
generous. They know how to spare when they see occasion; and when they
strike, the axe may be sharp indeed, but its edge is seldom poisoned
with ill-will; nor is it their custom ignominiously to kick the head
which they have just struck off.

In short, unpleasant as was my predicament, at best, I saw much reason
to congratulate myself that I was on the losing side rather than the
triumphant one. If, heretofore, I had been none of the warmest of
partisans I began now, at this season of peril and adversity, to be
pretty acutely sensible with which party my predilections lay; nor was
it without something like regret and shame that, according to a
reasonable calculation of chances, I saw my own prospect of retaining
office to be better than those of my democratic brethren. But who can
see an inch into futurity beyond his nose? My own head was the first
that fell.

The moment when a man’s head drops off is seldom or never, I am
inclined to think, precisely the most agreeable of his life.
Nevertheless, like the greater part of our misfortunes, even so serious
a contingency brings its remedy and consolation with it, if the
sufferer will but make the best rather than the worst, of the accident
which has befallen him. In my particular case the consolatory topics
were close at hand, and, indeed, had suggested themselves to my
meditations a considerable time before it was requisite to use them. In
view of my previous weariness of office, and vague thoughts of
resignation, my fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should
entertain an idea of committing suicide, and although beyond his hopes,
meet with the good hap to be murdered. In the Custom-House, as before
in the Old Manse, I had spent three years—a term long enough to rest a
weary brain: long enough to break off old intellectual habits, and make
room for new ones: long enough, and too long, to have lived in an
unnatural state, doing what was really of no advantage nor delight to
any human being, and withholding myself from toil that would, at least,
have stilled an unquiet impulse in me. Then, moreover, as regarded his
unceremonious ejectment, the late Surveyor was not altogether
ill-pleased to be recognised by the Whigs as an enemy; since his
inactivity in political affairs—his tendency to roam, at will, in that
broad and quiet field where all mankind may meet, rather than confine
himself to those narrow paths where brethren of the same household must
diverge from one another—had sometimes made it questionable with his
brother Democrats whether he was a friend. Now, after he had won the
crown of martyrdom (though with no longer a head to wear it on), the
point might be looked upon as settled. Finally, little heroic as he
was, it seemed more decorous to be overthrown in the downfall of the
party with which he had been content to stand than to remain a forlorn
survivor, when so many worthier men were falling: and at last, after
subsisting for four years on the mercy of a hostile administration, to
be compelled then to define his position anew, and claim the yet more
humiliating mercy of a friendly one.

Meanwhile, the press had taken up my affair, and kept me for a week or
two careering through the public prints, in my decapitated state, like
Irving’s Headless Horseman, ghastly and grim, and longing to be buried,
as a political dead man ought. So much for my figurative self. The real
human being all this time, with his head safely on his shoulders, had
brought himself to the comfortable conclusion that everything was for
the best; and making an investment in ink, paper, and steel pens, had
opened his long-disused writing desk, and was again a literary man.

Now it was that the lucubrations of my ancient predecessor, Mr.
Surveyor Pue, came into play. Rusty through long idleness, some little
space was requisite before my intellectual machinery could be brought
to work upon the tale with an effect in any degree satisfactory. Even
yet, though my thoughts were ultimately much absorbed in the task, it
wears, to my eye, a stern and sombre aspect: too much ungladdened by
genial sunshine; too little relieved by the tender and familiar
influences which soften almost every scene of nature and real life, and
undoubtedly should soften every picture of them. This uncaptivating
effect is perhaps due to the period of hardly accomplished revolution,
and still seething turmoil, in which the story shaped itself. It is no
indication, however, of a lack of cheerfulness in the writer’s mind:
for he was happier while straying through the gloom of these sunless
fantasies than at any time since he had quitted the Old Manse. Some of
the briefer articles, which contribute to make up the volume, have
likewise been written since my involuntary withdrawal from the toils
and honours of public life, and the remainder are gleaned from annuals
and magazines, of such antique date, that they have gone round the
circle, and come back to novelty again. Keeping up the metaphor of the
political guillotine, the whole may be considered as the POSTHUMOUS
PAPERS OF A DECAPITATED SURVEYOR: and the sketch which I am now
bringing to a close, if too autobiographical for a modest person to
publish in his lifetime, will readily be excused in a gentleman who
writes from beyond the grave. Peace be with all the world! My blessing
on my friends! My forgiveness to my enemies! For I am in the realm of
quiet!

The life of the Custom-House lies like a dream behind me. The old
Inspector—who, by the by, I regret to say, was overthrown and killed
by a horse some time ago, else he would certainly have lived for
ever—he, and all those other venerable personages who sat with him at
the receipt of custom, are but shadows in my view: white-headed and
wrinkled images, which my fancy used to sport with, and has now flung
aside for ever. The merchants—Pingree, Phillips, Shepard, Upton,
Kimball, Bertram, Hunt—these and many other names, which had such
classic familiarity for my ear six months ago,—these men of traffic,
who seemed to occupy so important a position in the world—how little
time has it required to disconnect me from them all, not merely in act,
but recollection! It is with an effort that I recall the figures and
appellations of these few. Soon, likewise, my old native town will loom
upon me through the haze of memory, a mist brooding over and around it;
as if it were no portion of the real earth, but an overgrown village in
cloud-land, with only imaginary inhabitants to people its wooden houses
and walk its homely lanes, and the unpicturesque prolixity of its main
street. Henceforth it ceases to be a reality of my life; I am a citizen
of somewhere else. My good townspeople will not much regret me,
for—though it has been as dear an object as any, in my literary
efforts, to be of some importance in their eyes, and to win myself a
pleasant memory in this abode and burial-place of so many of my
forefathers—there has never been, for me, the genial atmosphere which a
literary man requires in order to ripen the best harvest of his mind. I
shall do better amongst other faces; and these familiar ones, it need
hardly be said, will do just as well without me.

It may be, however—oh, transporting and triumphant thought—that the
great-grandchildren of the present race may sometimes think kindly of
the scribbler of bygone days, when the antiquary of days to come, among
the sites memorable in the town’s history, shall point out the locality
of THE TOWN PUMP.

THE SCARLET LETTER

I.
THE PRISON DOOR

A throng of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments and grey
steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, and
others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door
of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes.

The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue and
happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised it
among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the
virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison.
In accordance with this rule it may safely be assumed that the
forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the
vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first
burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson’s lot, and round about his grave, which
subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in
the old churchyard of King’s Chapel. Certain it is that, some fifteen
or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was
already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which
gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front. The
rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique
than anything else in the New World. Like all that pertains to crime,
it seemed never to have known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice,
and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot,
much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-pern, and such unsightly
vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that
had so early borne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. But
on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a
wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems,
which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to
the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came
forth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity
and be kind to him.

This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history;
but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so
long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally
overshadowed it, or whether, as there is fair authority for believing,
it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann Hutchinson as
she entered the prison-door, we shall not take upon us to determine.
Finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is now
about to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do
otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader.
It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom that
may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale
of human frailty and sorrow.

II.
THE MARKET-PLACE

The grass-plot before the jail, in Prison Lane, on a certain summer
morning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by a pretty
large number of the inhabitants of Boston, all with their eyes intently
fastened on the iron-clamped oaken door. Amongst any other population,
or at a later period in the history of New England, the grim rigidity
that petrified the bearded physiognomies of these good people would
have augured some awful business in hand. It could have betokened
nothing short of the anticipated execution of some noted culprit, on
whom the sentence of a legal tribunal had but confirmed the verdict of
public sentiment. But, in that early severity of the Puritan character,
an inference of this kind could not so indubitably be drawn. It might
be that a sluggish bond-servant, or an undutiful child, whom his
parents had given over to the civil authority, was to be corrected at
the whipping-post. It might be that an Antinomian, a Quaker, or other
heterodox religionist, was to be scourged out of the town, or an idle
or vagrant Indian, whom the white man’s firewater had made riotous
about the streets, was to be driven with stripes into the shadow of the
forest. It might be, too, that a witch, like old Mistress Hibbins, the
bitter-tempered widow of the magistrate, was to die upon the gallows.
In either case, there was very much the same solemnity of demeanour on
the part of the spectators, as befitted a people among whom religion
and law were almost identical, and in whose character both were so
thoroughly interfused, that the mildest and severest acts of public
discipline were alike made venerable and awful. Meagre, indeed, and
cold, was the sympathy that a transgressor might look for, from such
bystanders, at the scaffold. On the other hand, a penalty which, in our
days, would infer a degree of mocking infamy and ridicule, might then
be invested with almost as stern a dignity as the punishment of death
itself.

It was a circumstance to be noted on the summer morning when our story
begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several in the
crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in whatever penal
infliction might be expected to ensue. The age had not so much
refinement, that any sense of impropriety restrained the wearers of
petticoat and farthingale from stepping forth into the public ways, and
wedging their not unsubstantial persons, if occasion were, into the
throng nearest to the scaffold at an execution. Morally, as well as
materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens of old
English birth and breeding than in their fair descendants, separated
from them by a series of six or seven generations; for, throughout that
chain of ancestry, every successive mother had transmitted to her child
a fainter bloom, a more delicate and briefer beauty, and a slighter
physical frame, if not character of less force and solidity than her
own. The women who were now standing about the prison-door stood within
less than half a century of the period when the man-like Elizabeth had
been the not altogether unsuitable representative of the sex. They were
her countrywomen: and the beef and ale of their native land, with a
moral diet not a whit more refined, entered largely into their
composition. The bright morning sun, therefore, shone on broad
shoulders and well-developed busts, and on round and ruddy cheeks, that
had ripened in the far-off island, and had hardly yet grown paler or
thinner in the atmosphere of New England. There was, moreover, a
boldness and rotundity of speech among these matrons, as most of them
seemed to be, that would startle us at the present day, whether in
respect to its purport or its volume of tone.

“Goodwives,” said a hard-featured dame of fifty, “I’ll tell ye a piece
of my mind. It would be greatly for the public behoof if we women,
being of mature age and church-members in good repute, should have the
handling of such malefactresses as this Hester Prynne. What think ye,
gossips? If the hussy stood up for judgment before us five, that are
now here in a knot together, would she come off with such a sentence as
the worshipful magistrates have awarded? Marry, I trow not.”

“People say,” said another, “that the Reverend Master Dimmesdale, her
godly pastor, takes it very grievously to heart that such a scandal
should have come upon his congregation.”

“The magistrates are God-fearing gentlemen, but merciful overmuch—that
is a truth,” added a third autumnal matron. “At the very least, they
should have put the brand of a hot iron on Hester Prynne’s forehead.
Madame Hester would have winced at that, I warrant me. But she—the
naughty baggage—little will she care what they put upon the bodice of
her gown! Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such like
heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as ever!”

“Ah, but,” interposed, more softly, a young wife, holding a child by
the hand, “let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it will be
always in her heart.”

“What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of her gown
or the flesh of her forehead?” cried another female, the ugliest as
well as the most pitiless of these self-constituted judges. “This woman
has brought shame upon us all, and ought to die; is there not law for
it? Truly there is, both in the Scripture and the statute-book. Then
let the magistrates, who have made it of no effect, thank themselves if
their own wives and daughters go astray.”

“Mercy on us, goodwife!” exclaimed a man in the crowd, “is there no
virtue in woman, save what springs from a wholesome fear of the
gallows? That is the hardest word yet! Hush now, gossips for the lock
is turning in the prison-door, and here comes Mistress Prynne herself.”

The door of the jail being flung open from within there appeared, in
the first place, like a black shadow emerging into sunshine, the grim
and grisly presence of the town-beadle, with a sword by his side, and
his staff of office in his hand. This personage prefigured and
represented in his aspect the whole dismal severity of the Puritanic
code of law, which it was his business to administer in its final and
closest application to the offender. Stretching forth the official
staff in his left hand, he laid his right upon the shoulder of a young
woman, whom he thus drew forward, until, on the threshold of the
prison-door, she repelled him, by an action marked with natural dignity
and force of character, and stepped into the open air as if by her own
free will. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of some three months
old, who winked and turned aside its little face from the too vivid
light of day; because its existence, heretofore, had brought it
acquaintance only with the grey twilight of a dungeon, or other
darksome apartment of the prison.

When the young woman—the mother of this child—stood fully revealed
before the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse to clasp the infant
closely to her bosom; not so much by an impulse of motherly affection,
as that she might thereby conceal a certain token, which was wrought or
fastened into her dress. In a moment, however, wisely judging that one
token of her shame would but poorly serve to hide another, she took the
baby on her arm, and with a burning blush, and yet a haughty smile, and
a glance that would not be abashed, looked around at her townspeople
and neighbours. On the breast of her gown, in fine red cloth,
surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and fantastic flourishes of
gold thread, appeared the letter A. It was so artistically done, and
with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance of fancy, that it had
all the effect of a last and fitting decoration to the apparel which
she wore, and which was of a splendour in accordance with the taste of
the age, but greatly beyond what was allowed by the sumptuary
regulations of the colony.

The young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance on a large
scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off the
sunshine with a gleam; and a face which, besides being beautiful from
regularity of feature and richness of complexion, had the
impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. She was
ladylike, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of those
days; characterised by a certain state and dignity, rather than by the
delicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace which is now recognised
as its indication. And never had Hester Prynne appeared more ladylike,
in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from the
prison. Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her
dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and even
startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of the
misfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped. It may be true
that, to a sensitive observer, there was some thing exquisitely painful
in it. Her attire, which indeed, she had wrought for the occasion in
prison, and had modelled much after her own fancy, seemed to express
the attitude of her spirit, the desperate recklessness of her mood, by
its wild and picturesque peculiarity. But the point which drew all
eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer—so that both men and
women who had been familiarly acquainted with Hester Prynne were now
impressed as if they beheld her for the first time—was that SCARLET
LETTER, so fantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom. It
had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations
with humanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself.

“She hath good skill at her needle, that’s certain,” remarked one of
her female spectators; “but did ever a woman, before this brazen hussy,
contrive such a way of showing it? Why, gossips, what is it but to
laugh in the faces of our godly magistrates, and make a pride out of
what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a punishment?”

“It were well,” muttered the most iron-visaged of the old dames, “if we
stripped Madame Hester’s rich gown off her dainty shoulders; and as for
the red letter which she hath stitched so curiously, I’ll bestow a rag
of mine own rheumatic flannel to make a fitter one!”

“Oh, peace, neighbours—peace!” whispered their youngest companion; “do
not let her hear you! Not a stitch in that embroidered letter but she
has felt it in her heart.”

The grim beadle now made a gesture with his staff. “Make way, good
people—make way, in the King’s name!” cried he. “Open a passage; and I
promise ye, Mistress Prynne shall be set where man, woman, and child
may have a fair sight of her brave apparel from this time till an hour
past meridian. A blessing on the righteous colony of the Massachusetts,
where iniquity is dragged out into the sunshine! Come along, Madame
Hester, and show your scarlet letter in the market-place!”

A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. Preceded
by the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession of stern-browed
men and unkindly visaged women, Hester Prynne set forth towards the
place appointed for her punishment. A crowd of eager and curious
schoolboys, understanding little of the matter in hand, except that it
gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress, turning their heads
continually to stare into her face and at the winking baby in her arms,
and at the ignominious letter on her breast. It was no great distance,
in those days, from the prison door to the market-place. Measured by
the prisoner’s experience, however, it might be reckoned a journey of
some length; for haughty as her demeanour was, she perchance underwent
an agony from every footstep of those that thronged to see her, as if
her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and
trample upon. In our nature, however, there is a provision, alike
marvellous and merciful, that the sufferer should never know the
intensity of what he endures by its present torture, but chiefly by the
pang that rankles after it. With almost a serene deportment, therefore,
Hester Prynne passed through this portion of her ordeal, and came to a
sort of scaffold, at the western extremity of the market-place. It
stood nearly beneath the eaves of Boston’s earliest church, and
appeared to be a fixture there.

In fact, this scaffold constituted a portion of a penal machine, which
now, for two or three generations past, has been merely historical and
traditionary among us, but was held, in the old time, to be as
effectual an agent, in the promotion of good citizenship, as ever was
the guillotine among the terrorists of France. It was, in short, the
platform of the pillory; and above it rose the framework of that
instrument of discipline, so fashioned as to confine the human head in
its tight grasp, and thus hold it up to the public gaze. The very ideal
of ignominy was embodied and made manifest in this contrivance of wood
and iron. There can be no outrage, methinks, against our common
nature—whatever be the delinquencies of the individual—no outrage more
flagrant than to forbid the culprit to hide his face for shame; as it
was the essence of this punishment to do. In Hester Prynne’s instance,
however, as not unfrequently in other cases, her sentence bore that she
should stand a certain time upon the platform, but without undergoing
that gripe about the neck and confinement of the head, the proneness to
which was the most devilish characteristic of this ugly engine. Knowing
well her part, she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and was thus
displayed to the surrounding multitude, at about the height of a man’s
shoulders above the street.

Had there been a Papist among the crowd of Puritans, he might have seen
in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her attire and mien, and
with the infant at her bosom, an object to remind him of the image of
Divine Maternity, which so many illustrious painters have vied with one
another to represent; something which should remind him, indeed, but
only by contrast, of that sacred image of sinless motherhood, whose
infant was to redeem the world. Here, there was the taint of deepest
sin in the most sacred quality of human life, working such effect, that
the world was only the darker for this woman’s beauty, and the more
lost for the infant that she had borne.

The scene was not without a mixture of awe, such as must always invest
the spectacle of guilt and shame in a fellow-creature, before society
shall have grown corrupt enough to smile, instead of shuddering at it.
The witnesses of Hester Prynne’s disgrace had not yet passed beyond
their simplicity. They were stern enough to look upon her death, had
that been the sentence, without a murmur at its severity, but had none
of the heartlessness of another social state, which would find only a
theme for jest in an exhibition like the present. Even had there been a
disposition to turn the matter into ridicule, it must have been
repressed and overpowered by the solemn presence of men no less
dignified than the governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge, a
general, and the ministers of the town, all of whom sat or stood in a
balcony of the meeting-house, looking down upon the platform. When such
personages could constitute a part of the spectacle, without risking
the majesty, or reverence of rank and office, it was safely to be
inferred that the infliction of a legal sentence would have an earnest
and effectual meaning. Accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave. The
unhappy culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the
heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and
concentrated at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be borne. Of an
impulsive and passionate nature, she had fortified herself to encounter
the stings and venomous stabs of public contumely, wreaking itself in
every variety of insult; but there was a quality so much more terrible
in the solemn mood of the popular mind, that she longed rather to
behold all those rigid countenances contorted with scornful merriment,
and herself the object. Had a roar of laughter burst from the
multitude—each man, each woman, each little shrill-voiced child,
contributing their individual parts—Hester Prynne might have repaid
them all with a bitter and disdainful smile. But, under the leaden
infliction which it was her doom to endure, she felt, at moments, as if
she must needs shriek out with the full power of her lungs, and cast
herself from the scaffold down upon the ground, or else go mad at once.

Yet there were intervals when the whole scene, in which she was the
most conspicuous object, seemed to vanish from her eyes, or, at least,
glimmered indistinctly before them, like a mass of imperfectly shaped
and spectral images. Her mind, and especially her memory, was
preternaturally active, and kept bringing up other scenes than this
roughly hewn street of a little town, on the edge of the western
wilderness: other faces than were lowering upon her from beneath the
brims of those steeple-crowned hats. Reminiscences, the most trifling
and immaterial, passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childish
quarrels, and the little domestic traits of her maiden years, came
swarming back upon her, intermingled with recollections of whatever was
gravest in her subsequent life; one picture precisely as vivid as
another; as if all were of similar importance, or all alike a play.
Possibly, it was an instinctive device of her spirit to relieve itself
by the exhibition of these phantasmagoric forms, from the cruel weight
and hardness of the reality.

Be that as it might, the scaffold of the pillory was a point of view
that revealed to Hester Prynne the entire track along which she had
been treading, since her happy infancy. Standing on that miserable
eminence, she saw again her native village, in Old England, and her
paternal home: a decayed house of grey stone, with a poverty-stricken
aspect, but retaining a half obliterated shield of arms over the
portal, in token of antique gentility. She saw her father’s face, with
its bold brow, and reverend white beard that flowed over the
old-fashioned Elizabethan ruff; her mother’s, too, with the look of
heedful and anxious love which it always wore in her remembrance, and
which, even since her death, had so often laid the impediment of a
gentle remonstrance in her daughter’s pathway. She saw her own face,
glowing with girlish beauty, and illuminating all the interior of the
dusky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. There she beheld
another countenance, of a man well stricken in years, a pale, thin,
scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by the lamp-light that
had served them to pore over many ponderous books. Yet those same
bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, when it was their
owner’s purpose to read the human soul. This figure of the study and
the cloister, as Hester Prynne’s womanly fancy failed not to recall,
was slightly deformed, with the left shoulder a trifle higher than the
right. Next rose before her in memory’s picture-gallery, the intricate
and narrow thoroughfares, the tall, grey houses, the huge cathedrals,
and the public edifices, ancient in date and quaint in architecture, of
a continental city; where new life had awaited her, still in connexion
with the misshapen scholar: a new life, but feeding itself on time-worn
materials, like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall. Lastly, in
lieu of these shifting scenes, came back the rude market-place of the
Puritan settlement, with all the townspeople assembled, and levelling
their stern regards at Hester Prynne—yes, at herself—who stood on the
scaffold of the pillory, an infant on her arm, and the letter A, in
scarlet, fantastically embroidered with gold thread, upon her bosom.

Could it be true? She clutched the child so fiercely to her breast that
it sent forth a cry; she turned her eyes downward at the scarlet
letter, and even touched it with her finger, to assure herself that the
infant and the shame were real. Yes these were her realities—all else
had vanished!

The Mayflower Compact

November 11, 1620 [This was November 21, old style calendar]

In the name of God, Amen. We, whose names are underwritten, the Loyal
Subjects of our dread Sovereigne Lord, King James, by the Grace of God,
of Great Britaine, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith,
&c.

Having undertaken for the Glory of God, and Advancement of the
Christian Faith, and the Honour of our King and Country, a Voyage to
plant the first colony in the Northerne Parts of Virginia; doe, by
these Presents, solemnly and mutually in the Presence of God and one of
another, covenant and combine ourselves together into a civill Body
Politick, for our better Ordering and Preservation, and Furtherance of
the Ends aforesaid; And by Virtue hereof to enact, constitute, and
frame, such just and equall Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions, and
Offices, from time to time, as shall be thought most meete and
convenient for the Generall Good of the Colonie; unto which we promise
all due Submission and Obedience.

In Witness whereof we have hereunto subscribed our names at Cape Cod
the eleventh of November, in the Raigne of our Sovereigne Lord, King
James of England, France, and Ireland, the eighteenth, and of Scotland,
the fiftie-fourth, Anno. Domini, 1620.

Mr. John Carver Mr. Stephen Hopkins
Mr. William Bradford Digery Priest
Mr. Edward Winslow Thomas Williams
Mr. William Brewster Gilbert Winslow
Isaac Allerton Edmund Margesson
Miles Standish Peter Brown
John Alden Richard Bitteridge
John Turner George Soule
Francis Eaton Edward Tilly
James Chilton John Tilly
John Craxton Francis Cooke
John Billington Thomas Rogers
Joses Fletcher Thomas Tinker
John Goodman John Ridgate
Mr. Samuel Fuller Edward Fuller
Mr. Christopher Martin Richard Clark
Mr. William Mullins Richard Gardiner
Mr. William White Mr. John Allerton
Mr. Richard Warren Thomas English
John Howland Edward Doten
Edward Liester

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

by Washington Irving

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER.

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky.
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern
shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated
by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always
prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas
when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which
by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly
known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in
former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the
inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village
tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact,
but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic.
Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little
valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the
quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it,
with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional
whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound
that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one
side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature
is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it
broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated
by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might
steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the
remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this
little valley.

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its
inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this
sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and
its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the
neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the
land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place
was bewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days of the
settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of
his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by
Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under
the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of
the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are
given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and
visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in
the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots,
and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across
the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare,
with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her
gambols.

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and
seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the
apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some
to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away
by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War,
and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in
the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not
confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and
especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed,
certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been
careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this
spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the
churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly
quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes
passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being
belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has
furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and
the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the
Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not
confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously
imbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake
they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are
sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and
begin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see apparitions.

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud, for it is in such
little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the
great State of New York, that population, manners, and customs remain
fixed, while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is
making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country,
sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still
water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and
bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic
harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though many
years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet
I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same
families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.

In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of American
history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the
name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, “tarried,”
in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the
vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the
Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends
forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters.
The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall,
but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands
that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for
shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was
small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a
long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his
spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along
the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and
fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of
famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a
cornfield.

His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed
of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of
old copybooks. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a
withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the
window shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease,
he would find some embarrassment in getting out,–an idea most probably
borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an
eelpot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation,
just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and
a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low
murmur of his pupils’ voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard
in a drowsy summer’s day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and
then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or
command, or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he
urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to
say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim,
“Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Ichabod Crane’s scholars certainly
were not spoiled.

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those cruel
potentates of the school who joy in the smart of their subjects; on
the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than
severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on
those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least
flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of
justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little
tough wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled
and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called “doing
his duty by their parents;” and he never inflicted a chastisement
without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting
urchin, that “he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day
he had to live.”

When school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate
of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some of
the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good
housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed,
it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue
arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely
sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder,
and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help
out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those
parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children
he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time, thus
going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied
up in a cotton handkerchief.

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic
patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous
burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways of
rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers
occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to make
hay, mended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows from
pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the
dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little
empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating.
He found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children,
particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so
magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee,
and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.

In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master of the
neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the
young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to him on
Sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band
of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away
the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above
all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still
to be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off,
quite to the opposite side of the millpond, on a still Sunday morning,
which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod
Crane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is
commonly denominated “by hook and by crook,” the worthy pedagogue got on
tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the
labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female
circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle,
gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to
the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the
parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir
at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary
dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver
teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the
smiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the
churchyard, between services on Sundays; gathering grapes for them from
the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for their
amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a
whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent millpond; while the
more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior
elegance and address.

From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette,
carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that
his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover,
esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read
several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather’s
“History of New England Witchcraft,” in which, by the way, he most
firmly and potently believed.

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple
credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting
it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his
residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous
for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school
was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of
clover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his schoolhouse, and
there con over old Mather’s direful tales, until the gathering dusk of
evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he
wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse
where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that
witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination,–the moan of the
whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that
harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, or the
sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The
fireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now
and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across
his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging
his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up
the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch’s token. His
only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away
evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good people of Sleepy
Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with
awe at hearing his nasal melody, “in linked sweetness long drawn out,”
floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter
evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire,
with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and
listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted
fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses,
and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the
Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by
his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous
sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of
Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon
comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did
absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in
the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the
crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show
its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk
homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the
dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he
eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from
some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered
with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often
did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the
frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest
he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how
often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling
among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of
his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind
that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time,
and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely
perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would
have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his
works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more
perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of
witches put together, and that was–a woman.

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week,
to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel,
the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a
blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting
and rosy-cheeked as one of her father’s peaches, and universally famed,
not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a
little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was
a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off
her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her
great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam; the tempting
stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short petticoat,
to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it is
not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his
eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion.
Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented,
liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or
his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those
everything was snug, happy and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with
his wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty
abundance, rather than the style in which he lived. His stronghold was
situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered,
fertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A
great elm tree spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which
bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well
formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to
a neighboring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows.
Hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a
church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the
treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from
morning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the
eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching
the weather, some with their heads under their wings or buried in their
bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames,
were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were
grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied
forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air.
A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond,
convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling
through the farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting about it, like
ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry. Before
the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a
warrior and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing
in the pride and gladness of his heart,–sometimes tearing up the earth
with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of
wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered.

The pedagogue’s mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise
of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind’s eye, he pictured to
himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly,
and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a
comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were
swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes,
like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In
the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy
relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with
its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory
sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back,
in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which
his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living.

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great
green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye,
of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy
fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart
yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his
imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned
into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and
shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized
his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole
family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household
trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself
bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for
Kentucky, Tennessee,–or the Lord knows where!

When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was complete. It
was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-ridged but lowly sloping
roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the
low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being
closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various
utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring
river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great
spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various
uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza
the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the
mansion, and the place of usual residence. Here rows of resplendent
pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner
stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun; in another, a quantity of
linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of
dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled
with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into
the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables
shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and
tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and
conch-shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds
eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from
the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open,
displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china.

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the
peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the
affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise,
however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of
a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters,
fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend
with and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass,
and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was
confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way
to the centre of a Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as
a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to
the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims
and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and
impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of
real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every
portal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other,
but ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.

Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade,
of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom
Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of
strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed,
with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance,
having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame
and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of BROM BONES,
by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and
skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar.
He was foremost at all races and cock fights; and, with the ascendancy
which bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in
all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with
an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always
ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than
ill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness,
there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or
four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the
head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or
merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a
fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox’s tail; and when the folks at a
country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking
about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall.
Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at
midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the
old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till
the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, “Ay, there goes
Brom Bones and his gang!” The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture
of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic
brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted
Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina
for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous
toyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a
bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his
hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to
retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch,
that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel’s paling, on a Sunday
night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed,
“sparking,” within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried
the war into other quarters.

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend,
and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk
from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had,
however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature;
he was in form and spirit like a supple-jack–yielding, but tough;
though he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the
slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away–jerk!–he was as erect,
and carried his head as high as ever.

To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been
madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more
than that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances
in a quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under cover of his character
of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he
had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents,
which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Balt Van
Tassel was an easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even
than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let
her have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough
to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she
sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked
after, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus, while the busy dame
bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the
piazza, honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other,
watching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a
sword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle
of the barn. In the mean time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the
daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering
along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover’s eloquence.

I profess not to know how women’s hearts are wooed and won. To me they
have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but
one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand
avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a
great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of
generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle
for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common
hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed
sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this
was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment
Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently
declined: his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on Sunday
nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor
of Sleepy Hollow.

Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have
carried matters to open warfare and have settled their pretensions
to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple
reasoners, the knights-errant of yore,–by single combat; but Ichabod
was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the
lists against him; he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would
“double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own
schoolhouse;” and he was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was
something extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it
left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in
his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival.
Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang
of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked
out his singing school by stopping up the chimney; broke into the
schoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe
and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor
schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held
their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom took all
opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress,
and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous
manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod’s, to instruct her in
psalmody.

In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any
material effect on the relative situations of the contending powers. On
a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on
the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his
little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of
despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the
throne, a constant terror to evil doers, while on the desk before
him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons,
detected upon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples,
popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little
paper gamecocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice
recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their
books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the
master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the
schoolroom. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in
tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat,
like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild,
half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came
clattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend
a merry-making or “quilting frolic,” to be held that evening at
Mynheer Van Tassel’s; and having delivered his message with that air of
importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display
on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen
scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his
mission.

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom. The scholars
were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles; those
who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were
tardy had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their
speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without
being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown
down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual
time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing
about the green in joy at their early emancipation.

The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet,
brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty
black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that
hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his appearance before his
mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the
farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the
name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like
a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in
the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks
and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was
a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its
viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like
a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs;
one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other
had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and
mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder.
He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master’s, the choleric Van
Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of
his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked,
there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in
the country.

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short
stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle;
his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers’; he carried his whip
perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on,
the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A
small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of
forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out
almost to the horses tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his
steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was
altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad
daylight.

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and
serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always
associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober
brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped
by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.
Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the
air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech
and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from
the neighboring stubble field.

The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness
of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to
bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety
around them. There was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of
stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering
blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with
his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the
cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little
monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his
gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering,
nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with
every songster of the grove.

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom
of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly
autumn. On all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some hanging in
oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels
for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press.
Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears
peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes
and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning
up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of
the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat
fields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft
anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered,
and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand
of Katrina Van Tassel.

Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and “sugared
suppositions,” he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which
look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun
gradually wheeled his broad disk down in the west. The wide bosom of the
Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a
gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant
mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air
to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually
into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the
mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the
precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth
to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering
in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging
uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed
along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the
air.

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Heer
Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the
adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun
coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter
buckles. Their brisk, withered little dames, in close-crimped caps,
long-waisted short gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and
pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. Buxom
lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw
hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city
innovation. The sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of
stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion
of the times, especially if they could procure an eel-skin for the
purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher
and strengthener of the hair.

Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the
gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself,
full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage.
He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all
kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for
he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon
the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlor of Van
Tassel’s mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their
luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms of a genuine
Dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped up
platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only
to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the
tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and
short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of
cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies;
besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes
of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention
broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and
cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated
them, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the
midst–Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to discuss this
banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story.
Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but
did ample justice to every dainty.

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion
as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with
eating, as some men’s do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his
large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that
he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury
and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he’d turn his back upon the old
schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every
other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors
that should dare to call him comrade!

Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated
with content and good humor, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His
hospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being confined to a
shake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing
invitation to “fall to, and help themselves.”

And now the sound of the music from the common room, or hall, summoned
to the dance. The musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had
been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a
century. His instrument was as old and battered as himself. The greater
part of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every
movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the
ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to
start.

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal
powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his
loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you
would have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance,
was figuring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the
negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm
and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at
every door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their
white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How
could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? The
lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously
in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten
with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the
sager folks, who, with Old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the
piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about
the war.

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of those
highly favored places which abound with chronicle and great men. The
British and American line had run near it during the war; it had,
therefore, been the scene of marauding and infested with refugees,
cowboys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had
elapsed to enable each storyteller to dress up his tale with a little
becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to
make himself the hero of every exploit.

There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman,
who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder
from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge.
And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich
a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White Plains,
being an excellent master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a small
sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and
glance off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time to
show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more
that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was
persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy
termination.

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that
succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of the
kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered,
long-settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting
throng that forms the population of most of our country places. Besides,
there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they
have scarcely had time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in
their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from
the neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their
rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is perhaps the
reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long-established
Dutch communities.

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories
in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow.
There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted
region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting
all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at
Van Tassel’s, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful
legends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning
cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the
unfortunate Major André was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood.
Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the
dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights
before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the
stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the
Headless Horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling
the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the
graves in the churchyard.

The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a
favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by
locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed
walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the
shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet
of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at
the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where
the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at
least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a
wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and
trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far
from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led
to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees,
which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a
fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts of
the Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently
encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical
disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray
into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they
galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached
the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old
Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap
of thunder.

This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of
Brom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey.
He affirmed that on returning one night from the neighboring village of
Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had
offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it
too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they
came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash
of fire.

All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in
the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receiving
a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of
Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable
author, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken
place in his native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he
had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.

The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together
their families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling
along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the
damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite swains, and their
light-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along
the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they gradually
died away,–and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and
deserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of
country lovers, to have a tête-à-tête with the heiress; fully convinced
that he was now on the high road to success. What passed at this
interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know.
Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly
sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate
and chapfallen. Oh, these women! these women! Could that girl have been
playing off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the
poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival?
Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth
with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair
lady’s heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene
of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to
the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed
most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly
sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of
timothy and clover.

It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and
crestfallen, pursued his travels homewards, along the sides of the
lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so
cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below
him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with
here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under
the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking
of the watchdog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was
so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this
faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing
of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some
farmhouse away among the hills–but it was like a dreaming sound in his
ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy
chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from a
neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in
his bed.

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon
now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and
darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds
occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and
dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the
scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road
stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the
other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its
limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for
ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into
the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate
André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known
by the name of Major André’s tree. The common people regarded it with a
mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the
fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange
sights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought
his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through
the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw
something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused and ceased
whistling but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place
where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid
bare. Suddenly he heard a groan–his teeth chattered, and his knees
smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon
another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in
safety, but new perils lay before him.

About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road,
and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of
Wiley’s Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge
over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the
wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines,
threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest
trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was
captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the
sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been
considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the
schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.

As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up,
however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the
ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of
starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and
ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the
delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the
contrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but
it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of
brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and
heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward,
snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a
suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head.
Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the
sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin
of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It
stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic
monster ready to spring upon the traveller.

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror.
What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides,
what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which
could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a
show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, “Who are you?”
He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated
voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides
of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with
involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of
alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at
once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal,
yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He
appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black
horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability,
but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side
of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and
bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping
Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The
stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled
up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind,–the other did the
same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his
psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and
he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and
dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and
appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising
ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief
against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was
horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!–but his horror was
still more increased on observing that the head, which should have
rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his
saddle! His terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and
blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion
the slip; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they
dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at
every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as
he stretched his long lank body away over his horse’s head, in the
eagerness of his flight.

They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but
Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it,
made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong downhill to the left. This
road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter
of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just
beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent
advantage in the chase, but just as he had got half way through the
hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from
under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm,
but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder
round the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it
trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van
Ripper’s wrath passed across his mind,–for it was his Sunday saddle;
but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his
haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain
his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and
sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse’s backbone, with a
violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church
bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the
bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls
of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the
place where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can
but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard
the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied
that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and
old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding
planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind
to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of
fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups,
and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to
dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium
with a tremendous crash,–he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and
Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a
whirlwind.

The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with
the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s
gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour
came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and
strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans
Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor
Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent
investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading
to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of
horses’ hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed,
were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of
the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the
unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.

The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster was not to
be discovered. Hans Van Ripper as executor of his estate, examined the
bundle which contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two
shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted
stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book
of psalm tunes full of dog’s-ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the
books and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community,
excepting Cotton Mather’s “History of Witchcraft,” a “New England
Almanac,” and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was
a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless
attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel.
These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the
flames by Hans Van Ripper; who, from that time forward, determined to
send his children no more to school, observing that he never knew
any good come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the
schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter’s pay but a
day or two before, he must have had about his person at the time of his
disappearance.

The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the
following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the
churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin
had been found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of
others were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them
all, and compared them with the symptoms of the present case, they shook
their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried
off by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody’s
debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school was
removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue
reigned in his stead.

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit
several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure
was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still
alive; that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear of the
goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been
suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a
distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same
time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; electioneered;
written for the newspapers; and finally had been made a justice of
the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after his rival’s
disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar,
was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod
was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the
pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter
than he chose to tell.

The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these
matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by
supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the
neighborhood round the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than
ever an object of superstitious awe; and that may be the reason why the
road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by
the border of the millpond. The schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to
decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate
pedagogue and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening,
has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm
tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.

POSTSCRIPT.

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER.

The preceding tale is given almost in the precise words in which I
heard it related at a Corporation meeting at the ancient city of
Manhattoes, at which were present many of its sagest and most
illustrious burghers. The narrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly
old fellow, in pepper-and-salt clothes, with a sadly humourous face,
and one whom I strongly suspected of being poor–he made such efforts
to be entertaining. When his story was concluded, there was much
laughter and approbation, particularly from two or three deputy
aldermen, who had been asleep the greater part of the time. There was,
however, one tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows,
who maintained a grave and rather severe face throughout, now and then
folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon the floor,
as if turning a doubt over in his mind. He was one of your wary men,
who never laugh but upon good grounds–when they have reason and law on
their side. When the mirth of the rest of the company had subsided, and
silence was restored, he leaned one arm on the elbow of his chair, and
sticking the other akimbo, demanded, with a slight, but exceedingly
sage motion of the head, and contraction of the brow, what was the
moral of the story, and what it went to prove?

The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his lips, as
a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, looked at his
inquirer with an air of infinite deference, and, lowering the glass
slowly to the table, observed that the story was intended most
logically to prove–

“That there is no situation in life but has its advantages and
pleasures–provided we will but take a joke as we find it:

“That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is likely to
have rough riding of it.

“Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand of a Dutch
heiress is a certain step to high preferment in the state.”

The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after this
explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the
syllogism, while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed him with
something of a triumphant leer. At length he observed that all this was
very well, but still he thought the story a little on the
extravagant–there were one or two points on which he had his doubts.

“Faith, sir,” replied the story-teller, “as to that matter, I don’t
believe one-half of it myself.” D. K.

THE END.

29:7 And he said, Lo, it is yet high day, neither is it time that the
cattle should be gathered together: water ye the sheep, and go and
feed them.

29:8 And they said, We cannot, until all the flocks be gathered
together, and till they roll the stone from the well’s mouth; then we
water the sheep.

29:9 And while he yet spake with them, Rachel came with her father’s
sheep; for she kept them.

29:10 And it came to pass, when Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Laban
his mother’s brother, and the sheep of Laban his mother’s brother,
that Jacob went near, and rolled the stone from the well’s mouth, and
watered the flock of Laban his mother’s brother.

29:11 And Jacob kissed Rachel, and lifted up his voice, and wept.

29:12 And Jacob told Rachel that he was her father’s brother, and that
he was Rebekah’s son: and she ran and told her father.

29:13 And it came to pass, when Laban heard the tidings of Jacob his
sister’s son, that he ran to meet him, and embraced him, and kissed
him, and brought him to his house. And he told Laban all these things.

29:14 And Laban said to him, Surely thou art my bone and my flesh. And
he abode with him the space of a month.

29:15 And Laban said unto Jacob, Because thou art my brother,
shouldest thou therefore serve me for nought? tell me, what shall thy
wages be? 29:16 And Laban had two daughters: the name of the elder
was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel.

29:17 Leah was tender eyed; but Rachel was beautiful and well
favoured.

29:18 And Jacob loved Rachel; and said, I will serve thee seven years
for Rachel thy younger daughter.

29:19 And Laban said, It is better that I give her to thee, than that
I should give her to another man: abide with me.

29:20 And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto
him but a few days, for the love he had to her.

29:21 And Jacob said unto Laban, Give me my wife, for my days are
fulfilled, that I may go in unto her.

29:22 And Laban gathered together all the men of the place, and made a
feast.

29:23 And it came to pass in the evening, that he took Leah his
daughter, and brought her to him; and he went in unto her.

29:24 And Laban gave unto his daughter Leah Zilpah his maid for an
handmaid.

29:25 And it came to pass, that in the morning, behold, it was Leah:
and he said to Laban, What is this thou hast done unto me? did not I
serve with thee for Rachel? wherefore then hast thou beguiled me?
29:26 And Laban said, It must not be so done in our country, to give
the younger before the firstborn.

29:27 Fulfil her week, and we will give thee this also for the service
which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years.

29:28 And Jacob did so, and fulfilled her week: and he gave him Rachel
his daughter to wife also.

29:29 And Laban gave to Rachel his daughter Bilhah his handmaid to be
her maid.

29:30 And he went in also unto Rachel, and he loved also Rachel more
than Leah, and served with him yet seven other years.

29:31 And when the LORD saw that Leah was hated, he opened her womb:
but Rachel was barren.

29:32 And Leah conceived, and bare a son, and she called his name
Reuben: for she said, Surely the LORD hath looked upon my affliction;
now therefore my husband will love me.

29:33 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Because the
LORD hath heard I was hated, he hath therefore given me this son also:
and she called his name Simeon.

29:34 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Now this time
will my husband be joined unto me, because I have born him three sons:
therefore was his name called Levi.

29:35 And she conceived again, and bare a son: and she said, Now will
I praise the LORD: therefore she called his name Judah; and left
bearing.

30:1 And when Rachel saw that she bare Jacob no children, Rachel
envied her sister; and said unto Jacob, Give me children, or else I
die.

30:2 And Jacob’s anger was kindled against Rachel: and he said, Am I
in God’s stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?
30:3 And she said, Behold my maid Bilhah, go in unto her; and she
shall bear upon my knees, that I may also have children by her.

30:4 And she gave him Bilhah her handmaid to wife: and Jacob went in
unto her.

30:5 And Bilhah conceived, and bare Jacob a son.

30:6 And Rachel said, God hath judged me, and hath also heard my
voice, and hath given me a son: therefore called she his name Dan.

30:7 And Bilhah Rachel’s maid conceived again, and bare Jacob a second
son.

30:8 And Rachel said, With great wrestlings have I wrestled with my
sister, and I have prevailed: and she called his name Naphtali.

30:9 When Leah saw that she had left bearing, she took Zilpah her
maid, and gave her Jacob to wife.

30:10 And Zilpah Leah’s maid bare Jacob a son.

30:11 And Leah said, A troop cometh: and she called his name Gad.

30:12 And Zilpah Leah’s maid bare Jacob a second son.

30:13 And Leah said, Happy am I, for the daughters will call me
blessed: and she called his name Asher.

30:14 And Reuben went in the days of wheat harvest, and found
mandrakes in the field, and brought them unto his mother Leah. Then
Rachel said to Leah, Give me, I pray thee, of thy son’s mandrakes.

30:15 And she said unto her, Is it a small matter that thou hast taken
my husband? and wouldest thou take away my son’s mandrakes also? And
Rachel said, Therefore he shall lie with thee to night for thy son’s
mandrakes.

30:16 And Jacob came out of the field in the evening, and Leah went
out to meet him, and said, Thou must come in unto me; for surely I
have hired thee with my son’s mandrakes. And he lay with her that
night.

30:17 And God hearkened unto Leah, and she conceived, and bare Jacob
the fifth son.

30:18 And Leah said, God hath given me my hire, because I have given
my maiden to my husband: and she called his name Issachar.

30:19 And Leah conceived again, and bare Jacob the sixth son.

30:20 And Leah said, God hath endued me with a good dowry; now will my
husband dwell with me, because I have born him six sons: and she
called his name Zebulun.

30:21 And afterwards she bare a daughter, and called her name Dinah.

30:22 And God remembered Rachel, and God hearkened to her, and opened
her womb.

30:23 And she conceived, and bare a son; and said, God hath taken away
my reproach: 30:24 And she called his name Joseph; and said, The LORD
shall add to me another son.

30:25 And it came to pass, when Rachel had born Joseph, that Jacob
said unto Laban, Send me away, that I may go unto mine own place, and
to my country.

30:26 Give me my wives and my children, for whom I have served thee,
and let me go: for thou knowest my service which I have done thee.

30:27 And Laban said unto him, I pray thee, if I have found favour in
thine eyes, tarry: for I have learned by experience that the LORD hath
blessed me for thy sake.

30:28 And he said, Appoint me thy wages, and I will give it.

30:29 And he said unto him, Thou knowest how I have served thee, and
how thy cattle was with me.

30:30 For it was little which thou hadst before I came, and it is now
increased unto a multitude; and the LORD hath blessed thee since my
coming: and now when shall I provide for mine own house also? 30:31
And he said, What shall I give thee? And Jacob said, Thou shalt not
give me any thing: if thou wilt do this thing for me, I will again
feed and keep thy flock.

30:32 I will pass through all thy flock to day, removing from thence
all the speckled and spotted cattle, and all the brown cattle among
the sheep, and the spotted and speckled among the goats: and of such
shall be my hire.

30:33 So shall my righteousness answer for me in time to come, when it
shall come for my hire before thy face: every one that is not speckled
and spotted among the goats, and brown among the sheep, that shall be
counted stolen with me.

30:34 And Laban said, Behold, I would it might be according to thy
word.

30:35 And he removed that day the he goats that were ringstraked and
spotted, and all the she goats that were speckled and spotted, and
every one that had some white in it, and all the brown among the
sheep, and gave them into the hand of his sons.

30:36 And he set three days’ journey betwixt himself and Jacob: and
Jacob fed the rest of Laban’s flocks.

30:37 And Jacob took him rods of green poplar, and of the hazel and
chestnut tree; and pilled white strakes in them, and made the white
appear which was in the rods.

30:38 And he set the rods which he had pilled before the flocks in the
gutters in the watering troughs when the flocks came to drink, that
they should conceive when they came to drink.

30:39 And the flocks conceived before the rods, and brought forth
cattle ringstraked, speckled, and spotted.

30:40 And Jacob did separate the lambs, and set the faces of the
flocks toward the ringstraked, and all the brown in the flock of
Laban; and he put his own flocks by themselves, and put them not unto
Laban’s cattle.

30:41 And it came to pass, whensoever the stronger cattle did
conceive, that Jacob laid the rods before the eyes of the cattle in
the gutters, that they might conceive among the rods.

30:42 But when the cattle were feeble, he put them not in: so the
feebler were Laban’s, and the stronger Jacob’s.

30:43 And the man increased exceedingly, and had much cattle, and
maidservants, and menservants, and camels, and asses.

31:1 And he heard the words of Laban’s sons, saying, Jacob hath taken
away all that was our father’s; and of that which was our father’s
hath he gotten all this glory.

31:2 And Jacob beheld the countenance of Laban, and, behold, it was
not toward him as before.

31:3 And the LORD said unto Jacob, Return unto the land of thy
fathers, and to thy kindred; and I will be with thee.

31:4 And Jacob sent and called Rachel and Leah to the field unto his
flock, 31:5 And said unto them, I see your father’s countenance, that
it is not toward me as before; but the God of my father hath been with
me.

31:6 And ye know that with all my power I have served your father.

31:7 And your father hath deceived me, and changed my wages ten times;
but God suffered him not to hurt me.

31:8 If he said thus, The speckled shall be thy wages; then all the
cattle bare speckled: and if he said thus, The ringstraked shall be
thy hire; then bare all the cattle ringstraked.

31:9 Thus God hath taken away the cattle of your father, and given
them to me.

31:10 And it came to pass at the time that the cattle conceived, that
I lifted up mine eyes, and saw in a dream, and, behold, the rams which
leaped upon the cattle were ringstraked, speckled, and grisled.

31:11 And the angel of God spake unto me in a dream, saying, Jacob:
And I said, Here am I.

31:12 And he said, Lift up now thine eyes, and see, all the rams which
leap upon the cattle are ringstraked, speckled, and grisled: for I
have seen all that Laban doeth unto thee.

31:13 I am the God of Bethel, where thou anointedst the pillar, and
where thou vowedst a vow unto me: now arise, get thee out from this
land, and return unto the land of thy kindred.

31:14 And Rachel and Leah answered and said unto him, Is there yet any
portion or inheritance for us in our father’s house? 31:15 Are we not
counted of him strangers? for he hath sold us, and hath quite devoured
also our money.

31:16 For all the riches which God hath taken from our father, that is
ours, and our children’s: now then, whatsoever God hath said unto
thee, do.

31:17 Then Jacob rose up, and set his sons and his wives upon camels;
31:18 And he carried away all his cattle, and all his goods which he
had gotten, the cattle of his getting, which he had gotten in
Padanaram, for to go to Isaac his father in the land of Canaan.

31:19 And Laban went to shear his sheep: and Rachel had stolen the
images that were her father’s.

31:20 And Jacob stole away unawares to Laban the Syrian, in that he
told him not that he fled.

31:21 So he fled with all that he had; and he rose up, and passed over
the river, and set his face toward the mount Gilead.

31:22 And it was told Laban on the third day that Jacob was fled.

31:23 And he took his brethren with him, and pursued after him seven
days’ journey; and they overtook him in the mount Gilead.

31:24 And God came to Laban the Syrian in a dream by night, and said
unto him, Take heed that thou speak not to Jacob either good or bad.

31:25 Then Laban overtook Jacob. Now Jacob had pitched his tent in the
mount: and Laban with his brethren pitched in the mount of Gilead.

31:26 And Laban said to Jacob, What hast thou done, that thou hast
stolen away unawares to me, and carried away my daughters, as captives
taken with the sword? 31:27 Wherefore didst thou flee away secretly,
and steal away from me; and didst not tell me, that I might have sent
thee away with mirth, and with songs, with tabret, and with harp?
31:28 And hast not suffered me to kiss my sons and my daughters? thou
hast now done foolishly in so doing.

31:29 It is in the power of my hand to do you hurt: but the God of
your father spake unto me yesternight, saying, Take thou heed that
thou speak not to Jacob either good or bad.

31:30 And now, though thou wouldest needs be gone, because thou sore
longedst after thy father’s house, yet wherefore hast thou stolen my
gods? 31:31 And Jacob answered and said to Laban, Because I was
afraid: for I said, Peradventure thou wouldest take by force thy
daughters from me.

31:32 With whomsoever thou findest thy gods, let him not live: before
our brethren discern thou what is thine with me, and take it to thee.
For Jacob knew not that Rachel had stolen them.

31:33 And Laban went into Jacob’s tent, and into Leah’s tent, and into
the two maidservants’ tents; but he found them not. Then went he out
of Leah’s tent, and entered into Rachel’s tent.

31:34 Now Rachel had taken the images, and put them in the camel’s
furniture, and sat upon them. And Laban searched all the tent, but
found them not.

31:35 And she said to her father, Let it not displease my lord that I
cannot rise up before thee; for the custom of women is upon me. And he
searched but found not the images.

31:36 And Jacob was wroth, and chode with Laban: and Jacob answered
and said to Laban, What is my trespass? what is my sin, that thou hast
so hotly pursued after me? 31:37 Whereas thou hast searched all my
stuff, what hast thou found of all thy household stuff? set it here
before my brethren and thy brethren, that they may judge betwixt us
both.

31:38 This twenty years have I been with thee; thy ewes and thy she
goats have not cast their young, and the rams of thy flock have I not
eaten.

31:39 That which was torn of beasts I brought not unto thee; I bare
the loss of it; of my hand didst thou require it, whether stolen by
day, or stolen by night.

31:40 Thus I was; in the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by
night; and my sleep departed from mine eyes.

31:41 Thus have I been twenty years in thy house; I served thee
fourteen years for thy two daughters, and six years for thy cattle:
and thou hast changed my wages ten times.

31:42 Except the God of my father, the God of Abraham, and the fear of
Isaac, had been with me, surely thou hadst sent me away now empty. God
hath seen mine affliction and the labour of my hands, and rebuked thee
yesternight.

31:43 And Laban answered and said unto Jacob, These daughters are my
daughters, and these children are my children, and these cattle are my
cattle, and all that thou seest is mine: and what can I do this day
unto these my daughters, or unto their children which they have born?
31:44 Now therefore come thou, let us make a covenant, I and thou; and
let it be for a witness between me and thee.

31:45 And Jacob took a stone, and set it up for a pillar.

31:46 And Jacob said unto his brethren, Gather stones; and they took
stones, and made an heap: and they did eat there upon the heap.

31:47 And Laban called it Jegarsahadutha: but Jacob called it Galeed.

31:48 And Laban said, This heap is a witness between me and thee this
day.

Therefore was the name of it called Galeed; 31:49 And Mizpah; for he
said, The LORD watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from
another.

31:50 If thou shalt afflict my daughters, or if thou shalt take other
wives beside my daughters, no man is with us; see, God is witness
betwixt me and thee.

31:51 And Laban said to Jacob, Behold this heap, and behold this
pillar, which I have cast betwixt me and thee: 31:52 This heap be
witness, and this pillar be witness, that I will not pass over this
heap to thee, and that thou shalt not pass over this heap and this
pillar unto me, for harm.

31:53 The God of Abraham, and the God of Nahor, the God of their
father, judge betwixt us. And Jacob sware by the fear of his father
Isaac.

31:54 Then Jacob offered sacrifice upon the mount, and called his
brethren to eat bread: and they did eat bread, and tarried all night
in the mount.

31:55 And early in the morning Laban rose up, and kissed his sons and
his daughters, and blessed them: and Laban departed, and returned unto
his place.

32:1 And Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him.

32:2 And when Jacob saw them, he said, This is God’s host: and he
called the name of that place Mahanaim.

32:3 And Jacob sent messengers before him to Esau his brother unto the
land of Seir, the country of Edom.

32:4 And he commanded them, saying, Thus shall ye speak unto my lord
Esau; Thy servant Jacob saith thus, I have sojourned with Laban, and
stayed there until now: 32:5 And I have oxen, and asses, flocks, and
menservants, and womenservants: and I have sent to tell my lord, that
I may find grace in thy sight.

32:6 And the messengers returned to Jacob, saying, We came to thy
brother Esau, and also he cometh to meet thee, and four hundred men
with him.

32:7 Then Jacob was greatly afraid and distressed: and he divided the
people that was with him, and the flocks, and herds, and the camels,
into two bands; 32:8 And said, If Esau come to the one company, and
smite it, then the other company which is left shall escape.

32:9 And Jacob said, O God of my father Abraham, and God of my father
Isaac, the LORD which saidst unto me, Return unto thy country, and to
thy kindred, and I will deal well with thee: 32:10 I am not worthy of
the least of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which thou hast
shewed unto thy servant; for with my staff I passed over this Jordan;
and now I am become two bands.

32:11 Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother, from the
hand of Esau: for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the
mother with the children.

32:12 And thou saidst, I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed
as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.

32:13 And he lodged there that same night; and took of that which came
to his hand a present for Esau his brother; 32:14 Two hundred she
goats, and twenty he goats, two hundred ewes, and twenty rams, 32:15
Thirty milch camels with their colts, forty kine, and ten bulls,
twenty she asses, and ten foals.

32:16 And he delivered them into the hand of his servants, every drove
by themselves; and said unto his servants, Pass over before me, and
put a space betwixt drove and drove.

32:17 And he commanded the foremost, saying, When Esau my brother
meeteth thee, and asketh thee, saying, Whose art thou? and whither
goest thou? and whose are these before thee? 32:18 Then thou shalt
say, They be thy servant Jacob’s; it is a present sent unto my lord
Esau: and, behold, also he is behind us.

32:19 And so commanded he the second, and the third, and all that
followed the droves, saying, On this manner shall ye speak unto Esau,
when ye find him.

32:20 And say ye moreover, Behold, thy servant Jacob is behind us. For
he said, I will appease him with the present that goeth before me, and
afterward I will see his face; peradventure he will accept of me.

32:21 So went the present over before him: and himself lodged that
night in the company.

32:22 And he rose up that night, and took his two wives, and his two
womenservants, and his eleven sons, and passed over the ford Jabbok.

32:23 And he took them, and sent them over the brook, and sent over
that he had.

32:24 And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him
until the breaking of the day.

32:25 And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched
the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of
joint, as he wrestled with him.

32:26 And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I
will not let thee go, except thou bless me.

32:27 And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob.

32:28 And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel:
for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast
prevailed.

32:29 And Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name.
And he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name? And he
blessed him there.

32:30 And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen
God face to face, and my life is preserved.

32:31 And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he
halted upon his thigh.

32:32 Therefore the children of Israel eat not of the sinew which
shrank, which is upon the hollow of the thigh, unto this day: because
he touched the hollow of Jacob’s thigh in the sinew that shrank.

33:1 And Jacob lifted up his eyes, and looked, and, behold, Esau came,
and with him four hundred men. And he divided the children unto Leah,
and unto Rachel, and unto the two handmaids.

33:2 And he put the handmaids and their children foremost, and Leah
and her children after, and Rachel and Joseph hindermost.

33:3 And he passed over before them, and bowed himself to the ground
seven times, until he came near to his brother.

33:4 And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck,
and kissed him: and they wept.

33:5 And he lifted up his eyes, and saw the women and the children;
and said, Who are those with thee? And he said, The children which God
hath graciously given thy servant.

33:6 Then the handmaidens came near, they and their children, and they
bowed themselves.

33:7 And Leah also with her children came near, and bowed themselves:
and after came Joseph near and Rachel, and they bowed themselves.

33:8 And he said, What meanest thou by all this drove which I met? And
he said, These are to find grace in the sight of my lord.

33:9 And Esau said, I have enough, my brother; keep that thou hast
unto thyself.

33:10 And Jacob said, Nay, I pray thee, if now I have found grace in
thy sight, then receive my present at my hand: for therefore I have
seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God, and thou wast
pleased with me.

33:11 Take, I pray thee, my blessing that is brought to thee; because
God hath dealt graciously with me, and because I have enough. And he
urged him, and he took it.

33:12 And he said, Let us take our journey, and let us go, and I will
go before thee.

33:13 And he said unto him, My lord knoweth that the children are
tender, and the flocks and herds with young are with me: and if men
should overdrive them one day, all the flock will die.

33:14 Let my lord, I pray thee, pass over before his servant: and I
will lead on softly, according as the cattle that goeth before me and
the children be able to endure, until I come unto my lord unto Seir.

33:15 And Esau said, Let me now leave with thee some of the folk that
are with me. And he said, What needeth it? let me find grace in the
sight of my lord.

33:16 So Esau returned that day on his way unto Seir.

33:17 And Jacob journeyed to Succoth, and built him an house, and made
booths for his cattle: therefore the name of the place is called
Succoth.

33:18 And Jacob came to Shalem, a city of Shechem, which is in the
land of Canaan, when he came from Padanaram; and pitched his tent
before the city.

33:19 And he bought a parcel of a field, where he had spread his tent,
at the hand of the children of Hamor, Shechem’s father, for an hundred
pieces of money.

33:20 And he erected there an altar, and called it EleloheIsrael.

34:1 And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob, went
out to see the daughters of the land.

34:2 And when Shechem the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the
country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.

34:3 And his soul clave unto Dinah the daughter of Jacob, and he loved
the damsel, and spake kindly unto the damsel.

34:4 And Shechem spake unto his father Hamor, saying, Get me this
damsel to wife.

34:5 And Jacob heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter: now his
sons were with his cattle in the field: and Jacob held his peace until
they were come.

34:6 And Hamor the father of Shechem went out unto Jacob to commune
with him.

34:7 And the sons of Jacob came out of the field when they heard it:
and the men were grieved, and they were very wroth, because he had
wrought folly in Israel in lying with Jacob’s daughter: which thing
ought not to be done.

34:8 And Hamor communed with them, saying, The soul of my son Shechem
longeth for your daughter: I pray you give her him to wife.

34:9 And make ye marriages with us, and give your daughters unto us,
and take our daughters unto you.

34:10 And ye shall dwell with us: and the land shall be before you;
dwell and trade ye therein, and get you possessions therein.

34:11 And Shechem said unto her father and unto her brethren, Let me
find grace in your eyes, and what ye shall say unto me I will give.

34:12 Ask me never so much dowry and gift, and I will give according
as ye shall say unto me: but give me the damsel to wife.

34:13 And the sons of Jacob answered Shechem and Hamor his father
deceitfully, and said, because he had defiled Dinah their sister:
34:14 And they said unto them, We cannot do this thing, to give our
sister to one that is uncircumcised; for that were a reproach unto us:
34:15 But in this will we consent unto you: If ye will be as we be,
that every male of you be circumcised; 34:16 Then will we give our
daughters unto you, and we will take your daughters to us, and we will
dwell with you, and we will become one people.

34:17 But if ye will not hearken unto us, to be circumcised; then will
we take our daughter, and we will be gone.

34:18 And their words pleased Hamor, and Shechem Hamor’s son.

34:19 And the young man deferred not to do the thing, because he had
delight in Jacob’s daughter: and he was more honourable than all the
house of his father.

34:20 And Hamor and Shechem his son came unto the gate of their city,
and communed with the men of their city, saying, 34:21 These men are
peaceable with us; therefore let them dwell in the land, and trade
therein; for the land, behold, it is large enough for them; let us
take their daughters to us for wives, and let us give them our
daughters.

34:22 Only herein will the men consent unto us for to dwell with us,
to be one people, if every male among us be circumcised, as they are
circumcised.

34:23 Shall not their cattle and their substance and every beast of
theirs be ours? only let us consent unto them, and they will dwell
with us.

34:24 And unto Hamor and unto Shechem his son hearkened all that went
out of the gate of his city; and every male was circumcised, all that
went out of the gate of his city.

34:25 And it came to pass on the third day, when they were sore, that
two of the sons of Jacob, Simeon and Levi, Dinah’s brethren, took each
man his sword, and came upon the city boldly, and slew all the males.

34:26 And they slew Hamor and Shechem his son with the edge of the
sword, and took Dinah out of Shechem’s house, and went out.

34:27 The sons of Jacob came upon the slain, and spoiled the city,
because they had defiled their sister.

34:28 They took their sheep, and their oxen, and their asses, and that
which was in the city, and that which was in the field, 34:29 And all
their wealth, and all their little ones, and their wives took they
captive, and spoiled even all that was in the house.

34:30 And Jacob said to Simeon and Levi, Ye have troubled me to make
me to stink among the inhabitants of the land, among the Canaanites
and the Perizzites: and I being few in number, they shall gather
themselves together against me, and slay me; and I shall be destroyed,
I and my house.

34:31 And they said, Should he deal with our sister as with an harlot?
35:1 And God said unto Jacob, Arise, go up to Bethel, and dwell there:
and make there an altar unto God, that appeared unto thee when thou
fleddest from the face of Esau thy brother.

35:2 Then Jacob said unto his household, and to all that were with
him, Put away the strange gods that are among you, and be clean, and
change your garments: 35:3 And let us arise, and go up to Bethel; and
I will make there an altar unto God, who answered me in the day of my
distress, and was with me in the way which I went.

35:4 And they gave unto Jacob all the strange gods which were in their
hand, and all their earrings which were in their ears; and Jacob hid
them under the oak which was by Shechem.

35:5 And they journeyed: and the terror of God was upon the cities
that were round about them, and they did not pursue after the sons of
Jacob.

35:6 So Jacob came to Luz, which is in the land of Canaan, that is,
Bethel, he and all the people that were with him.

35:7 And he built there an altar, and called the place Elbethel:
because there God appeared unto him, when he fled from the face of his
brother.

35:8 But Deborah Rebekah’s nurse died, and she was buried beneath
Bethel under an oak: and the name of it was called Allonbachuth.

35:9 And God appeared unto Jacob again, when he came out of Padanaram,
and blessed him.

35:10 And God said unto him, Thy name is Jacob: thy name shall not be
called any more Jacob, but Israel shall be thy name: and he called his
name Israel.

35:11 And God said unto him, I am God Almighty: be fruitful and
multiply; a nation and a company of nations shall be of thee, and
kings shall come out of thy loins; 35:12 And the land which I gave
Abraham and Isaac, to thee I will give it, and to thy seed after thee
will I give the land.

35:13 And God went up from him in the place where he talked with him.

35:14 And Jacob set up a pillar in the place where he talked with him,
even a pillar of stone: and he poured a drink offering thereon, and he
poured oil thereon.

35:15 And Jacob called the name of the place where God spake with him,
Bethel.

35:16 And they journeyed from Bethel; and there was but a little way
to come to Ephrath: and Rachel travailed, and she had hard labour.

35:17 And it came to pass, when she was in hard labour, that the
midwife said unto her, Fear not; thou shalt have this son also.

35:18 And it came to pass, as her soul was in departing, (for she
died) that she called his name Benoni: but his father called him
Benjamin.

35:19 And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephrath, which is
Bethlehem.

35:20 And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave: that is the pillar of
Rachel’s grave unto this day.

35:21 And Israel journeyed, and spread his tent beyond the tower of
Edar.

35:22 And it came to pass, when Israel dwelt in that land, that Reuben
went and lay with Bilhah his father’s concubine: and Israel heard it.
Now the sons of Jacob were twelve: 35:23 The sons of Leah; Reuben,
Jacob’s firstborn, and Simeon, and Levi, and Judah, and Issachar, and
Zebulun: 35:24 The sons of Rachel; Joseph, and Benjamin: 35:25 And the
sons of Bilhah, Rachel’s handmaid; Dan, and Naphtali: 35:26 And the
sons of Zilpah, Leah’s handmaid: Gad, and Asher: these are the sons of
Jacob, which were born to him in Padanaram.

35:27 And Jacob came unto Isaac his father unto Mamre, unto the city
of Arbah, which is Hebron, where Abraham and Isaac sojourned.

35:28 And the days of Isaac were an hundred and fourscore years.

35:29 And Isaac gave up the ghost, and died, and was gathered unto his
people, being old and full of days: and his sons Esau and Jacob buried
him.

36:1 Now these are the generations of Esau, who is Edom.

36:2 Esau took his wives of the daughters of Canaan; Adah the daughter
of Elon the Hittite, and Aholibamah the daughter of Anah the daughter
of Zibeon the Hivite; 36:3 And Bashemath Ishmael’s daughter, sister of
Nebajoth.

36:4 And Adah bare to Esau Eliphaz; and Bashemath bare Reuel; 36:5 And
Aholibamah bare Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah: these are the sons of
Esau, which were born unto him in the land of Canaan.

36:6 And Esau took his wives, and his sons, and his daughters, and all
the persons of his house, and his cattle, and all his beasts, and all
his substance, which he had got in the land of Canaan; and went into
the country from the face of his brother Jacob.

36:7 For their riches were more than that they might dwell together;
and the land wherein they were strangers could not bear them because
of their cattle.

36:8 Thus dwelt Esau in mount Seir: Esau is Edom.

36:9 And these are the generations of Esau the father of the Edomites
in mount Seir: 36:10 These are the names of Esau’s sons; Eliphaz the
son of Adah the wife of Esau, Reuel the son of Bashemath the wife of
Esau.

36:11 And the sons of Eliphaz were Teman, Omar, Zepho, and Gatam, and
Kenaz.

36:12 And Timna was concubine to Eliphaz Esau’s son; and she bare to
Eliphaz Amalek: these were the sons of Adah Esau’s wife.

36:13 And these are the sons of Reuel; Nahath, and Zerah, Shammah, and
Mizzah: these were the sons of Bashemath Esau’s wife.

36:14 And these were the sons of Aholibamah, the daughter of Anah the
daughter of Zibeon, Esau’s wife: and she bare to Esau Jeush, and
Jaalam, and Korah.

36:15 These were dukes of the sons of Esau: the sons of Eliphaz the
firstborn son of Esau; duke Teman, duke Omar, duke Zepho, duke Kenaz,
36:16 Duke Korah, duke Gatam, and duke Amalek: these are the dukes
that came of Eliphaz in the land of Edom; these were the sons of Adah.

36:17 And these are the sons of Reuel Esau’s son; duke Nahath, duke
Zerah, duke Shammah, duke Mizzah: these are the dukes that came of
Reuel in the land of Edom; these are the sons of Bashemath Esau’s
wife.

36:18 And these are the sons of Aholibamah Esau’s wife; duke Jeush,
duke Jaalam, duke Korah: these were the dukes that came of Aholibamah
the daughter of Anah, Esau’s wife.

36:19 These are the sons of Esau, who is Edom, and these are their
dukes.

36:20 These are the sons of Seir the Horite, who inhabited the land;
Lotan, and Shobal, and Zibeon, and Anah, 36:21 And Dishon, and Ezer,
and Dishan: these are the dukes of the Horites, the children of Seir
in the land of Edom.

36:22 And the children of Lotan were Hori and Hemam; and Lotan’s
sister was Timna.

36:23 And the children of Shobal were these; Alvan, and Manahath, and
Ebal, Shepho, and Onam.

36:24 And these are the children of Zibeon; both Ajah, and Anah: this
was that Anah that found the mules in the wilderness, as he fed the
asses of Zibeon his father.

36:25 And the children of Anah were these; Dishon, and Aholibamah the
daughter of Anah.

36:26 And these are the children of Dishon; Hemdan, and Eshban, and
Ithran, and Cheran.

36:27 The children of Ezer are these; Bilhan, and Zaavan, and Akan.

36:28 The children of Dishan are these; Uz, and Aran.

36:29 These are the dukes that came of the Horites; duke Lotan, duke
Shobal, duke Zibeon, duke Anah, 36:30 Duke Dishon, duke Ezer, duke
Dishan: these are the dukes that came of Hori, among their dukes in
the land of Seir.

36:31 And these are the kings that reigned in the land of Edom, before
there reigned any king over the children of Israel.

36:32 And Bela the son of Beor reigned in Edom: and the name of his
city was Dinhabah.

36:33 And Bela died, and Jobab the son of Zerah of Bozrah reigned in
his stead.

36:34 And Jobab died, and Husham of the land of Temani reigned in his
stead.

36:35 And Husham died, and Hadad the son of Bedad, who smote Midian in
the field of Moab, reigned in his stead: and the name of his city was
Avith.

36:36 And Hadad died, and Samlah of Masrekah reigned in his stead.

36:37 And Samlah died, and Saul of Rehoboth by the river reigned in
his stead.

36:38 And Saul died, and Baalhanan the son of Achbor reigned in his
stead.

36:39 And Baalhanan the son of Achbor died, and Hadar reigned in his
stead: and the name of his city was Pau; and his wife’s name was
Mehetabel, the daughter of Matred, the daughter of Mezahab.

36:40 And these are the names of the dukes that came of Esau,
according to their families, after their places, by their names; duke
Timnah, duke Alvah, duke Jetheth, 36:41 Duke Aholibamah, duke Elah,
duke Pinon, 36:42 Duke Kenaz, duke Teman, duke Mibzar, 36:43 Duke
Magdiel, duke Iram: these be the dukes of Edom, according to their
habitations in the land of their possession: he is Esau the father of
the Edomites.

37:1 And Jacob dwelt in the land wherein his father was a stranger, in
the land of Canaan.

37:2 These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years
old, was feeding the flock with his brethren; and the lad was with the
sons of Bilhah, and with the sons of Zilpah, his father’s wives: and
Joseph brought unto his father their evil report.

37:3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, because he
was the son of his old age: and he made him a coat of many colours.

37:4 And when his brethren saw that their father loved him more than
all his brethren, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto
him.

37:5 And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it his brethren: and they
hated him yet the more.

37:6 And he said unto them, Hear, I pray you, this dream which I have
dreamed: 37:7 For, behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and,
lo, my sheaf arose, and also stood upright; and, behold, your sheaves
stood round about, and made obeisance to my sheaf.

37:8 And his brethren said to him, Shalt thou indeed reign over us? or
shalt thou indeed have dominion over us? And they hated him yet the
more for his dreams, and for his words.

37:9 And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it his brethren, and
said, Behold, I have dreamed a dream more; and, behold, the sun and
the moon and the eleven stars made obeisance to me.

37:10 And he told it to his father, and to his brethren: and his
father rebuked him, and said unto him, What is this dream that thou
hast dreamed? Shall I and thy mother and thy brethren indeed come to
bow down ourselves to thee to the earth? 37:11 And his brethren
envied him; but his father observed the saying.

37:12 And his brethren went to feed their father’s flock in Shechem.

37:13 And Israel said unto Joseph, Do not thy brethren feed the flock
in Shechem? come, and I will send thee unto them. And he said to him,
Here am I.

37:14 And he said to him, Go, I pray thee, see whether it be well with
thy brethren, and well with the flocks; and bring me word again. So he
sent him out of the vale of Hebron, and he came to Shechem.

37:15 And a certain man found him, and, behold, he was wandering in
the field: and the man asked him, saying, What seekest thou? 37:16
And he said, I seek my brethren: tell me, I pray thee, where they feed
their flocks.

37:17 And the man said, They are departed hence; for I heard them say,
Let us go to Dothan. And Joseph went after his brethren, and found
them in Dothan.

37:18 And when they saw him afar off, even before he came near unto
them, they conspired against him to slay him.

37:19 And they said one to another, Behold, this dreamer cometh.

37:20 Come now therefore, and let us slay him, and cast him into some
pit, and we will say, Some evil beast hath devoured him: and we shall
see what will become of his dreams.

37:21 And Reuben heard it, and he delivered him out of their hands;
and said, Let us not kill him.

37:22 And Reuben said unto them, Shed no blood, but cast him into this
pit that is in the wilderness, and lay no hand upon him; that he might
rid him out of their hands, to deliver him to his father again.

37:23 And it came to pass, when Joseph was come unto his brethren,
that they stript Joseph out of his coat, his coat of many colours that
was on him; 37:24 And they took him, and cast him into a pit: and the
pit was empty, there was no water in it.

37:25 And they sat down to eat bread: and they lifted up their eyes
and looked, and, behold, a company of Ishmeelites came from Gilead
with their camels bearing spicery and balm and myrrh, going to carry
it down to Egypt.

37:26 And Judah said unto his brethren, What profit is it if we slay
our brother, and conceal his blood? 37:27 Come, and let us sell him
to the Ishmeelites, and let not our hand be upon him; for he is our
brother and our flesh. And his brethren were content.

37:28 Then there passed by Midianites merchantmen; and they drew and
lifted up Joseph out of the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ishmeelites
for twenty pieces of silver: and they brought Joseph into Egypt.

37:29 And Reuben returned unto the pit; and, behold, Joseph was not in
the pit; and he rent his clothes.

37:30 And he returned unto his brethren, and said, The child is not;
and I, whither shall I go? 37:31 And they took Joseph’s coat, and
killed a kid of the goats, and dipped the coat in the blood; 37:32 And
they sent the coat of many colours, and they brought it to their
father; and said, This have we found: know now whether it be thy son’s
coat or no.

37:33 And he knew it, and said, It is my son’s coat; an evil beast
hath devoured him; Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.

37:34 And Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins,
and mourned for his son many days.

37:35 And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him;
but he refused to be comforted; and he said, For I will go down into
the grave unto my son mourning. Thus his father wept for him.

37:36 And the Midianites sold him into Egypt unto Potiphar, an officer
of Pharaoh’s, and captain of the guard.

38:1 And it came to pass at that time, that Judah went down from his
brethren, and turned in to a certain Adullamite, whose name was Hirah.

38:2 And Judah saw there a daughter of a certain Canaanite, whose name
was Shuah; and he took her, and went in unto her.

38:3 And she conceived, and bare a son; and he called his name Er.

38:4 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and she called his name
Onan.

38:5 And she yet again conceived, and bare a son; and called his name
Shelah: and he was at Chezib, when she bare him.

38:6 And Judah took a wife for Er his firstborn, whose name was Tamar.

38:7 And Er, Judah’s firstborn, was wicked in the sight of the LORD;
and the LORD slew him.

38:8 And Judah said unto Onan, Go in unto thy brother’s wife, and
marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother.

38:9 And Onan knew that the seed should not be his; and it came to
pass, when he went in unto his brother’s wife, that he spilled it on
the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother.

38:10 And the thing which he did displeased the LORD: wherefore he
slew him also.

38:11 Then said Judah to Tamar his daughter in law, Remain a widow at
thy father’s house, till Shelah my son be grown: for he said, Lest
peradventure he die also, as his brethren did. And Tamar went and
dwelt in her father’s house.

38:12 And in process of time the daughter of Shuah Judah’s wife died;
and Judah was comforted, and went up unto his sheepshearers to
Timnath, he and his friend Hirah the Adullamite.

38:13 And it was told Tamar, saying, Behold thy father in law goeth up
to Timnath to shear his sheep.

38:14 And she put her widow’s garments off from her, and covered her
with a vail, and wrapped herself, and sat in an open place, which is
by the way to Timnath; for she saw that Shelah was grown, and she was
not given unto him to wife.

38:15 When Judah saw her, he thought her to be an harlot; because she
had covered her face.

38:16 And he turned unto her by the way, and said, Go to, I pray thee,
let me come in unto thee; (for he knew not that she was his daughter
in law.) And she said, What wilt thou give me, that thou mayest come
in unto me? 38:17 And he said, I will send thee a kid from the flock.
And she said, Wilt thou give me a pledge, till thou send it? 38:18
And he said, What pledge shall I give thee? And she said, Thy signet,
and thy bracelets, and thy staff that is in thine hand. And he gave it
her, and came in unto her, and she conceived by him.

38:19 And she arose, and went away, and laid by her vail from her, and
put on the garments of her widowhood.

38:20 And Judah sent the kid by the hand of his friend the Adullamite,
to receive his pledge from the woman’s hand: but he found her not.

38:21 Then he asked the men of that place, saying, Where is the
harlot, that was openly by the way side? And they said, There was no
harlot in this place.

38:22 And he returned to Judah, and said, I cannot find her; and also
the men of the place said, that there was no harlot in this place.

38:23 And Judah said, Let her take it to her, lest we be shamed:
behold, I sent this kid, and thou hast not found her.

38:24 And it came to pass about three months after, that it was told
Judah, saying, Tamar thy daughter in law hath played the harlot; and
also, behold, she is with child by whoredom. And Judah said, Bring her
forth, and let her be burnt.

38:25 When she was brought forth, she sent to her father in law,
saying, By the man, whose these are, am I with child: and she said,
Discern, I pray thee, whose are these, the signet, and bracelets, and
staff.

38:26 And Judah acknowledged them, and said, She hath been more
righteous than I; because that I gave her not to Shelah my son. And he
knew her again no more.

38:27 And it came to pass in the time of her travail, that, behold,
twins were in her womb.

38:28 And it came to pass, when she travailed, that the one put out
his hand: and the midwife took and bound upon his hand a scarlet
thread, saying, This came out first.

38:29 And it came to pass, as he drew back his hand, that, behold, his
brother came out: and she said, How hast thou broken forth? this
breach be upon thee: therefore his name was called Pharez.

38:30 And afterward came out his brother, that had the scarlet thread
upon his hand: and his name was called Zarah.

39:1 And Joseph was brought down to Egypt; and Potiphar, an officer of
Pharaoh, captain of the guard, an Egyptian, bought him of the hands of
the Ishmeelites, which had brought him down thither.

39:2 And the LORD was with Joseph, and he was a prosperous man; and he
was in the house of his master the Egyptian.

39:3 And his master saw that the LORD was with him, and that the LORD
made all that he did to prosper in his hand.

39:4 And Joseph found grace in his sight, and he served him: and he
made him overseer over his house, and all that he had he put into his
hand.

39:5 And it came to pass from the time that he had made him overseer
in his house, and over all that he had, that the LORD blessed the
Egyptian’s house for Joseph’s sake; and the blessing of the LORD was
upon all that he had in the house, and in the field.

39:6 And he left all that he had in Joseph’s hand; and he knew not
ought he had, save the bread which he did eat. And Joseph was a goodly
person, and well favoured.

39:7 And it came to pass after these things, that his master’s wife
cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she said, Lie with me.

39:8 But he refused, and said unto his master’s wife, Behold, my
master wotteth not what is with me in the house, and he hath committed
all that he hath to my hand; 39:9 There is none greater in this house
than I; neither hath he kept back any thing from me but thee, because
thou art his wife: how then can I do this great wickedness, and sin
against God? 39:10 And it came to pass, as she spake to Joseph day by
day, that he hearkened not unto her, to lie by her, or to be with her.

39:11 And it came to pass about this time, that Joseph went into the
house to do his business; and there was none of the men of the house
there within.

39:12 And she caught him by his garment, saying, Lie with me: and he
left his garment in her hand, and fled, and got him out.

39:13 And it came to pass, when she saw that he had left his garment
in her hand, and was fled forth, 39:14 That she called unto the men of
her house, and spake unto them, saying, See, he hath brought in an
Hebrew unto us to mock us; he came in unto me to lie with me, and I
cried with a loud voice: 39:15 And it came to pass, when he heard that
I lifted up my voice and cried, that he left his garment with me, and
fled, and got him out.

39:16 And she laid up his garment by her, until his lord came home.

39:17 And she spake unto him according to these words, saying, The
Hebrew servant, which thou hast brought unto us, came in unto me to
mock me: 39:18 And it came to pass, as I lifted up my voice and cried,
that he left his garment with me, and fled out.

39:19 And it came to pass, when his master heard the words of his
wife, which she spake unto him, saying, After this manner did thy
servant to me; that his wrath was kindled.

39:20 And Joseph’s master took him, and put him into the prison, a
place where the king’s prisoners were bound: and he was there in the
prison.

39:21 But the LORD was with Joseph, and shewed him mercy, and gave him
favour in the sight of the keeper of the prison.

39:22 And the keeper of the prison committed to Joseph’s hand all the
prisoners that were in the prison; and whatsoever they did there, he
was the doer of it.

39:23 The keeper of the prison looked not to any thing that was under
his hand; because the LORD was with him, and that which he did, the
LORD made it to prosper.

40:1 And it came to pass after these things, that the butler of the
king of Egypt and his baker had offended their lord the king of Egypt.

40:2 And Pharaoh was wroth against two of his officers, against the
chief of the butlers, and against the chief of the bakers.

40:3 And he put them in ward in the house of the captain of the guard,
into the prison, the place where Joseph was bound.

40:4 And the captain of the guard charged Joseph with them, and he
served them: and they continued a season in ward.

40:5 And they dreamed a dream both of them, each man his dream in one
night, each man according to the interpretation of his dream, the
butler and the baker of the king of Egypt, which were bound in the
prison.

40:6 And Joseph came in unto them in the morning, and looked upon
them, and, behold, they were sad.

40:7 And he asked Pharaoh’s officers that were with him in the ward of
his lord’s house, saying, Wherefore look ye so sadly to day? 40:8 And
they said unto him, We have dreamed a dream, and there is no
interpreter of it. And Joseph said unto them, Do not interpretations
belong to God? tell me them, I pray you.

40:9 And the chief butler told his dream to Joseph, and said to him,
In my dream, behold, a vine was before me; 40:10 And in the vine were
three branches: and it was as though it budded, and her blossoms shot
forth; and the clusters thereof brought forth ripe grapes: 40:11 And
Pharaoh’s cup was in my hand: and I took the grapes, and pressed them
into Pharaoh’s cup, and I gave the cup into Pharaoh’s hand.

40:12 And Joseph said unto him, This is the interpretation of it: The
three branches are three days: 40:13 Yet within three days shall
Pharaoh lift up thine head, and restore thee unto thy place: and thou
shalt deliver Pharaoh’s cup into his hand, after the former manner
when thou wast his butler.

40:14 But think on me when it shall be well with thee, and shew
kindness, I pray thee, unto me, and make mention of me unto Pharaoh,
and bring me out of this house: 40:15 For indeed I was stolen away out
of the land of the Hebrews: and here also have I done nothing that
they should put me into the dungeon.

40:16 When the chief baker saw that the interpretation was good, he
said unto Joseph, I also was in my dream, and, behold, I had three
white baskets on my head: 40:17 And in the uppermost basket there was
of all manner of bakemeats for Pharaoh; and the birds did eat them out
of the basket upon my head.

40:18 And Joseph answered and said, This is the interpretation
thereof: The three baskets are three days: 40:19 Yet within three days
shall Pharaoh lift up thy head from off thee, and shall hang thee on a
tree; and the birds shall eat thy flesh from off thee.

40:20 And it came to pass the third day, which was Pharaoh’s birthday,
that he made a feast unto all his servants: and he lifted up the head
of the chief butler and of the chief baker among his servants.

40:21 And he restored the chief butler unto his butlership again; and
he gave the cup into Pharaoh’s hand: 40:22 But he hanged the chief
baker: as Joseph had interpreted to them.

40:23 Yet did not the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgat him.

41:1 And it came to pass at the end of two full years, that Pharaoh
dreamed: and, behold, he stood by the river.

41:2 And, behold, there came up out of the river seven well favoured
kine and fatfleshed; and they fed in a meadow.

41:3 And, behold, seven other kine came up after them out of the
river, ill favoured and leanfleshed; and stood by the other kine upon
the brink of the river.

41:4 And the ill favoured and leanfleshed kine did eat up the seven
well favoured and fat kine. So Pharaoh awoke.

41:5 And he slept and dreamed the second time: and, behold, seven ears
of corn came up upon one stalk, rank and good.

41:6 And, behold, seven thin ears and blasted with the east wind
sprung up after them.

41:7 And the seven thin ears devoured the seven rank and full ears.
And Pharaoh awoke, and, behold, it was a dream.

41:8 And it came to pass in the morning that his spirit was troubled;
and he sent and called for all the magicians of Egypt, and all the
wise men thereof: and Pharaoh told them his dream; but there was none
that could interpret them unto Pharaoh.

41:9 Then spake the chief butler unto Pharaoh, saying, I do remember
my faults this day: 41:10 Pharaoh was wroth with his servants, and put
me in ward in the captain of the guard’s house, both me and the chief
baker: 41:11 And we dreamed a dream in one night, I and he; we dreamed
each man according to the interpretation of his dream.

41:12 And there was there with us a young man, an Hebrew, servant to
the captain of the guard; and we told him, and he interpreted to us
our dreams; to each man according to his dream he did interpret.

41:13 And it came to pass, as he interpreted to us, so it was; me he
restored unto mine office, and him he hanged.

41:14 Then Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they brought him
hastily out of the dungeon: and he shaved himself, and changed his
raiment, and came in unto Pharaoh.

41:15 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I have dreamed a dream, and there
is none that can interpret it: and I have heard say of thee, that thou
canst understand a dream to interpret it.

41:16 And Joseph answered Pharaoh, saying, It is not in me: God shall
give Pharaoh an answer of peace.

41:17 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, In my dream, behold, I stood upon
the bank of the river: 41:18 And, behold, there came up out of the
river seven kine, fatfleshed and well favoured; and they fed in a
meadow: 41:19 And, behold, seven other kine came up after them, poor
and very ill favoured and leanfleshed, such as I never saw in all the
land of Egypt for badness: 41:20 And the lean and the ill favoured
kine did eat up the first seven fat kine: 41:21 And when they had
eaten them up, it could not be known that they had eaten them; but
they were still ill favoured, as at the beginning. So I awoke.

41:22 And I saw in my dream, and, behold, seven ears came up in one
stalk, full and good: 41:23 And, behold, seven ears, withered, thin,
and blasted with the east wind, sprung up after them: 41:24 And the
thin ears devoured the seven good ears: and I told this unto the
magicians; but there was none that could declare it to me.

41:25 And Joseph said unto Pharaoh, The dream of Pharaoh is one: God
hath shewed Pharaoh what he is about to do.

41:26 The seven good kine are seven years; and the seven good ears are
seven years: the dream is one.

41:27 And the seven thin and ill favoured kine that came up after them
are seven years; and the seven empty ears blasted with the east wind
shall be seven years of famine.

41:28 This is the thing which I have spoken unto Pharaoh: What God is
about to do he sheweth unto Pharaoh.

41:29 Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all
the land of Egypt: 41:30 And there shall arise after them seven years
of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt;
and the famine shall consume the land; 41:31 And the plenty shall not
be known in the land by reason of that famine following; for it shall
be very grievous.

41:32 And for that the dream was doubled unto Pharaoh twice; it is
because the thing is established by God, and God will shortly bring it
to pass.

41:33 Now therefore let Pharaoh look out a man discreet and wise, and
set him over the land of Egypt.

41:34 Let Pharaoh do this, and let him appoint officers over the land,
and take up the fifth part of the land of Egypt in the seven plenteous
years.

41:35 And let them gather all the food of those good years that come,
and lay up corn under the hand of Pharaoh, and let them keep food in
the cities.

41:36 And that food shall be for store to the land against the seven
years of famine, which shall be in the land of Egypt; that the land
perish not through the famine.

41:37 And the thing was good in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes
of all his servants.

41:38 And Pharaoh said unto his servants, Can we find such a one as
this is, a man in whom the Spirit of God is? 41:39 And Pharaoh said
unto Joseph, Forasmuch as God hath shewed thee all this, there is none
so discreet and wise as thou art: 41:40 Thou shalt be over my house,
and according unto thy word shall all my people be ruled: only in the
throne will I be greater than thou.

41:41 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, See, I have set thee over all the
land of Egypt.

41:42 And Pharaoh took off his ring from his hand, and put it upon
Joseph’s hand, and arrayed him in vestures of fine linen, and put a
gold chain about his neck; 41:43 And he made him to ride in the second
chariot which he had; and they cried before him, Bow the knee: and he
made him ruler over all the land of Egypt.

41:44 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I am Pharaoh, and without thee
shall no man lift up his hand or foot in all the land of Egypt.

41:45 And Pharaoh called Joseph’s name Zaphnathpaaneah; and he gave
him to wife Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On. And
Joseph went out over all the land of Egypt.

41:46 And Joseph was thirty years old when he stood before Pharaoh
king of Egypt. And Joseph went out from the presence of Pharaoh, and
went throughout all the land of Egypt.

41:47 And in the seven plenteous years the earth brought forth by
handfuls.

41:48 And he gathered up all the food of the seven years, which were
in the land of Egypt, and laid up the food in the cities: the food of
the field, which was round about every city, laid he up in the same.

41:49 And Joseph gathered corn as the sand of the sea, very much,
until he left numbering; for it was without number.

41:50 And unto Joseph were born two sons before the years of famine
came, which Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On bare unto
him.

41:51 And Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh: For God,
said he, hath made me forget all my toil, and all my father’s house.

41:52 And the name of the second called he Ephraim: For God hath
caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction.

41:53 And the seven years of plenteousness, that was in the land of
Egypt, were ended.

41:54 And the seven years of dearth began to come, according as Joseph
had said: and the dearth was in all lands; but in all the land of
Egypt there was bread.

41:55 And when all the land of Egypt was famished, the people cried to
Pharaoh for bread: and Pharaoh said unto all the Egyptians, Go unto
Joseph; what he saith to you, do.

41:56 And the famine was over all the face of the earth: and Joseph
opened all the storehouses, and sold unto the Egyptians; and the
famine waxed sore in the land of Egypt.

41:57 And all countries came into Egypt to Joseph for to buy corn;
because that the famine was so sore in all lands.

42:1 Now when Jacob saw that there was corn in Egypt, Jacob said unto
his sons, Why do ye look one upon another? 42:2 And he said, Behold,
I have heard that there is corn in Egypt: get you down thither, and
buy for us from thence; that we may live, and not die.

42:3 And Joseph’s ten brethren went down to buy corn in Egypt.

42:4 But Benjamin, Joseph’s brother, Jacob sent not with his brethren;
for he said, Lest peradventure mischief befall him.

42:5 And the sons of Israel came to buy corn among those that came:
for the famine was in the land of Canaan.

42:6 And Joseph was the governor over the land, and he it was that
sold to all the people of the land: and Joseph’s brethren came, and
bowed down themselves before him with their faces to the earth.

42:7 And Joseph saw his brethren, and he knew them, but made himself
strange unto them, and spake roughly unto them; and he said unto them,
Whence come ye? And they said, From the land of Canaan to buy food.

42:8 And Joseph knew his brethren, but they knew not him.

42:9 And Joseph remembered the dreams which he dreamed of them, and
said unto them, Ye are spies; to see the nakedness of the land ye are
come.

42:10 And they said unto him, Nay, my lord, but to buy food are thy
servants come.

42:11 We are all one man’s sons; we are true men, thy servants are no
spies.

42:12 And he said unto them, Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land
ye are come.

42:13 And they said, Thy servants are twelve brethren, the sons of one
man in the land of Canaan; and, behold, the youngest is this day with
our father, and one is not.

42:14 And Joseph said unto them, That is it that I spake unto you,
saying, Ye are spies: 42:15 Hereby ye shall be proved: By the life of
Pharaoh ye shall not go forth hence, except your youngest brother come
hither.

42:16 Send one of you, and let him fetch your brother, and ye shall be
kept in prison, that your words may be proved, whether there be any
truth in you: or else by the life of Pharaoh surely ye are spies.

42:17 And he put them all together into ward three days.

42:18 And Joseph said unto them the third day, This do, and live; for
I fear God: 42:19 If ye be true men, let one of your brethren be bound
in the house of your prison: go ye, carry corn for the famine of your
houses: 42:20 But bring your youngest brother unto me; so shall your
words be verified, and ye shall not die. And they did so.

42:21 And they said one to another, We are verily guilty concerning
our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought
us, and we would not hear; therefore is this distress come upon us.

42:22 And Reuben answered them, saying, Spake I not unto you, saying,
Do not sin against the child; and ye would not hear? therefore,
behold, also his blood is required.

42:23 And they knew not that Joseph understood them; for he spake unto
them by an interpreter.

42:24 And he turned himself about from them, and wept; and returned to
them again, and communed with them, and took from them Simeon, and
bound him before their eyes.

42:25 Then Joseph commanded to fill their sacks with corn, and to
restore every man’s money into his sack, and to give them provision
for the way: and thus did he unto them.

42:26 And they laded their asses with the corn, and departed thence.

42:27 And as one of them opened his sack to give his ass provender in
the inn, he espied his money; for, behold, it was in his sack’s mouth.

42:28 And he said unto his brethren, My money is restored; and, lo, it
is even in my sack: and their heart failed them, and they were afraid,
saying one to another, What is this that God hath done unto us? 42:29
And they came unto Jacob their father unto the land of Canaan, and
told him all that befell unto them; saying, 42:30 The man, who is the
lord of the land, spake roughly to us, and took us for spies of the
country.

42:31 And we said unto him, We are true men; we are no spies: 42:32 We
be twelve brethren, sons of our father; one is not, and the youngest
is this day with our father in the land of Canaan.

42:33 And the man, the lord of the country, said unto us, Hereby shall
I know that ye are true men; leave one of your brethren here with me,
and take food for the famine of your households, and be gone: 42:34
And bring your youngest brother unto me: then shall I know that ye are
no spies, but that ye are true men: so will I deliver you your
brother, and ye shall traffick in the land.

42:35 And it came to pass as they emptied their sacks, that, behold,
every man’s bundle of money was in his sack: and when both they and
their father saw the bundles of money, they were afraid.

42:36 And Jacob their father said unto them, Me have ye bereaved of my
children: Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin
away: all these things are against me.

42:37 And Reuben spake unto his father, saying, Slay my two sons, if I
bring him not to thee: deliver him into my hand, and I will bring him
to thee again.

42:38 And he said, My son shall not go down with you; for his brother
is dead, and he is left alone: if mischief befall him by the way in
the which ye go, then shall ye bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to
the grave.

43:1 And the famine was sore in the land.

43:2 And it came to pass, when they had eaten up the corn which they
had brought out of Egypt, their father said unto them, Go again, buy
us a little food.

43:3 And Judah spake unto him, saying, The man did solemnly protest
unto us, saying, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with
you.

43:4 If thou wilt send our brother with us, we will go down and buy
thee food: 43:5 But if thou wilt not send him, we will not go down:
for the man said unto us, Ye shall not see my face, except your
brother be with you.

43:6 And Israel said, Wherefore dealt ye so ill with me, as to tell
the man whether ye had yet a brother? 43:7 And they said, The man
asked us straitly of our state, and of our kindred, saying, Is your
father yet alive? have ye another brother? and we told him according
to the tenor of these words: could we certainly know that he would
say, Bring your brother down? 43:8 And Judah said unto Israel his
father, Send the lad with me, and we will arise and go; that we may
live, and not die, both we, and thou, and also our little ones.

43:9 I will be surety for him; of my hand shalt thou require him: if I
bring him not unto thee, and set him before thee, then let me bear the
blame for ever: 43:10 For except we had lingered, surely now we had
returned this second time.

43:11 And their father Israel said unto them, If it must be so now, do
this; take of the best fruits in the land in your vessels, and carry
down the man a present, a little balm, and a little honey, spices, and
myrrh, nuts, and almonds: 43:12 And take double money in your hand;
and the money that was brought again in the mouth of your sacks, carry
it again in your hand; peradventure it was an oversight: 43:13 Take
also your brother, and arise, go again unto the man: 43:14 And God
Almighty give you mercy before the man, that he may send away your
other brother, and Benjamin. If I be bereaved of my children, I am
bereaved.

43:15 And the men took that present, and they took double money in
their hand and Benjamin; and rose up, and went down to Egypt, and
stood before Joseph.

43:16 And when Joseph saw Benjamin with them, he said to the ruler of
his house, Bring these men home, and slay, and make ready; for these
men shall dine with me at noon.

43:17 And the man did as Joseph bade; and the man brought the men into
Joseph’s house.

43:18 And the men were afraid, because they were brought into Joseph’s
house; and they said, Because of the money that was returned in our
sacks at the first time are we brought in; that he may seek occasion
against us, and fall upon us, and take us for bondmen, and our asses.

43:19 And they came near to the steward of Joseph’s house, and they
communed with him at the door of the house, 43:20 And said, O sir, we
came indeed down at the first time to buy food: 43:21 And it came to
pass, when we came to the inn, that we opened our sacks, and, behold,
every man’s money was in the mouth of his sack, our money in full
weight: and we have brought it again in our hand.

43:22 And other money have we brought down in our hands to buy food:
we cannot tell who put our money in our sacks.

43:23 And he said, Peace be to you, fear not: your God, and the God of
your father, hath given you treasure in your sacks: I had your money.
And he brought Simeon out unto them.

43:24 And the man brought the men into Joseph’s house, and gave them
water, and they washed their feet; and he gave their asses provender.

43:25 And they made ready the present against Joseph came at noon: for
they heard that they should eat bread there.

43:26 And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present which
was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves to him to the
earth.

43:27 And he asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father
well, the old man of whom ye spake? Is he yet alive? 43:28 And they
answered, Thy servant our father is in good health, he is yet alive.
And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance.

43:29 And he lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother Benjamin, his
mother’s son, and said, Is this your younger brother, of whom ye spake
unto me? And he said, God be gracious unto thee, my son.

43:30 And Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his
brother: and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber,
and wept there.

43:31 And he washed his face, and went out, and refrained himself, and
said, Set on bread.

43:32 And they set on for him by himself, and for them by themselves,
and for the Egyptians, which did eat with him, by themselves: because
the Egyptians might not eat bread with the Hebrews; for that is an
abomination unto the Egyptians.

43:33 And they sat before him, the firstborn according to his
birthright, and the youngest according to his youth: and the men
marvelled one at another.

43:34 And he took and sent messes unto them from before him: but
Benjamin’s mess was five times so much as any of theirs. And they
drank, and were merry with him.

44:1 And he commanded the steward of his house, saying, Fill the men’s
sacks with food, as much as they can carry, and put every man’s money
in his sack’s mouth.

44:2 And put my cup, the silver cup, in the sack’s mouth of the
youngest, and his corn money. And he did according to the word that
Joseph had spoken.

44:3 As soon as the morning was light, the men were sent away, they
and their asses.

44:4 And when they were gone out of the city, and not yet far off,
Joseph said unto his steward, Up, follow after the men; and when thou
dost overtake them, say unto them, Wherefore have ye rewarded evil for
good? 44:5 Is not this it in which my lord drinketh, and whereby
indeed he divineth? ye have done evil in so doing.

44:6 And he overtook them, and he spake unto them these same words.

44:7 And they said unto him, Wherefore saith my lord these words? God
forbid that thy servants should do according to this thing: 44:8
Behold, the money, which we found in our sacks’ mouths, we brought
again unto thee out of the land of Canaan: how then should we steal
out of thy lord’s house silver or gold? 44:9 With whomsoever of thy
servants it be found, both let him die, and we also will be my lord’s
bondmen.

44:10 And he said, Now also let it be according unto your words: he
with whom it is found shall be my servant; and ye shall be blameless.

44:11 Then they speedily took down every man his sack to the ground,
and opened every man his sack.

44:12 And he searched, and began at the eldest, and left at the
youngest: and the cup was found in Benjamin’s sack.

44:13 Then they rent their clothes, and laded every man his ass, and
returned to the city.

44:14 And Judah and his brethren came to Joseph’s house; for he was
yet there: and they fell before him on the ground.

44:15 And Joseph said unto them, What deed is this that ye have done?
wot ye not that such a man as I can certainly divine? 44:16 And Judah
said, What shall we say unto my lord? what shall we speak? or how
shall we clear ourselves? God hath found out the iniquity of thy
servants: behold, we are my lord’s servants, both we, and he also with
whom the cup is found.

44:17 And he said, God forbid that I should do so: but the man in
whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my servant; and as for you,
get you up in peace unto your father.

44:18 Then Judah came near unto him, and said, Oh my lord, let thy
servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord’s ears, and let not
thine anger burn against thy servant: for thou art even as Pharaoh.

44:19 My lord asked his servants, saying, Have ye a father, or a
brother? 44:20 And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an old
man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his brother is
dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him.

44:21 And thou saidst unto thy servants, Bring him down unto me, that
I may set mine eyes upon him.

44:22 And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave his father: for
if he should leave his father, his father would die.

44:23 And thou saidst unto thy servants, Except your youngest brother
come down with you, ye shall see my face no more.

44:24 And it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father,
we told him the words of my lord.

44:25 And our father said, Go again, and buy us a little food.

44:26 And we said, We cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with
us, then will we go down: for we may not see the man’s face, except
our youngest brother be with us.

44:27 And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my wife
bare me two sons: 44:28 And the one went out from me, and I said,
Surely he is torn in pieces; and I saw him not since: 44:29 And if ye
take this also from me, and mischief befall him, ye shall bring down
my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.

44:30 Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad
be not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad’s life;
44:31 It shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with
us, that he will die: and thy servants shall bring down the gray hairs
of thy servant our father with sorrow to the grave.

44:32 For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father,
saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then I shall bear the blame to
my father for ever.

44:33 Now therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide instead of the
lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren.

44:34 For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad be not with me?
lest peradventure I see the evil that shall come on my father.

45:1 Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood
by him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me. And there
stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his
brethren.

45:2 And he wept aloud: and the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh
heard.

45:3 And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father
yet live? And his brethren could not answer him; for they were
troubled at his presence.

45:4 And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you.
And they came near. And he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom ye
sold into Egypt.

45:5 Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye
sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life.

45:6 For these two years hath the famine been in the land: and yet
there are five years, in the which there shall neither be earing nor
harvest.

45:7 And God sent me before you to preserve you a posterity in the
earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance.

45:8 So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God: and he hath
made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a ruler
throughout all the land of Egypt.

45:9 Haste ye, and go up to my father, and say unto him, Thus saith
thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of all Egypt: come down unto me,
tarry not: 45:10 And thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou
shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children’s
children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast: 45:11
And there will I nourish thee; for yet there are five years of famine;
lest thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast, come to poverty.

45:12 And, behold, your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother Benjamin,
that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you.

45:13 And ye shall tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and of all
that ye have seen; and ye shall haste and bring down my father hither.

45:14 And he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck, and wept; and
Benjamin wept upon his neck.

45:15 Moreover he kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them: and
after that his brethren talked with him.

45:16 And the fame thereof was heard in Pharaoh’s house, saying,
Joseph’s brethren are come: and it pleased Pharaoh well, and his
servants.

45:17 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, Say unto thy brethren, This do ye;
lade your beasts, and go, get you unto the land of Canaan; 45:18 And
take your father and your households, and come unto me: and I will
give you the good of the land of Egypt, and ye shall eat the fat of
the land.

45:19 Now thou art commanded, this do ye; take you wagons out of the
land of Egypt for your little ones, and for your wives, and bring your
father, and come.

45:20 Also regard not your stuff; for the good of all the land of
Egypt is yours.

45:21 And the children of Israel did so: and Joseph gave them wagons,
according to the commandment of Pharaoh, and gave them provision for
the way.

45:22 To all of them he gave each man changes of raiment; but to
Benjamin he gave three hundred pieces of silver, and five changes of
raiment.

45:23 And to his father he sent after this manner; ten asses laden
with the good things of Egypt, and ten she asses laden with corn and
bread and meat for his father by the way.

45:24 So he sent his brethren away, and they departed: and he said
unto them, See that ye fall not out by the way.

45:25 And they went up out of Egypt, and came into the land of Canaan
unto Jacob their father, 45:26 And told him, saying, Joseph is yet
alive, and he is governor over all the land of Egypt. And Jacob’s
heart fainted, for he believed them not.

45:27 And they told him all the words of Joseph, which he had said
unto them: and when he saw the wagons which Joseph had sent to carry
him, the spirit of Jacob their father revived: 45:28 And Israel said,
It is enough; Joseph my son is yet alive: I will go and see him before
I die.

46:1 And Israel took his journey with all that he had, and came to
Beersheba, and offered sacrifices unto the God of his father Isaac.

46:2 And God spake unto Israel in the visions of the night, and said,
Jacob, Jacob. And he said, Here am I.

46:3 And he said, I am God, the God of thy father: fear not to go down
into Egypt; for I will there make of thee a great nation: 46:4 I will
go down with thee into Egypt; and I will also surely bring thee up
again: and Joseph shall put his hand upon thine eyes.

46:5 And Jacob rose up from Beersheba: and the sons of Israel carried
Jacob their father, and their little ones, and their wives, in the
wagons which Pharaoh had sent to carry him.

46:6 And they took their cattle, and their goods, which they had
gotten in the land of Canaan, and came into Egypt, Jacob, and all his
seed with him: 46:7 His sons, and his sons’ sons with him, his
daughters, and his sons’ daughters, and all his seed brought he with
him into Egypt.

46:8 And these are the names of the children of Israel, which came
into Egypt, Jacob and his sons: Reuben, Jacob’s firstborn.

46:9 And the sons of Reuben; Hanoch, and Phallu, and Hezron, and
Carmi.

46:10 And the sons of Simeon; Jemuel, and Jamin, and Ohad, and Jachin,
and Zohar, and Shaul the son of a Canaanitish woman.

46:11 And the sons of Levi; Gershon, Kohath, and Merari.

46:12 And the sons of Judah; Er, and Onan, and Shelah, and Pharez, and
Zarah: but Er and Onan died in the land of Canaan. And the sons of
Pharez were Hezron and Hamul.

46:13 And the sons of Issachar; Tola, and Phuvah, and Job, and
Shimron.

46:14 And the sons of Zebulun; Sered, and Elon, and Jahleel.

46:15 These be the sons of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob in
Padanaram, with his daughter Dinah: all the souls of his sons and his
daughters were thirty and three.

46:16 And the sons of Gad; Ziphion, and Haggi, Shuni, and Ezbon, Eri,
and Arodi, and Areli.

46:17 And the sons of Asher; Jimnah, and Ishuah, and Isui, and Beriah,
and Serah their sister: and the sons of Beriah; Heber, and Malchiel.

46:18 These are the sons of Zilpah, whom Laban gave to Leah his
daughter, and these she bare unto Jacob, even sixteen souls.

46:19 The sons of Rachel Jacob’s wife; Joseph, and Benjamin.

46:20 And unto Joseph in the land of Egypt were born Manasseh and
Ephraim, which Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On bare
unto him.

46:21 And the sons of Benjamin were Belah, and Becher, and Ashbel,
Gera, and Naaman, Ehi, and Rosh, Muppim, and Huppim, and Ard.

46:22 These are the sons of Rachel, which were born to Jacob: all the
souls were fourteen.

46:23 And the sons of Dan; Hushim.

46:24 And the sons of Naphtali; Jahzeel, and Guni, and Jezer, and
Shillem.

46:25 These are the sons of Bilhah, which Laban gave unto Rachel his
daughter, and she bare these unto Jacob: all the souls were seven.

46:26 All the souls that came with Jacob into Egypt, which came out of
his loins, besides Jacob’s sons’ wives, all the souls were threescore
and six; 46:27 And the sons of Joseph, which were born him in Egypt,
were two souls: all the souls of the house of Jacob, which came into
Egypt, were threescore and ten.

46:28 And he sent Judah before him unto Joseph, to direct his face
unto Goshen; and they came into the land of Goshen.

46:29 And Joseph made ready his chariot, and went up to meet Israel
his father, to Goshen, and presented himself unto him; and he fell on
his neck, and wept on his neck a good while.

46:30 And Israel said unto Joseph, Now let me die, since I have seen
thy face, because thou art yet alive.

46:31 And Joseph said unto his brethren, and unto his father’s house,
I will go up, and shew Pharaoh, and say unto him, My brethren, and my
father’s house, which were in the land of Canaan, are come unto me;
46:32 And the men are shepherds, for their trade hath been to feed
cattle; and they have brought their flocks, and their herds, and all
that they have.

46:33 And it shall come to pass, when Pharaoh shall call you, and
shall say, What is your occupation? 46:34 That ye shall say, Thy
servants’ trade hath been about cattle from our youth even until now,
both we, and also our fathers: that ye may dwell in the land of
Goshen; for every shepherd is an abomination unto the Egyptians.

47:1 Then Joseph came and told Pharaoh, and said, My father and my
brethren, and their flocks, and their herds, and all that they have,
are come out of the land of Canaan; and, behold, they are in the land
of Goshen.

47:2 And he took some of his brethren, even five men, and presented
them unto Pharaoh.

47:3 And Pharaoh said unto his brethren, What is your occupation? And
they said unto Pharaoh, Thy servants are shepherds, both we, and also
our fathers.

47:4 They said morever unto Pharaoh, For to sojourn in the land are we
come; for thy servants have no pasture for their flocks; for the
famine is sore in the land of Canaan: now therefore, we pray thee, let
thy servants dwell in the land of Goshen.

47:5 And Pharaoh spake unto Joseph, saying, Thy father and thy
brethren are come unto thee: 47:6 The land of Egypt is before thee; in
the best of the land make thy father and brethren to dwell; in the
land of Goshen let them dwell: and if thou knowest any men of activity
among them, then make them rulers over my cattle.

47:7 And Joseph brought in Jacob his father, and set him before
Pharaoh: and Jacob blessed Pharaoh.

47:8 And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art thou? 47:9 And Jacob
said unto Pharaoh, The days of the years of my pilgrimage are an
hundred and thirty years: few and evil have the days of the years of
my life been, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the
life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.

47:10 And Jacob blessed Pharaoh, and went out from before Pharaoh.

47:11 And Joseph placed his father and his brethren, and gave them a
possession in the land of Egypt, in the best of the land, in the land
of Rameses, as Pharaoh had commanded.

47:12 And Joseph nourished his father, and his brethren, and all his
father’s household, with bread, according to their families.

47:13 And there was no bread in all the land; for the famine was very
sore, so that the land of Egypt and all the land of Canaan fainted by
reason of the famine.

47:14 And Joseph gathered up all the money that was found in the land
of Egypt, and in the land of Canaan, for the corn which they bought:
and Joseph brought the money into Pharaoh’s house.

47:15 And when money failed in the land of Egypt, and in the land of
Canaan, all the Egyptians came unto Joseph, and said, Give us bread:
for why should we die in thy presence? for the money faileth.

47:16 And Joseph said, Give your cattle; and I will give you for your
cattle, if money fail.

47:17 And they brought their cattle unto Joseph: and Joseph gave them
bread in exchange for horses, and for the flocks, and for the cattle
of the herds, and for the asses: and he fed them with bread for all
their cattle for that year.

47:18 When that year was ended, they came unto him the second year,
and said unto him, We will not hide it from my lord, how that our
money is spent; my lord also hath our herds of cattle; there is not
ought left in the sight of my lord, but our bodies, and our lands:
47:19 Wherefore shall we die before thine eyes, both we and our land?
buy us and our land for bread, and we and our land will be servants
unto Pharaoh: and give us seed, that we may live, and not die, that
the land be not desolate.

47:20 And Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for Pharaoh; for the
Egyptians sold every man his field, because the famine prevailed over
them: so the land became Pharaoh’s.

47:21 And as for the people, he removed them to cities from one end of
the borders of Egypt even to the other end thereof.

47:22 Only the land of the priests bought he not; for the priests had
a portion assigned them of Pharaoh, and did eat their portion which
Pharaoh gave them: wherefore they sold not their lands.

47:23 Then Joseph said unto the people, Behold, I have bought you this
day and your land for Pharaoh: lo, here is seed for you, and ye shall
sow the land.

47:24 And it shall come to pass in the increase, that ye shall give
the fifth part unto Pharaoh, and four parts shall be your own, for
seed of the field, and for your food, and for them of your households,
and for food for your little ones.

47:25 And they said, Thou hast saved our lives: let us find grace in
the sight of my lord, and we will be Pharaoh’s servants.

47:26 And Joseph made it a law over the land of Egypt unto this day,
that Pharaoh should have the fifth part, except the land of the
priests only, which became not Pharaoh’s.

47:27 And Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the country of Goshen;
and they had possessions therein, and grew, and multiplied
exceedingly.

47:28 And Jacob lived in the land of Egypt seventeen years: so the
whole age of Jacob was an hundred forty and seven years.

47:29 And the time drew nigh that Israel must die: and he called his
son Joseph, and said unto him, If now I have found grace in thy sight,
put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh, and deal kindly and truly
with me; bury me not, I pray thee, in Egypt: 47:30 But I will lie with
my fathers, and thou shalt carry me out of Egypt, and bury me in their
buryingplace. And he said, I will do as thou hast said.

47:31 And he said, Swear unto me. And he sware unto him. And Israel
bowed himself upon the bed’s head.

48:1 And it came to pass after these things, that one told Joseph,
Behold, thy father is sick: and he took with him his two sons,
Manasseh and Ephraim.

48:2 And one told Jacob, and said, Behold, thy son Joseph cometh unto
thee: and Israel strengthened himself, and sat upon the bed.

48:3 And Jacob said unto Joseph, God Almighty appeared unto me at Luz
in the land of Canaan, and blessed me, 48:4 And said unto me, Behold,
I will make thee fruitful, and multiply thee, and I will make of thee
a multitude of people; and will give this land to thy seed after thee
for an everlasting possession.

48:5 And now thy two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, which were born unto
thee in the land of Egypt before I came unto thee into Egypt, are
mine; as Reuben and Simeon, they shall be mine.

48:6 And thy issue, which thou begettest after them, shall be thine,
and shall be called after the name of their brethren in their
inheritance.

48:7 And as for me, when I came from Padan, Rachel died by me in the
land of Canaan in the way, when yet there was but a little way to come
unto Ephrath: and I buried her there in the way of Ephrath; the same
is Bethlehem.

48:8 And Israel beheld Joseph’s sons, and said, Who are these? 48:9
And Joseph said unto his father, They are my sons, whom God hath given
me in this place. And he said, Bring them, I pray thee, unto me, and I
will bless them.

48:10 Now the eyes of Israel were dim for age, so that he could not
see.

And he brought them near unto him; and he kissed them, and embraced
them.

48:11 And Israel said unto Joseph, I had not thought to see thy face:
and, lo, God hath shewed me also thy seed.

48:12 And Joseph brought them out from between his knees, and he bowed
himself with his face to the earth.

48:13 And Joseph took them both, Ephraim in his right hand toward
Israel’s left hand, and Manasseh in his left hand toward Israel’s
right hand, and brought them near unto him.

48:14 And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon
Ephraim’s head, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh’s
head, guiding his hands wittingly; for Manasseh was the firstborn.

48:15 And he blessed Joseph, and said, God, before whom my fathers
Abraham and Isaac did walk, the God which fed me all my life long unto
this day, 48:16 The Angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless the
lads; and let my name be named on them, and the name of my fathers
Abraham and Isaac; and let them grow into a multitude in the midst of
the earth.

48:17 And when Joseph saw that his father laid his right hand upon the
head of Ephraim, it displeased him: and he held up his father’s hand,
to remove it from Ephraim’s head unto Manasseh’s head.

48:18 And Joseph said unto his father, Not so, my father: for this is
the firstborn; put thy right hand upon his head.

48:19 And his father refused, and said, I know it, my son, I know it:
he also shall become a people, and he also shall be great: but truly
his younger brother shall be greater than he, and his seed shall
become a multitude of nations.

48:20 And he blessed them that day, saying, In thee shall Israel
bless, saying, God make thee as Ephraim and as Manasseh: and he set
Ephraim before Manasseh.

48:21 And Israel said unto Joseph, Behold, I die: but God shall be
with you, and bring you again unto the land of your fathers.

48:22 Moreover I have given to thee one portion above thy brethren,
which I took out of the hand of the Amorite with my sword and with my
bow.

49:1 And Jacob called unto his sons, and said, Gather yourselves
together, that I may tell you that which shall befall you in the last
days.

49:2 Gather yourselves together, and hear, ye sons of Jacob; and
hearken unto Israel your father.

49:3 Reuben, thou art my firstborn, my might, and the beginning of my
strength, the excellency of dignity, and the excellency of power: 49:4
Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel; because thou wentest up to
thy father’s bed; then defiledst thou it: he went up to my couch.

49:5 Simeon and Levi are brethren; instruments of cruelty are in their
habitations.

49:6 O my soul, come not thou into their secret; unto their assembly,
mine honour, be not thou united: for in their anger they slew a man,
and in their selfwill they digged down a wall.

49:7 Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce; and their wrath, for it
was cruel: I will divide them in Jacob, and scatter them in Israel.

49:8 Judah, thou art he whom thy brethren shall praise: thy hand shall
be in the neck of thine enemies; thy father’s children shall bow down
before thee.

49:9 Judah is a lion’s whelp: from the prey, my son, thou art gone up:
he stooped down, he couched as a lion, and as an old lion; who shall
rouse him up? 49:10 The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a
lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall
the gathering of the people be.

49:11 Binding his foal unto the vine, and his ass’s colt unto the
choice vine; he washed his garments in wine, and his clothes in the
blood of grapes: 49:12 His eyes shall be red with wine, and his teeth
white with milk.

49:13 Zebulun shall dwell at the haven of the sea; and he shall be for
an haven of ships; and his border shall be unto Zidon.

49:14 Issachar is a strong ass couching down between two burdens:
49:15 And he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was
pleasant; and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto
tribute.

49:16 Dan shall judge his people, as one of the tribes of Israel.

49:17 Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in the path, that
biteth the horse heels, so that his rider shall fall backward.

49:18 I have waited for thy salvation, O LORD.

49:19 Gad, a troop shall overcome him: but he shall overcome at the
last.

49:20 Out of Asher his bread shall be fat, and he shall yield royal
dainties.

49:21 Naphtali is a hind let loose: he giveth goodly words.

49:22 Joseph is a fruitful bough, even a fruitful bough by a well;
whose branches run over the wall: 49:23 The archers have sorely
grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him: 49:24 But his bow abode
in strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong by the hands
of the mighty God of Jacob; (from thence is the shepherd, the stone of
Israel:) 49:25 Even by the God of thy father, who shall help thee; and
by the Almighty, who shall bless thee with blessings of heaven above,
blessings of the deep that lieth under, blessings of the breasts, and
of the womb: 49:26 The blessings of thy father have prevailed above
the blessings of my progenitors unto the utmost bound of the
everlasting hills: they shall be on the head of Joseph, and on the
crown of the head of him that was separate from his brethren.

49:27 Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf: in the morning he shall devour
the prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.

49:28 All these are the twelve tribes of Israel: and this is it that
their father spake unto them, and blessed them; every one according to
his blessing he blessed them.

49:29 And he charged them, and said unto them, I am to be gathered
unto my people: bury me with my fathers in the cave that is in the
field of Ephron the Hittite, 49:30 In the cave that is in the field of
Machpelah, which is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham
bought with the field of Ephron the Hittite for a possession of a
buryingplace.

49:31 There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried
Isaac and Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah.

49:32 The purchase of the field and of the cave that is therein was
from the children of Heth.

49:33 And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he
gathered up his feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was
gathered unto his people.

50:1 And Joseph fell upon his father’s face, and wept upon him, and
kissed him.

50:2 And Joseph commanded his servants the physicians to embalm his
father: and the physicians embalmed Israel.

50:3 And forty days were fulfilled for him; for so are fulfilled the
days of those which are embalmed: and the Egyptians mourned for him
threescore and ten days.

50:4 And when the days of his mourning were past, Joseph spake unto
the house of Pharaoh, saying, If now I have found grace in your eyes,
speak, I pray you, in the ears of Pharaoh, saying, 50:5 My father made
me swear, saying, Lo, I die: in my grave which I have digged for me in
the land of Canaan, there shalt thou bury me. Now therefore let me go
up, I pray thee, and bury my father, and I will come again.

50:6 And Pharaoh said, Go up, and bury thy father, according as he
made thee swear.

50:7 And Joseph went up to bury his father: and with him went up all
the servants of Pharaoh, the elders of his house, and all the elders
of the land of Egypt, 50:8 And all the house of Joseph, and his
brethren, and his father’s house: only their little ones, and their
flocks, and their herds, they left in the land of Goshen.

50:9 And there went up with him both chariots and horsemen: and it was
a very great company.

50:10 And they came to the threshingfloor of Atad, which is beyond
Jordan, and there they mourned with a great and very sore lamentation:
and he made a mourning for his father seven days.

50:11 And when the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites, saw the
mourning in the floor of Atad, they said, This is a grievous mourning
to the Egyptians: wherefore the name of it was called Abelmizraim,
which is beyond Jordan.

50:12 And his sons did unto him according as he commanded them: 50:13
For his sons carried him into the land of Canaan, and buried him in
the cave of the field of Machpelah, which Abraham bought with the
field for a possession of a buryingplace of Ephron the Hittite, before
Mamre.

50:14 And Joseph returned into Egypt, he, and his brethren, and all
that went up with him to bury his father, after he had buried his
father.

50:15 And when Joseph’s brethren saw that their father was dead, they
said, Joseph will peradventure hate us, and will certainly requite us
all the evil which we did unto him.

50:16 And they sent a messenger unto Joseph, saying, Thy father did
command before he died, saying, 50:17 So shall ye say unto Joseph,
Forgive, I pray thee now, the trespass of thy brethren, and their sin;
for they did unto thee evil: and now, we pray thee, forgive the
trespass of the servants of the God of thy father. And Joseph wept
when they spake unto him.

50:18 And his brethren also went and fell down before his face; and
they said, Behold, we be thy servants.

50:19 And Joseph said unto them, Fear not: for am I in the place of
God? 50:20 But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant
it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people
alive.

50:21 Now therefore fear ye not: I will nourish you, and your little
ones.

And he comforted them, and spake kindly unto them.

50:22 And Joseph dwelt in Egypt, he, and his father’s house: and
Joseph lived an hundred and ten years.

50:23 And Joseph saw Ephraim’s children of the third generation: the
children also of Machir the son of Manasseh were brought up upon
Joseph’s knees.

50:24 And Joseph said unto his brethren, I die: and God will surely
visit you, and bring you out of this land unto the land which he sware
to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.

50:25 And Joseph took an oath of the children of Israel, saying, God
will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence.

50:26 So Joseph died, being an hundred and ten years old: and they
embalmed him, and he was put in a coffin in Egypt.

The Second Book of Moses: Called Exodus

1:1 Now these are the names of the children of Israel, which came
into Egypt; every man and his household came with Jacob.

1:2 Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah, 1:3 Issachar, Zebulun, and
Benjamin, 1:4 Dan, and Naphtali, Gad, and Asher.

1:5 And all the souls that came out of the loins of Jacob were seventy
souls: for Joseph was in Egypt already.

1:6 And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation.

1:7 And the children of Israel were fruitful, and increased
abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceeding mighty; and the land
was filled with them.

1:8 Now there arose up a new king over Egypt, which knew not Joseph.

1:9 And he said unto his people, Behold, the people of the children of
Israel are more and mightier than we: 1:10 Come on, let us deal wisely
with them; lest they multiply, and it come to pass, that, when there
falleth out any war, they join also unto our enemies, and fight
against us, and so get them up out of the land.

1:11 Therefore they did set over them taskmasters to afflict them with
their burdens. And they built for Pharaoh treasure cities, Pithom and
Raamses.

1:12 But the more they afflicted them, the more they multiplied and
grew.

And they were grieved because of the children of Israel.

1:13 And the Egyptians made the children of Israel to serve with
rigour: 1:14 And they made their lives bitter with hard bondage, in
morter, and in brick, and in all manner of service in the field: all
their service, wherein they made them serve, was with rigour.

1:15 And the king of Egypt spake to the Hebrew midwives, of which the
name of the one was Shiphrah, and the name of the other Puah: 1:16 And
he said, When ye do the office of a midwife to the Hebrew women, and
see them upon the stools; if it be a son, then ye shall kill him: but
if it be a daughter, then she shall live.

1:17 But the midwives feared God, and did not as the king of Egypt
commanded them, but saved the men children alive.

1:18 And the king of Egypt called for the midwives, and said unto
them, Why have ye done this thing, and have saved the men children
alive? 1:19 And the midwives said unto Pharaoh, Because the Hebrew
women are not as the Egyptian women; for they are lively, and are
delivered ere the midwives come in unto them.

1:20 Therefore God dealt well with the midwives: and the people
multiplied, and waxed very mighty.

1:21 And it came to pass, because the midwives feared God, that he
made them houses.

1:22 And Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, Every son that is
born ye shall cast into the river, and every daughter ye shall save
alive.

2:1 And there went a man of the house of Levi, and took to wife a
daughter of Levi.

2:2 And the woman conceived, and bare a son: and when she saw him that
he was a goodly child, she hid him three months.

2:3 And when she could not longer hide him, she took for him an ark of
bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put the child
therein; and she laid it in the flags by the river’s brink.

2:4 And his sister stood afar off, to wit what would be done to him.

2:5 And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash herself at the
river; and her maidens walked along by the river’s side; and when she
saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it.

2:6 And when she had opened it, she saw the child: and, behold, the
babe wept. And she had compassion on him, and said, This is one of the
Hebrews’ children.

2:7 Then said his sister to Pharaoh’s daughter, Shall I go and call to
thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for
thee? 2:8 And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, Go. And the maid went
and called the child’s mother.

2:9 And Pharaoh’s daughter said unto her, Take this child away, and
nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the woman took
the child, and nursed it.

2:10 And the child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh’s daughter,
and he became her son. And she called his name Moses: and she said,
Because I drew him out of the water.

2:11 And it came to pass in those days, when Moses was grown, that he
went out unto his brethren, and looked on their burdens: and he spied
an Egyptian smiting an Hebrew, one of his brethren.

2:12 And he looked this way and that way, and when he saw that there
was no man, he slew the Egyptian, and hid him in the sand.

2:13 And when he went out the second day, behold, two men of the
Hebrews strove together: and he said to him that did the wrong,
Wherefore smitest thou thy fellow? 2:14 And he said, Who made thee a
prince and a judge over us? intendest thou to kill me, as thou
killedst the Egyptian? And Moses feared, and said, Surely this thing
is known.

2:15 Now when Pharaoh heard this thing, he sought to slay Moses. But
Moses fled from the face of Pharaoh, and dwelt in the land of Midian:
and he sat down by a well.

2:16 Now the priest of Midian had seven daughters: and they came and
drew water, and filled the troughs to water their father’s flock.

2:17 And the shepherds came and drove them away: but Moses stood up
and helped them, and watered their flock.

2:18 And when they came to Reuel their father, he said, How is it that
ye are come so soon to day? 2:19 And they said, An Egyptian delivered
us out of the hand of the shepherds, and also drew water enough for
us, and watered the flock.

2:20 And he said unto his daughters, And where is he? why is it that
ye have left the man? call him, that he may eat bread.

2:21 And Moses was content to dwell with the man: and he gave Moses
Zipporah his daughter.

2:22 And she bare him a son, and he called his name Gershom: for he
said, I have been a stranger in a strange land.

2:23 And it came to pass in process of time, that the king of Egypt
died: and the children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and
they cried, and their cry came up unto God by reason of the bondage.

2:24 And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant
with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.

2:25 And God looked upon the children of Israel, and God had respect
unto them.

3:1 Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest
of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and
came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb.

3:2 And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a flame of fire out
of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned
with fire, and the bush was not consumed.

3:3 And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight,
why the bush is not burnt.

3:4 And when the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto
him out of the midst of the bush, and said, Moses, Moses. And he said,
Here am I.

3:5 And he said, Draw not nigh hither: put off thy shoes from off thy
feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.

3:6 Moreover he said, I am the God of thy father, the God of Abraham,
the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. And Moses hid his face; for he
was afraid to look upon God.

3:7 And the LORD said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people
which are in Egypt, and have heard their cry by reason of their
taskmasters; for I know their sorrows; 3:8 And I am come down to
deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians, and to bring them up
out of that land unto a good land and a large, unto a land flowing
with milk and honey; unto the place of the Canaanites, and the
Hittites, and the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Hivites, and
the Jebusites.

3:9 Now therefore, behold, the cry of the children of Israel is come
unto me: and I have also seen the oppression wherewith the Egyptians
oppress them.

3:10 Come now therefore, and I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou
mayest bring forth my people the children of Israel out of Egypt.

3:11 And Moses said unto God, Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh,
and that I should bring forth the children of Israel out of Egypt?
3:12 And he said, Certainly I will be with thee; and this shall be a
token unto thee, that I have sent thee: When thou hast brought forth
the people out of Egypt, ye shall serve God upon this mountain.

3:13 And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of
Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me
unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name? what shall I say
unto them? 3:14 And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM: and he said,
Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me
unto you.

This is the Jargon File, a comprehensive compendium of hacker slang
illuminating many aspects of hackish tradition, folklore, and humor.

This document (the Jargon File) is in the public domain, to be freely
used, shared, and modified. There are (by intention) no legal
restraints on what you can do with it, but there are traditions about
its proper use to which many hackers are quite strongly attached.
Please extend the courtesy of proper citation when you quote the File,
ideally with a version number, as it will change and grow over time.
(Examples of appropriate citation form: "Jargon File 2.9.10" or
"The on-line hacker Jargon File, version 2.9.10, 01 JUL 1992".)

The Jargon File is a common heritage of the hacker culture.
Over the years a number of individuals have volunteered considerable
time to maintaining the File and been recognized by the net at large
as editors of it. Editorial responsibilities include: to collate
contributions and suggestions from others; to seek out corroborating
information; to cross-reference related entries; to keep the file in a
consistent format; and to announce and distribute updated versions
periodically. Current volunteer editors include:

Eric Raymond eric@snark.thyrsus.com (215)-296-5718

Although there is no requirement that you do so, it is considered good
form to check with an editor before quoting the File in a published work
or commercial product. We may have additional information that would be
helpful to you and can assist you in framing your quote to reflect
not only the letter of the File but its spirit as well.

All contributions and suggestions about this file sent to a volunteer
editor are gratefully received and will be regarded, unless otherwise
labelled, as freely given donations for possible use as part of this
public-domain file.

From time to time a snapshot of this file has been polished, edited,
and formatted for commercial publication with the cooperation of the
volunteer editors and the hacker community at large. If you wish to
have a bound paper copy of this file, you may find it convenient to
purchase one of these. They often contain additional material not
found in on-line versions. The two `authorized' editions so far are
described in the Revision History section; there may be more in the
future.

:Introduction:
**************

:About This File:
=================

This document is a collection of slang terms used by various subcultures
of computer hackers. Though some technical material is included for
background and flavor, it is not a technical dictionary; what we
describe here is the language hackers use among themselves for fun,
social communication, and technical debate.

The `hacker culture' is actually a loosely networked collection of
subcultures that is nevertheless conscious of some important shared
experiences, shared roots, and shared values. It has its own myths,
heroes, villains, folk epics, in-jokes, taboos, and dreams. Because
hackers as a group are particularly creative people who define
themselves partly by rejection of `normal' values and working habits, it
has unusually rich and conscious traditions for an intentional culture
less than 35 years old.

As usual with slang, the special vocabulary of hackers helps hold their
culture together — it helps hackers recognize each other's places in
the community and expresses shared values and experiences. Also as
usual, *not* knowing the slang (or using it inappropriately) defines one
as an outsider, a mundane, or (worst of all in hackish vocabulary)
possibly even a {suit}. All human cultures use slang in this threefold
way — as a tool of communication, and of inclusion, and of exclusion.

Among hackers, though, slang has a subtler aspect, paralleled perhaps in
the slang of jazz musicians and some kinds of fine artists but hard to
detect in most technical or scientific cultures; parts of it are code
for shared states of *consciousness*. There is a whole range of altered
states and problem-solving mental stances basic to high-level hacking
which don't fit into conventional linguistic reality any better than a
Coltrane solo or one of Maurits Escher's `trompe l'oeil' compositions
(Escher is a favorite of hackers), and hacker slang encodes these
subtleties in many unobvious ways. As a simple example, take the
distinction between a {kluge} and an {elegant} solution, and the
differing connotations attached to each. The distinction is not only of
engineering significance; it reaches right back into the nature of the
generative processes in program design and asserts something important
about two different kinds of relationship between the hacker and the
hack. Hacker slang is unusually rich in implications of this kind, of
overtones and undertones that illuminate the hackish psyche.

But there is more. Hackers, as a rule, love wordplay and are very
conscious and inventive in their use of language. These traits seem to
be common in young children, but the conformity-enforcing machine we are
pleased to call an educational system bludgeons them out of most of us
before adolescence. Thus, linguistic invention in most subcultures of
the modern West is a halting and largely unconscious process. Hackers,
by contrast, regard slang formation and use as a game to be played for
conscious pleasure. Their inventions thus display an almost unique
combination of the neotenous enjoyment of language-play with the
discrimination of educated and powerful intelligence. Further, the
electronic media which knit them together are fluid, `hot' connections,
well adapted to both the dissemination of new slang and the ruthless
culling of weak and superannuated specimens. The results of this
process give us perhaps a uniquely intense and accelerated view of
linguistic evolution in action.

Hackish slang also challenges some common linguistic and
anthropological assumptions. For example, it has recently become
fashionable to speak of `low-context' versus `high-context'
communication, and to classify cultures by the preferred context level
of their languages and art forms. It is usually claimed that
low-context communication (characterized by precision, clarity, and
completeness of self-contained utterances) is typical in cultures
which value logic, objectivity, individualism, and competition; by
contrast, high-context communication (elliptical, emotive,
nuance-filled, multi-modal, heavily coded) is associated with cultures
which value subjectivity, consensus, cooperation, and tradition. What
then are we to make of hackerdom, which is themed around extremely
low-context interaction with computers and exhibits primarily
"low-context" values, but cultivates an almost absurdly high-context
slang style?

The intensity and consciousness of hackish invention make a compilation
of hacker slang a particularly effective window into the surrounding
culture — and, in fact, this one is the latest version of an evolving
compilation called the `Jargon File', maintained by hackers themselves
for over 15 years. This one (like its ancestors) is primarily a
lexicon, but also includes `topic entries' which collect background or
sidelight information on hacker culture that would be awkward to try to
subsume under individual entries.

Though the format is that of a reference volume, it is intended that the
material be enjoyable to browse. Even a complete outsider should find
at least a chuckle on nearly every page, and much that is amusingly
thought-provoking. But it is also true that hackers use humorous
wordplay to make strong, sometimes combative statements about what they
feel. Some of these entries reflect the views of opposing sides in
disputes that have been genuinely passionate; this is deliberate. We
have not tried to moderate or pretty up these disputes; rather we have
attempted to ensure that *everyone's* sacred cows get gored,
impartially. Compromise is not particularly a hackish virtue, but the
honest presentation of divergent viewpoints is.

The reader with minimal computer background who finds some references
incomprehensibly technical can safely ignore them. We have not felt it
either necessary or desirable to eliminate all such; they, too,
contribute flavor, and one of this document's major intended audiences
— fledgling hackers already partway inside the culture — will
benefit from them.

A selection of longer items of hacker folklore and humor is included in
{appendix A}. The `outside' reader's attention is particularly directed
to {appendix B}, "A Portrait of J. Random Hacker". {Appendix C} is a
bibliography of non-technical works which have either influenced or
described the hacker culture.

Because hackerdom is an intentional culture (one each individual must
choose by action to join), one should not be surprised that the line
between description and influence can become more than a little blurred.
Earlier versions of the Jargon File have played a central role in
spreading hacker language and the culture that goes with it to
successively larger populations, and we hope and expect that this one
will do likewise.

:Of Slang, Jargon, and Techspeak:
=================================

Linguists usually refer to informal language as `slang' and reserve the
term `jargon' for the technical vocabularies of various occupations.
However, the ancestor of this collection was called the `Jargon File',
and hackish slang is traditionally `the jargon'. When talking about the
jargon there is therefore no convenient way to distinguish what a
*linguist* would call hackers' jargon — the formal vocabulary they
learn from textbooks, technical papers, and manuals.

To make a confused situation worse, the line between hackish slang and
the vocabulary of technical programming and computer science is fuzzy,
and shifts over time. Further, this vocabulary is shared with a wider
technical culture of programmers, many of whom are not hackers and do
not speak or recognize hackish slang.

Accordingly, this lexicon will try to be as precise as the facts of
usage permit about the distinctions among three categories:
*`slang': informal language from mainstream English or non-technicalsubcultures (bikers, rock fans, surfers, etc).
*`jargon': without qualifier, denotes informal `slangy' languagepeculiar to hackers — the subject of this lexicon.
*`techspeak': the formal technical vocabulary of programming, computerscience, electronics, and other fields connected to hacking.

This terminology will be consistently used throughout the remainder of
this lexicon.

The jargon/techspeak distinction is the delicate one. A lot of
techspeak originated as jargon, and there is a steady continuing uptake
of jargon into techspeak. On the other hand, a lot of jargon arises
from overgeneralization of techspeak terms (there is more about this in
the "Jargon Construction" section below).

In general, we have considered techspeak any term that communicates
primarily by a denotation well established in textbooks, technical
dictionaries, or standards documents.

A few obviously techspeak terms (names of operating systems, languages,
or documents) are listed when they are tied to hacker folklore that
isn't covered in formal sources, or sometimes to convey critical
historical background necessary to understand other entries to which
they are cross-referenced. Some other techspeak senses of jargon words
are listed in order to make the jargon senses clear; where the text does
not specify that a straight technical sense is under discussion, these
are marked with `[techspeak]' as an etymology. Some entries have a
primary sense marked this way, with subsequent jargon meanings explained
in terms of it.

We have also tried to indicate (where known) the apparent origins of
terms. The results are probably the least reliable information in the
lexicon, for several reasons. For one thing, it is well known that many
hackish usages have been independently reinvented multiple times, even
among the more obscure and intricate neologisms. It often seems that
the generative processes underlying hackish jargon formation have an
internal logic so powerful as to create substantial parallelism across
separate cultures and even in different languages! For another, the
networks tend to propagate innovations so quickly that `first use' is
often impossible to pin down. And, finally, compendia like this one
alter what they observe by implicitly stamping cultural approval on
terms and widening their use.

:Revision History:
==================

The original Jargon File was a collection of hacker jargon from
technical cultures including the MIT AI Lab, the Stanford AI lab (SAIL),
and others of the old ARPANET AI/LISP/PDP-10 communities including Bolt,
Beranek and Newman (BBN), Carnegie-Mellon University (CMU), and
Worcester Polytechnic Institute (WPI).

The Jargon File (hereafter referred to as `jargon-1' or `the File') was
begun by Raphael Finkel at Stanford in 1975. From this time until the
plug was finally pulled on the SAIL computer in 1991, the File was named
AIWORD.RF[UP,DOC] there. Some terms in it date back considerably
earlier ({frob} and some senses of {moby}, for instance, go back to the
Tech Model Railroad Club at MIT and are believed to date at least back
to the early 1960s). The revisions of jargon-1 were all unnumbered and
may be collectively considered `Version 1'.

In 1976, Mark Crispin, having seen an announcement about the File on the
SAIL computer, {FTP}ed a copy of the File to MIT. He noticed that it
was hardly restricted to `AI words' and so stored the file on his
directory as AI:MRC;SAIL JARGON.

The file was quickly renamed JARGON > (the `>' means numbered with a
version number) as a flurry of enhancements were made by Mark Crispin
and Guy L. Steele Jr. Unfortunately, amidst all this activity, nobody
thought of correcting the term `jargon' to `slang' until the compendium
had already become widely known as the Jargon File.

Raphael Finkel dropped out of active participation shortly thereafter
and Don Woods became the SAIL contact for the File (which was
subsequently kept in duplicate at SAIL and MIT, with periodic
resynchronizations).

The File expanded by fits and starts until about 1983; Richard Stallman
was prominent among the contributors, adding many MIT and ITS-related
coinages.

In Spring 1981, a hacker named Charles Spurgeon got a large chunk of the
File published in Russell Brand's `CoEvolution Quarterly' (pages 26-35)
with illustrations by Phil Wadler and Guy Steele (including a couple of
the Crunchly cartoons). This appears to have been the File's first
paper publication.

A late version of jargon-1, expanded with commentary for the mass
market, was edited by Guy Steele into a book published in 1983 as `The
Hacker's Dictionary' (Harper & Row CN 1082, ISBN 0-06-091082-8). The
other jargon-1 editors (Raphael Finkel, Don Woods, and Mark Crispin)
contributed to this revision, as did Richard M. Stallman and Geoff
Goodfellow. This book (now out of print) is hereafter referred to as
`Steele-1983' and those six as the Steele-1983 coauthors.

Shortly after the publication of Steele-1983, the File effectively
stopped growing and changing. Originally, this was due to a desire to
freeze the file temporarily to facilitate the production of Steele-1983,
but external conditions caused the `temporary' freeze to become
permanent.

The AI Lab culture had been hit hard in the late 1970s by funding cuts
and the resulting administrative decision to use vendor-supported
hardware and software instead of homebrew whenever possible. At MIT,
most AI work had turned to dedicated LISP Machines. At the same time,
the commercialization of AI technology lured some of the AI Lab's best
and brightest away to startups along the Route 128 strip in
Massachusetts and out West in Silicon Valley. The startups built LISP
machines for MIT; the central MIT-AI computer became a {TWENEX} system
rather than a host for the AI hackers' beloved {ITS}.

The Stanford AI Lab had effectively ceased to exist by 1980, although
the SAIL computer continued as a Computer Science Department resource
until 1991. Stanford became a major {TWENEX} site, at one point
operating more than a dozen TOPS-20 systems; but by the mid-1980s most
of the interesting software work was being done on the emerging BSD UNIX
standard.

In April 1983, the PDP-10-centered cultures that had nourished the File
were dealt a death-blow by the cancellation of the Jupiter project at
Digital Equipment Corporation. The File's compilers, already dispersed,
moved on to other things. Steele-1983 was partly a monument to what its
authors thought was a dying tradition; no one involved realized at the
time just how wide its influence was to be.

By the mid-1980s the File's content was dated, but the legend that had
grown up around it never quite died out. The book, and softcopies
obtained off the ARPANET, circulated even in cultures far removed from
MIT and Stanford; the content exerted a strong and continuing influence
on hackish language and humor. Even as the advent of the microcomputer
and other trends fueled a tremendous expansion of hackerdom, the File
(and related materials such as the AI Koans in Appendix A) came to be
seen as a sort of sacred epic, a hacker-culture Matter of Britain
chronicling the heroic exploits of the Knights of the Lab. The pace of
change in hackerdom at large accelerated tremendously — but the Jargon
File, having passed from living document to icon, remained essentially
untouched for seven years.

This revision contains nearly the entire text of a late version of
jargon-1 (a few obsolete PDP-10-related entries were dropped after
careful consultation with the editors of Steele-1983). It merges in
about 80% of the Steele-1983 text, omitting some framing material and a
very few entries introduced in Steele-1983 that are now also obsolete.

This new version casts a wider net than the old Jargon File; its aim is
to cover not just AI or PDP-10 hacker culture but all the technical
computing cultures wherein the true hacker-nature is manifested. More
than half of the entries now derive from {USENET} and represent jargon
now current in the C and UNIX communities, but special efforts have been
made to collect jargon from other cultures including IBM PC programmers,
Amiga fans, Mac enthusiasts, and even the IBM mainframe world.

Eric S. Raymond <eric@snark.thyrsus.com> maintains the new File with
assistance from Guy L. Steele Jr. <gls@think.com>; these are the persons
primarily reflected in the File's editorial `we', though we take
pleasure in acknowledging the special contribution of the other
coauthors of Steele-1983. Please email all additions, corrections, and
correspondence relating to the Jargon File to jargon@thyrsus.com
(UUCP-only sites without connections to an autorouting smart site can
use …!uunet!snark!jargon).

(Warning: other email addresses appear in this file *but are not
guaranteed to be correct* later than the revision date on the first
line. *Don't* email us if an attempt to reach your idol bounces — we
have no magic way of checking addresses or looking up people.)

The 2.9.6 version became the main text of `The New Hacker's Dictionary',
by Eric Raymond (ed.), MIT Press 1991, ISBN 0-262-68069-6. The
maintainers are committed to updating the on-line version of the Jargon
File through and beyond paper publication, and will continue to make it
available to archives and public-access sites as a trust of the hacker
community.

Here is a chronology of the high points in the recent on-line revisions:

Version 2.1.1, Jun 12 1990: the Jargon File comes alive again after a
seven-year hiatus. Reorganization and massive additions were by Eric S.
Raymond, approved by Guy Steele. Many items of UNIX, C, USENET, and
microcomputer-based jargon were added at that time (as well as The
Untimely Demise of Mabel The Monkey).

Version 2.9.6, Aug 16 1991: corresponds to reproduction copy for book.
This version had 18952 lines, 148629 words, 975551 characters, and 1702
entries.

Version 2.9.8, Jan 01 1992: first public release since the book,
including over fifty new entries and numerous corrections/additions to
old ones. Packaged with version 1.1 of vh(1) hypertext reader. This
version had 19509 lines, 153108 words, 1006023 characters, and 1760
entries.

Version 2.9.9, Apr 01 1992: folded in XEROX PARC lexicon. This version
had 20298 lines, 159651 words, 1048909 characters, and 1821 entries.

Version 2.9.10, Jul 01 1992: lots of new historical material. This
version had 21349 lines, 168330 words, 1106991 characters, and 1891
entries.

Version numbering: Version numbers should be read as
major.minor.revision. Major version 1 is reserved for the `old' (ITS)
Jargon File, jargon-1. Major version 2 encompasses revisions by ESR
(Eric S. Raymond) with assistance from GLS (Guy L. Steele, Jr.).
Someday, the next maintainer will take over and spawn `version 3'.
Usually later versions will either completely supersede or incorporate
earlier versions, so there is generally no point in keeping old versions
around.

Our thanks to the coauthors of Steele-1983 for oversight and assistance,
and to the hundreds of USENETters (too many to name here) who
contributed entries and encouragement. More thanks go to several of the
old-timers on the USENET group alt.folklore.computers, who contributed
much useful commentary and many corrections and valuable historical
perspective: Joseph M. Newcomer <jn11+@andrew.cmu.edu>, Bernie Cosell
<cosell@bbn.com>, Earl Boebert <boebert@SCTC.com>, and Joe Morris
<jcmorris@mwunix.mitre.org>.

We were fortunate enough to have the aid of some accomplished linguists.
David Stampe <stampe@uhunix.uhcc.hawaii.edu> and Charles Hoequist
<hoequist@bnr.ca> contributed valuable criticism; Joe Keane
<jgk@osc.osc.com> helped us improve the pronunciation guides.

A few bits of this text quote previous works. We are indebted to Brian
A. LaMacchia <bal@zurich.ai.mit.edu> for obtaining permission for us to
use material from the `TMRC Dictionary'; also, Don Libes
<libes@cme.nist.gov> contributed some appropriate material from his
excellent book `Life With UNIX'. We thank Per Lindberg <per@front.se>,
author of the remarkable Swedish-language 'zine `Hackerbladet', for
bringing `FOO!' comics to our attention and smuggling one of the IBM
hacker underground's own baby jargon files out to us. Thanks also to
Maarten Litmaath for generously allowing the inclusion of the ASCII
pronunciation guide he formerly maintained. And our gratitude to Marc
Weiser of XEROX PARC <Marc_Weiser.PARC@xerox.com> for securing us
permission to quote from PARC's own jargon lexicon and shipping us a
copy.

It is a particular pleasure to acknowledge the major contributions of
Mark Brader <msb@sq.com> to the final manuscript; he read and reread
many drafts, checked facts, caught typos, submitted an amazing number of
thoughtful comments, and did yeoman service in catching typos and minor
usage bobbles. Mr. Brader's rare combination of enthusiasm,
persistence, wide-ranging technical knowledge, and precisionism in
matters of language made his help invaluable, and the sustained volume
and quality of his input over many months only allowed him to escape
co-editor credit by the slimmest of margins.

Finally, George V. Reilly <gvr@cs.brown.edu> helped with TeX arcana and
painstakingly proofread some 2.7 and 2.8 versions; Steve Summit
<scs@adam.mit.edu> contributed a number of excellent new entries and
many small improvements to 2.9.10; and Eric Tiedemann <est@thyrsus.com>
contributed sage advice throughout on rhetoric, amphigory, and
philosophunculism.

:How Jargon Works:
******************

:Jargon Construction:
=====================

There are some standard methods of jargonification that became
established quite early (i.e., before 1970), spreading from such sources
as the Tech Model Railroad Club, the PDP-1 SPACEWAR hackers, and John
McCarthy's original crew of LISPers. These include the following:

:Verb Doubling: ————— A standard construction in English is to
double a verb and use it as an exclamation, such as "Bang, bang!" or
"Quack, quack!". Most of these are names for noises. Hackers also
double verbs as a concise, sometimes sarcastic comment on what the
implied subject does. Also, a doubled verb is often used to terminate a
conversation, in the process remarking on the current state of affairs
or what the speaker intends to do next. Typical examples involve {win},
{lose}, {hack}, {flame}, {barf}, {chomp}:

"The disk heads just crashed." "Lose, lose."
"Mostly he talked about his latest crock. Flame, flame."
"Boy, what a bagbiter! Chomp, chomp!"

Some verb-doubled constructions have special meanings not immediately
obvious from the verb. These have their own listings in the lexicon.

The USENET culture has one *tripling* convention unrelated to this; the
names of `joke' topic groups often have a tripled last element. The
first and paradigmatic example was alt.swedish.chef.bork.bork.bork (a
"Muppet Show" reference); other classics include
alt.french.captain.borg.borg.borg, alt.wesley.crusher.die.die.die,
comp.unix.internals.system.calls.brk.brk.brk,
sci.physics.edward.teller.boom.boom.boom, and
alt.sadistic.dentists.drill.drill.drill.

:Soundalike slang: —————— Hackers will often make rhymes or
puns in order to convert an ordinary word or phrase into something more
interesting. It is considered particularly {flavorful} if the phrase is
bent so as to include some other jargon word; thus the computer hobbyist
magazine `Dr. Dobb's Journal' is almost always referred to among hackers
as `Dr. Frob's Journal' or simply `Dr. Frob's'. Terms of this kind that
have been in fairly wide use include names for newspapers:

Boston Herald => Horrid (or Harried)
Boston Globe => Boston Glob
Houston (or San Francisco) Chronicle
=> the Crocknicle (or the Comical)
New York Times => New York Slime

However, terms like these are often made up on the spur of the moment.
Standard examples include:

Data General => Dirty Genitals
IBM 360 => IBM Three-Sickly
Government Property — Do Not Duplicate (on keys)
=> Government Duplicity — Do Not Propagate
for historical reasons => for hysterical raisins
Margaret Jacks Hall (the CS building at Stanford)
=> Marginal Hacks Hall

This is not really similar to the Cockney rhyming slang it has been
compared to in the past, because Cockney substitutions are opaque
whereas hacker punning jargon is intentionally transparent.

:The `-P' convention: ——————— Turning a word into a
question by appending the syllable `P'; from the LISP convention of
appending the letter `P' to denote a predicate (a boolean-valued
function). The question should expect a yes/no answer, though it
needn't. (See {T} and {NIL}.)

At dinnertime:
Q: "Foodp?"
A: "Yeah, I'm pretty hungry." or "T!"

At any time:
Q: "State-of-the-world-P?"
A: (Straight) "I'm about to go home."
A: (Humorous) "Yes, the world has a state."

On the phone to Florida:
Q: "State-p Florida?"
A: "Been reading JARGON.TXT again, eh?"

[One of the best of these is a {Gosperism}. Once, when we were at a
Chinese restaurant, Bill Gosper wanted to know whether someone would
like to share with him a two-person-sized bowl of soup. His inquiry
was: "Split-p soup?" — GLS]

:Overgeneralization: ——————– A very conspicuous feature of
jargon is the frequency with which techspeak items such as names of
program tools, command language primitives, and even assembler opcodes
are applied to contexts outside of computing wherever hackers find
amusing analogies to them. Thus (to cite one of the best-known
examples) UNIX hackers often {grep} for things rather than searching for
them. Many of the lexicon entries are generalizations of exactly this
kind.

Hackers enjoy overgeneralization on the grammatical level as well. Many
hackers love to take various words and add the wrong endings to them to
make nouns and verbs, often by extending a standard rule to nonuniform
cases (or vice versa). For example, because

porous => porosity
generous => generosity

hackers happily generalize:

mysterious => mysteriosity
ferrous => ferrosity
obvious => obviosity
dubious => dubiosity

Also, note that all nouns can be verbed. E.g.: "All nouns can be
verbed", "I'll mouse it up", "Hang on while I clipboard it over", "I'm
grepping the files". English as a whole is already heading in this
direction (towards pure-positional grammar like Chinese); hackers are
simply a bit ahead of the curve.

However, note that hackers avoid the unimaginative verb-making
techniques characteristic of marketroids, bean-counters, and the
Pentagon; a hacker would never, for example, `productize', `prioritize',
or `securitize' things. Hackers have a strong aversion to bureaucratic
bafflegab and regard those who use it with contempt.

Similarly, all verbs can be nouned. This is only a slight
overgeneralization in modern English; in hackish, however, it is good
form to mark them in some standard nonstandard way. Thus:

win => winnitude, winnage
disgust => disgustitude
hack => hackification

Further, note the prevalence of certain kinds of nonstandard plural
forms. Some of these go back quite a ways; the TMRC Dictionary noted
that the defined plural of `caboose' is `cabeese', and includes an entry
which implies that the plural of `mouse' is {meeces}. On a similarly
Anglo-Saxon note, almost anything ending in `x' may form plurals in
`-xen' (see {VAXen} and {boxen} in the main text). Even words ending in
phonetic /k/ alone are sometimes treated this way; e.g., `soxen' for a
bunch of socks. Other funny plurals are `frobbotzim' for the plural of
`frobbozz' (see {frobnitz}) and `Unices' and `Twenices' (rather than
`Unixes' and `Twenexes'; see {UNIX}, {TWENEX} in main text). But note
that `Unixen' and `Twenexen' are never used; it has been suggested that
this is because `-ix' and `-ex' are Latin singular endings that attract
a Latinate plural. Finally, it has been suggested to general approval
that the plural of `mongoose' ought to be `polygoose'.

The pattern here, as with other hackish grammatical quirks, is
generalization of an inflectional rule that in English is either an
import or a fossil (such as the Hebrew plural ending `-im', or the
Anglo-Saxon plural suffix `-en') to cases where it isn't normally
considered to apply.

This is not `poor grammar', as hackers are generally quite well aware of
what they are doing when they distort the language. It is grammatical
creativity, a form of playfulness. It is done not to impress but to
amuse, and never at the expense of clarity.

:Spoken inarticulations: ———————— Words such as
`mumble', `sigh', and `groan' are spoken in places where their referent
might more naturally be used. It has been suggested that this usage
derives from the impossibility of representing such noises on a comm
link or in electronic mail (interestingly, the same sorts of
constructions have been showing up with increasing frequency in comic
strips). Another expression sometimes heard is "Complain!", meaning "I
have a complaint!"

:Anthromorphization: ——————– Semantically, one rich source
of jargon constructions is the hackish tendency to anthropomorphize
hardware and software. This isn't done in a na"ive way; hackers don't
personalize their stuff in the sense of feeling empathy with it, nor do
they mystically believe that the things they work on every day are
`alive'. What *is* common is to hear hardware or software talked about
as though it has homunculi talking to each other inside it, with
intentions and desires. Thus, one hears "The protocol handler got
confused", or that programs "are trying" to do things, or one may say of
a routine that "its goal in life is to X". One even hears explanations
like "… and its poor little brain couldn't understand X, and it
died." Sometimes modelling things this way actually seems to make them
easier to understand, perhaps because it's instinctively natural to
think of anything with a really complex behavioral repertoire as `like a
person' rather than `like a thing'.

Of the six listed constructions, verb doubling, peculiar noun
formations, anthromorphization, and (especially) spoken inarticulations
have become quite general; but punning jargon is still largely confined
to MIT and other large universities, and the `-P' convention is found
only where LISPers flourish.

Finally, note that many words in hacker jargon have to be understood as
members of sets of comparatives. This is especially true of the
adjectives and nouns used to describe the beauty and functional quality
of code. Here is an approximately correct spectrum:

monstrosity brain-damage screw bug lose misfeature
crock kluge hack win feature elegance perfection

The last is spoken of as a mythical absolute, approximated but never
actually attained. Another similar scale is used for describing the
reliability of software:

broken flaky dodgy fragile brittle
solid robust bulletproof armor-plated

Note, however, that `dodgy' is primarily Commonwealth hackish (it is
rare in the U.S.) and may change places with `flaky' for some speakers.

Coinages for describing {lossage} seem to call forth the very finest in
hackish linguistic inventiveness; it has been truly said that hackers
have even more words for equipment failures than Yiddish has for
obnoxious people.

:Hacker Writing Style:
======================

We've already seen that hackers often coin jargon by overgeneralizing
grammatical rules. This is one aspect of a more general fondness for
form-versus-content language jokes that shows up particularly in hackish
writing. One correspondent reports that he consistently misspells
`wrong' as `worng'. Others have been known to criticize glitches in
Jargon File drafts by observing (in the mode of Douglas Hofstadter)
"This sentence no verb", or "Bad speling", or "Incorrectspa cing."
Similarly, intentional spoonerisms are often made of phrases relating to
confusion or things that are confusing; `dain bramage' for `brain
damage' is perhaps the most common (similarly, a hacker would be likely
to write "Excuse me, I'm cixelsyd today", rather than "I'm dyslexic
today"). This sort of thing is quite common and is enjoyed by all
concerned.

Hackers tend to use quotes as balanced delimiters like parentheses, much
to the dismay of American editors. Thus, if "Jim is going" is a phrase,
and so are "Bill runs" and "Spock groks", then hackers generally prefer
to write: "Jim is going", "Bill runs", and "Spock groks". This is
incorrect according to standard American usage (which would put the
continuation commas and the final period inside the string quotes);
however, it is counter-intuitive to hackers to mutilate literal strings
with characters that don't belong in them. Given the sorts of examples
that can come up in discussions of programming, American-style quoting
can even be grossly misleading. When communicating command lines or
small pieces of code, extra characters can be a real pain in the neck.

Consider, for example, a sentence in a {vi} tutorial that looks like this:

Then delete a line from the file by typing "dd".

Standard usage would make this

Then delete a line from the file by typing "dd."

but that would be very bad — because the reader would be prone to type
the string d-d-dot, and it happens that in `vi(1)' dot repeats the last
command accepted. The net result would be to delete *two* lines!

The Jargon File follows hackish usage throughout.

Interestingly, a similar style is now preferred practice in Great
Britain, though the older style (which became established for
typographical reasons having to do with the aesthetics of comma and
quotes in typeset text) is still accepted there. `Hart's Rules' and the
`Oxford Dictionary for Writers and Editors' call the hacker-like style
`new' or `logical' quoting.

Another hacker quirk is a tendency to distinguish between `scare' quotes
and `speech' quotes; that is, to use British-style single quotes for
marking and reserve American-style double quotes for actual reports of
speech or text included from elsewhere. Interestingly, some authorities
describe this as correct general usage, but mainstream American English
has gone to using double-quotes indiscriminately enough that hacker
usage appears marked [and, in fact, I thought this was a personal quirk
of mine until I checked with USENET — ESR]. One further permutation
that is definitely *not* standard is a hackish tendency to do marking
quotes by using apostrophes (single quotes) in pairs; that is, 'like
this'. This is modelled on string and character literal syntax in some
programming languages (reinforced by the fact that many character-only
terminals display the apostrophe in typewriter style, as a vertical
single quote).

One quirk that shows up frequently in the {email} style of UNIX hackers
in particular is a tendency for some things that are normally
all-lowercase (including usernames and the names of commands and C
routines) to remain uncapitalized even when they occur at the beginning
of sentences. It is clear that, for many hackers, the case of such
identifiers becomes a part of their internal representation (the
`spelling') and cannot be overridden without mental effort (an
appropriate reflex because UNIX and C both distinguish cases and
confusing them can lead to {lossage}). A way of escaping this dilemma
is simply to avoid using these constructions at the beginning of
sentences.

There seems to be a meta-rule behind these nonstandard hackerisms to the
effect that precision of expression is more important than conformance
to traditional rules; where the latter create ambiguity or lose
information they can be discarded without a second thought. It is
notable in this respect that other hackish inventions (for example, in
vocabulary) also tend to carry very precise shades of meaning even when
constructed to appear slangy and loose. In fact, to a hacker, the
contrast between `loose' form and `tight' content in jargon is a
substantial part of its humor!

Hackers have also developed a number of punctuation and emphasis
conventions adapted to single-font all-ASCII communications links, and
these are occasionally carried over into written documents even when
normal means of font changes, underlining, and the like are available.

One of these is that TEXT IN ALL CAPS IS INTERPRETED AS `LOUD', and this
becomes such an ingrained synesthetic reflex that a person who goes to
caps-lock while in {talk mode} may be asked to "stop shouting, please,
you're hurting my ears!".

Also, it is common to use bracketing with unusual characters to signify
emphasis. The asterisk is most common, as in "What the *hell*?" even
though this interferes with the common use of the asterisk suffix as a
footnote mark. The underscore is also common, suggesting underlining
(this is particularly common with book titles; for example, "It is often
alleged that Joe Haldeman wrote _The_Forever_War_ as a rebuttal to
Robert Heinlein's earlier novel of the future military,
_Starship_Troopers_."). Other forms exemplified by "=hell=", "hell/",
or "/hell/" are occasionally seen (it's claimed that in the last example
the first slash pushes the letters over to the right to make them
italic, and the second keeps them from falling over). Finally, words
may also be emphasized L I K E T H I S, or by a series of carets (^)
under them on the next line of the text.

There is a semantic difference between *emphasis like this* (which
emphasizes the phrase as a whole), and *emphasis* *like* *this* (which
suggests the writer speaking very slowly and distinctly, as if to a
very young child or a mentally impaired person). Bracketing a word with
the `*' character may also indicate that the writer wishes readers to
consider that an action is taking place or that a sound is being made.
Examples: *bang*, *hic*, *ring*, *grin*, *kick*, *stomp*, *mumble*.

There is also an accepted convention for `writing under erasure'; the
text

Be nice to this fool^H^H^H^Hgentleman, he's in from corporate HQ.

would be read as "Be nice to this fool, I mean this gentleman…". This
comes from the fact that the digraph ^H is often used as a print
representation for a backspace. It parallels (and may have been
influenced by) the ironic use of `slashouts' in science-fiction
fanzines.

In a formula, `*' signifies multiplication but two asterisks in a row
are a shorthand for exponentiation (this derives from FORTRAN). Thus,
one might write 2 ** 8 = 256.

Another notation for exponentiation one sees more frequently uses the
caret (^, ASCII 1011110); one might write instead `2^8 = 256'. This
goes all the way back to Algol-60, which used the archaic ASCII
`up-arrow' that later became the caret; this was picked up by Kemeny and
Kurtz's original BASIC, which in turn influenced the design of the
`bc(1)' and `dc(1)' UNIX tools, which have probably done most to
reinforce the convention on USENET. The notation is mildly confusing to
C programmers, because `^' means bitwise {XOR} in C. Despite this, it
was favored 3:1 over ** in a late-1990 snapshot of USENET. It is used
consistently in this text.

In on-line exchanges, hackers tend to use decimal forms or improper
fractions (`3.5' or `7/2') rather than `typewriter style' mixed
fractions (`3-1/2'). The major motive here is probably that the former
are more readable in a monospaced font, together with a desire to avoid
the risk that the latter might be read as `three minus one-half'. The
decimal form is definitely preferred for fractions with a terminating
decimal representation; there may be some cultural influence here from
the high status of scientific notation.

Another on-line convention, used especially for very large or very small
numbers, is taken from C (which derived it from FORTRAN). This is a
form of `scientific notation' using `e' to replace `*10^'; for example,
one year is about 3e7 seconds long.

The tilde (~) is commonly used in a quantifying sense of
`approximately'; that is, `~50' means `about fifty'.

On USENET and in the {MUD} world, common C boolean, logical, and
relational operators such as `|', `&', `||', `&&', `!', `==', `!=', `>',
and `<', `>=', and `=<' are often combined with English. The Pascal
not-equals, `<>', is also recognized, and occasionally one sees `/=' for
not-equals (from Ada, Common Lisp, and Fortran 90). The use of prefix
`!' as a loose synonym for `not-' or `no-' is particularly common; thus,
`!clue' is read `no-clue' or `clueless'.

A related practice borrows syntax from preferred programming languages
to express ideas in a natural-language text. For example, one might
see the following:

I resently had occasion to field-test the Snafu
Systems 2300E adaptive gonkulator. The price was
right, and the racing stripe on the case looked kind
of neat, but its performance left something to be
desired.

#ifdef FLAME
Hasn't anyone told those idiots that you can't get
decent bogon suppression with AFJ filters at today's
net speeds?
#endif /* FLAME */

I guess they figured the price premium for true
frame-based semantic analysis was too high.
Unfortunately, it's also the only workable approach.
I wouldn't recommend purchase of this product unless
you're on a *very* tight budget.

#include <disclaimer.h>
—
== Frank Foonly (Fubarco Systems)

In the above, the `#ifdef'/`#endif' pair is a conditional
compilation syntax from C; here, it implies that the text between
(which is a {flame}) should be evaluated only if you have turned on
(or defined on) the switch FLAME. The `#include' at the end is C
for "include standard disclaimer here"; the `standard disclaimer' is
understood to read, roughly, "These are my personal opinions and not
to be construed as the official position of my employer."

Another habit is that of using angle-bracket enclosure to genericize a
term; this derives from conventions used in {BNF}. Uses like the
following are common:

So this <ethnic> walks into a bar one day, and…

Hackers also mix letters and numbers more freely than in mainstream
usage. In particular, it is good hackish style to write a digit
sequence where you intend the reader to understand the text string that
names that number in English. So, hackers prefer to write `1970s'
rather than `nineteen-seventies' or `1970's' (the latter looks like a
possessive).

It should also be noted that hackers exhibit much less reluctance to use
multiply nested parentheses than is normal in English. Part of this is
almost certainly due to influence from LISP (which uses deeply nested
parentheses (like this (see?)) in its syntax a lot), but it has also
been suggested that a more basic hacker trait of enjoying playing with
complexity and pushing systems to their limits is in operation.

One area where hackish conventions for on-line writing are still in some
flux is the marking of included material from earlier messages — what
would be called `block quotations' in ordinary English. From the usual
typographic convention employed for these (smaller font at an extra
indent), there derived the notation of included text being indented by
one ASCII TAB (0001001) character, which under UNIX and many other
environments gives the appearance of an 8-space indent.

Early mail and netnews readers had no facility for including messages
this way, so people had to paste in copy manually. BSD `Mail(1)' was
the first message agent to support inclusion, and early USENETters
emulated its style. But the TAB character tended to push included text
too far to the right (especially in multiply nested inclusions), leading
to ugly wraparounds. After a brief period of confusion (during which an
inclusion leader consisting of three or four spaces became established
in EMACS and a few mailers), the use of leading `>' or `> ' became
standard, perhaps owing to its use in `ed(1)' to display tabs
(alternatively, it may derive from the `>' that some early UNIX mailers
used to quote lines starting with "From" in text, so they wouldn't look
like the beginnings of new message headers). Inclusions within
inclusions keep their `>' leaders, so the `nesting level' of a quotation
is visually apparent.

A few other idiosyncratic quoting styles survive because they are
automatically generated. One particularly ugly one looks like this:

/* Written hh:mm pm Mmm dd, yyyy by user@site in <group> */
/* ———- "Article subject, chopped to 35 ch" ———- */
<quoted text>
/* End of text from local:group */

It is generated by an elderly, variant news-reading system called
`notesfiles'. The overall trend, however, is definitely away from such
verbosity.

The practice of including text from the parent article when posting a
followup helped solve what had been a major nuisance on USENET: the fact
that articles do not arrive at different sites in the same order.
Careless posters used to post articles that would begin with, or even
consist entirely of, "No, that's wrong" or "I agree" or the like. It
was hard to see who was responding to what. Consequently, around 1984,
new news-posting software evolved a facility to automatically include
the text of a previous article, marked with "> " or whatever the poster
chose. The poster was expected to delete all but the relevant lines.
The result has been that, now, careless posters post articles containing
the *entire* text of a preceding article, *followed* only by "No, that's
wrong" or "I agree".

Many people feel that this cure is worse than the original disease, and
there soon appeared newsreader software designed to let the reader skip
over included text if desired. Today, some posting software rejects
articles containing too high a proportion of lines beginning with `>' —
but this too has led to undesirable workarounds, such as the deliberate
inclusion of zero-content filler lines which aren't quoted and thus pull
the message below the rejection threshold.

Because the default mailers supplied with UNIX and other operating
systems haven't evolved as quickly as human usage, the older conventions
using a leading TAB or three or four spaces are still alive; however,
>-inclusion is now clearly the prevalent form in both netnews and mail.

In 1991 practice is still evolving, and disputes over the `correct'
inclusion style occasionally lead to {holy wars}. One variant style
reported uses the citation character `|' in place of `>' for extended
quotations where original variations in indentation are being retained.
One also sees different styles of quoting a number of authors in the
same message: one (deprecated because it loses information) uses a
leader of `> ' for everyone, another (the most common) is `> > > > ', `>
> > ', etc. (or `>>>> ', `>>> ', etc., depending on line length and
nesting depth) reflecting the original order of messages, and yet
another is to use a different citation leader for each author, say `> ',
`: ', `| ', `} ' (preserving nesting so that the inclusion order of
messages is still apparent, or tagging the inclusions with authors'
names). Yet *another* style is to use each poster's initials (or login
name) as a citation leader for that poster. Occasionally one sees a `#
' leader used for quotations from authoritative sources such as
standards documents; the intended allusion is to the root prompt (the
special UNIX command prompt issued when one is running as the privileged
super-user).

Finally, it is worth mentioning that many studies of on-line
communication have shown that electronic links have a de-inhibiting
effect on people. Deprived of the body-language cues through which
emotional state is expressed, people tend to forget everything about
other parties except what is presented over that ASCII link. This has
both good and bad effects. The good one is that it encourages honesty
and tends to break down hierarchical authority relationships; the bad is
that it may encourage depersonalization and gratuitous rudeness.
Perhaps in response to this, experienced netters often display a sort of
conscious formal politesse in their writing that has passed out of
fashion in other spoken and written media (for example, the phrase "Well
said, sir!" is not uncommon).

Many introverted hackers who are next to inarticulate in person
communicate with considerable fluency over the net, perhaps precisely
because they can forget on an unconscious level that they are dealing
with people and thus don't feel stressed and anxious as they would face
to face.

Though it is considered gauche to publicly criticize posters for poor
spelling or grammar, the network places a premium on literacy and
clarity of expression. It may well be that future historians of
literature will see in it a revival of the great tradition of personal
letters as art.

:Hacker Speech Style:
=====================

Hackish speech generally features extremely precise diction, careful
word choice, a relatively large working vocabulary, and relatively
little use of contractions or street slang. Dry humor, irony, puns, and
a mildly flippant attitude are highly valued — but an underlying
seriousness and intelligence are essential. One should use just enough
jargon to communicate precisely and identify oneself as a member of the
culture; overuse of jargon or a breathless, excessively gung-ho attitude
is considered tacky and the mark of a loser.

This speech style is a variety of the precisionist English normally
spoken by scientists, design engineers, and academics in technical
fields. In contrast with the methods of jargon construction, it is
fairly constant throughout hackerdom.

It has been observed that many hackers are confused by negative
questions — or, at least, that the people to whom they are talking are
often confused by the sense of their answers. The problem is that they
have done so much programming that distinguishes between

if (going) {

and

if (!going) {

that when they parse the question "Aren't you going?" it seems to be
asking the opposite question from "Are you going?", and so merits an
answer in the opposite sense. This confuses English-speaking
non-hackers because they were taught to answer as though the negative
part weren't there. In some other languages (including Russian,
Chinese, and Japanese) the hackish interpretation is standard and the
problem wouldn't arise. Hackers often find themselves wishing for a
word like French `si' or German `doch' with which one could
unambiguously answer `yes' to a negative question.

For similar reasons, English-speaking hackers almost never use double
negatives, even if they live in a region where colloquial usage allows
them. The thought of uttering something that logically ought to be an
affirmative knowing it will be misparsed as a negative tends to disturb
them.

Here's a related quirk. A non-hacker who is indelicate enough to ask
a question like "So, are you working on finding that bug *now*
or leaving it until later?" is likely to get the perfectly correct
answer "Yes!" (that is, "Yes, I'm doing it either now or later, and
you didn't ask which!").

:International Style:
=====================

Although the Jargon File remains primarily a lexicon of hacker usage in
American English, we have made some effort to get input from abroad.
Though the hacker-speak of other languages often uses translations of
jargon from English (often as transmitted to them by earlier Jargon File
versions!), the local variations are interesting, and knowledge of them
may be of some use to travelling hackers.

There are some references herein to `Commonwealth English'. These are
intended to describe some variations in hacker usage as reported in the
English spoken in Great Britain and the Commonwealth (Canada, Australia,
India, etc. — though Canada is heavily influenced by American usage).
There is also an entry on {{Commonwealth Hackish}} reporting some
general phonetic and vocabulary differences from U.S. hackish.

Hackers in Western Europe and (especially) Scandinavia are reported to
often use a mixture of English and their native languages for technical
conversation. Occasionally they develop idioms in their English usage
that are influenced by their native-language styles. Some of these are
reported here.

A few notes on hackish usages in Russian have been added where they are
parallel with English idioms and thus comprehensible to
English-speakers.

:How to Use the Lexicon:
************************

:Pronunciation Guide:
=====================

Pronunciation keys are provided in the jargon listings for all entries
that are neither dictionary words pronounced as in standard English nor
obvious compounds thereof. Slashes bracket phonetic pronunciations,
which are to be interpreted using the following conventions:

1. Syllables are hyphen-separated, except that an accent or back-accent
follows each accented syllable (the back-accent marks a secondary
accent in some words of four or more syllables).

2. Consonants are pronounced as in American English. The letter `g' is
always hard (as in "got" rather than "giant"); `ch' is soft
("church" rather than "chemist"). The letter `j' is the sound
that occurs twice in "judge". The letter `s' is always as in
"pass", never a z sound. The digraph `kh' is the guttural of
"loch" or "l'chaim".

3. Uppercase letters are pronounced as their English letter names; thus
(for example) /H-L-L/ is equivalent to /aitch el el/. /Z/ may
be pronounced /zee/ or /zed/ depending on your local dialect.

4. Vowels are represented as follows:

a
back, that
ar
far, mark
aw
flaw, caught
ay
bake, rain
e
less, men
ee
easy, ski
eir
their, software
i
trip, hit
i:
life, sky
o
father, palm
oh
flow, sew
oo
loot, through
or
more, door
ow
out, how
oy
boy, coin
uh
but, some
u
put, foot
y
yet, young
yoo
few, chew
[y]oo
/oo/ with optional fronting as in `news' (/nooz/ or /nyooz/)

A /*/ is used for the `schwa' sound of unstressed or occluded vowels
(the one that is often written with an upside-down `e'). The schwa
vowel is omitted in syllables containing vocalic r, l, m or n; that is,
`kitten' and `color' would be rendered /kit'n/ and /kuhl'r/, not
/kit'*n/ and /kuhl'*r/.

Entries with a pronunciation of `//' are written-only usages. (No, UNIX
weenies, this does *not* mean `pronounce like previous pronunciation'!)

:Other Lexicon Conventions:
===========================

Entries are sorted in case-blind ASCII collation order (rather than the
letter-by-letter order ignoring interword spacing common in mainstream
dictionaries), except that all entries beginning with nonalphabetic
characters are sorted after Z. The case-blindness is a feature, not a
bug.

The beginning of each entry is marked by a colon (`:') at the
left margin. This convention helps out tools like hypertext browsers
that benefit from knowing where entry boundaries are, but aren't as
context-sensitive as humans.

In pure ASCII renderings of the Jargon File, you will see {} used to
bracket words which themselves have entries in the File. This isn't
done all the time for every such word, but it is done everywhere that a
reminder seems useful that the term has a jargon meaning and one might
wish to refer to its entry.

In this all-ASCII version, headwords for topic entries are distinguished
from those for ordinary entries by being followed by "::" rather than
":"; similarly, references are surrounded by "{{" and "}}" rather than
"{" and "}".

Defining instances of terms and phrases appear in `slanted type'. A
defining instance is one which occurs near to or as part of an
explanation of it.

Prefix * is used as linguists do; to mark examples of incorrect usage.

We follow the `logical' quoting convention described in the Writing
Style section above. In addition, we reserve double quotes for actual
excerpts of text or (sometimes invented) speech. Scare quotes (which
mark a word being used in a nonstandard way), and philosopher's quotes
(which turn an utterance into the string of letters or words that name
it) are both rendered with single quotes.

References such as `malloc(3)' and `patch(1)' are to UNIX facilities
(some of which, such as `patch(1)', are actually freeware distributed
over USENET). The UNIX manuals use `foo(n)' to refer to item foo in
section (n) of the manual, where n=1 is utilities, n=2 is system calls,
n=3 is C library routines, n=6 is games, and n=8 (where present) is
system administration utilities. Sections 4, 5, and 7 of the manuals
have changed roles frequently and in any case are not referred to in any
of the entries.

Various abbreviations used frequently in the lexicon are summarized here:

abbrev.
abbreviation
adj.
adjective
adv.
adverb
alt.
alternate
cav.
caveat
esp.
especially
excl.
exclamation
imp.
imperative
interj.
interjection
n.
noun
obs.
obsolete
pl.
plural
poss.
possibly
pref.
prefix
prob.
probably
prov.
proverbial
quant.
quantifier
suff.
suffix
syn.
synonym (or synonymous with)
v.
verb (may be transitive or intransitive)
var.
variant
vi.
intransitive verb
vt.
transitive verb

Where alternate spellings or pronunciations are given, alt.
separates two possibilities with nearly equal distribution, while
var. prefixes one that is markedly less common than the primary.

Where a term can be attributed to a particular subculture or is known
to have originated there, we have tried to so indicate. Here is a
list of abbreviations used in etymologies:

Berkeley
University of California at Berkeley
Cambridge
the university in England (*not* the city in Massachusetts where
MIT happens to be located!)
BBN
Bolt, Beranek & Newman
CMU
Carnegie-Mellon University
Commodore
Commodore Business Machines
DEC
The Digital Equipment Corporation
Fairchild
The Fairchild Instruments Palo Alto development group
Fidonet
See the {Fidonet} entry
IBM
International Business Machines
MIT
Massachusetts Institute of Technology; esp. the legendary MIT AI Lab
culture of roughly 1971 to 1983 and its feeder groups, including the
Tech Model Railroad Club
NRL
Naval Research Laboratories
NYU
New York University
OED
The Oxford English Dictionary
Purdue
Purdue University
SAIL
Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory (at Stanford
University)
SI
From Syst`eme International, the name for the standard
conventions of metric nomenclature used in the sciences
Stanford
Stanford University
Sun
Sun Microsystems
TMRC
Some MITisms go back as far as the Tech Model Railroad Club (TMRC) at
MIT c. 1960. Material marked TMRC is from `An Abridged Dictionary
of the TMRC Language', originally compiled by Pete Samson in 1959
UCLA
University of California at Los Angeles
UK
the United Kingdom (England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland)
USENET
See the {USENET} entry
WPI
Worcester Polytechnic Institute, site of a very active community of
PDP-10 hackers during the 1970s
XEROX PARC
XEROX's Palo Alto Research Center, site of much pioneering research in
user interface design and networking
Yale
Yale University

Some other etymology abbreviations such as {UNIX} and {PDP-10}
refer to technical cultures surrounding specific operating systems,
processors, or other environments. The fact that a term is labelled
with any one of these abbreviations does not necessarily mean its use
is confined to that culture. In particular, many terms labelled `MIT'
and `Stanford' are in quite general use. We have tried to give some
indication of the distribution of speakers in the usage notes;
however, a number of factors mentioned in the introduction conspire to
make these indications less definite than might be desirable.

A few new definitions attached to entries are marked [proposed].
These are usually generalizations suggested by editors or USENET
respondents in the process of commenting on previous definitions of
those entries. These are *not* represented as established
jargon.

:Format For New Entries:
========================

All contributions and suggestions about the Jargon File will be
considered donations to be placed in the public domain as part of this
File, and may be used in subsequent paper editions. Submissions may
be edited for accuracy, clarity and concision.

Try to conform to the format already being used — head-words
separated from text by a colon (double colon for topic entries),
cross-references in curly brackets (doubled for topic entries),
pronunciations in slashes, etymologies in square brackets,
single-space after definition numbers and word classes, etc. Stick to
the standard ASCII character set (7-bit printable, no high-half
characters or [nt]roff/TeX/Scribe escapes), as one of the versions
generated from the master file is an info document that has to be
viewable on a character tty.

We are looking to expand the file's range of technical specialties covered.
There are doubtless rich veins of jargon yet untapped in the scientific
computing, graphics, and networking hacker communities; also in numerical
analysis, computer architectures and VLSI design, language design, and many
other related fields. Send us your jargon!

We are *not* interested in straight technical terms explained by
textbooks or technical dictionaries unless an entry illuminates
`underground' meanings or aspects not covered by official histories.
We are also not interested in `joke' entries — there is a lot of
humor in the file but it must flow naturally out of the explanations
of what hackers do and how they think.

It is OK to submit items of jargon you have originated if they have spread
to the point of being used by people who are not personally acquainted with
you. We prefer items to be attested by independent submission from two
different sites.

The Jargon File will be regularly maintained and re-posted from now on
and will include a version number. Read it, pass it around,
contribute — this is *your* monument!

The Jargon Lexicon
******************

= A =
=====

:abbrev: /*-breev'/, /*-brev'/ n. Common abbreviation for
`abbreviation'.

:ABEND: [ABnormal END] /ah'bend/, /*-bend'/ n. Abnormal
termination (of software); {crash}; {lossage}. Derives from an
error message on the IBM 360; used jokingly by hackers but
seriously mainly by {code grinder}s. Usually capitalized, but may
appear as `abend'. Hackers will try to persuade you that ABEND is
called `abend' because it is what system operators do to the
machine late on Friday when they want to call it a day, and hence
is from the German `Abend' = `Evening'.

:accumulator: n. 1. Archaic term for a register. On-line use of it
as a synonym for `register' is a fairly reliable indication that
the user has been around for quite a while and/or that the
architecture under discussion is quite old. The term in full is
almost never used of microprocessor registers, for example, though
symbolic names for arithmetic registers beginning in `A' derive
from historical use of the term `accumulator' (and not, actually,
from `arithmetic'). Confusingly, though, an `A' register name
prefix may also stand for `address', as for example on the
Motorola 680×0 family. 2. A register being used for arithmetic or
logic (as opposed to addressing or a loop index), especially one
being used to accumulate a sum or count of many items. This use is
in context of a particular routine or stretch of code. "The
FOOBAZ routine uses A3 as an accumulator." 3. One's in-basket
(esp. among old-timers who might use sense 1). "You want this
reviewed? Sure, just put it in the accumulator." (See {stack}.)

:ACK: /ak/ interj. 1. [from the ASCII mnemonic for 0000110]
Acknowledge. Used to register one's presence (compare mainstream
*Yo!*). An appropriate response to {ping} or {ENQ}.
2. [from the comic strip "Bloom County"] An exclamation of
surprised disgust, esp. in "Ack pffft!" Semi-humorous.
Generally this sense is not spelled in caps (ACK) and is
distinguished by a following exclamation point. 3. Used to
politely interrupt someone to tell them you understand their point
(see {NAK}). Thus, for example, you might cut off an overly
long explanation with "Ack. Ack. Ack. I get it now".

There is also a usage "ACK?" (from sense 1) meaning "Are you
there?", often used in email when earlier mail has produced no
reply, or during a lull in {talk mode} to see if the person has
gone away (the standard humorous response is of course {NAK}
(sense 2), i.e., "I'm not here").

:ad-hockery: /ad-hok'*r-ee/ [Purdue] n. 1. Gratuitous assumptions
made inside certain programs, esp. expert systems, which lead to
the appearance of semi-intelligent behavior but are in fact
entirely arbitrary. For example, fuzzy-matching input tokens that
might be typing errors against a symbol table can make it look as
though a program knows how to spell. 2. Special-case code to cope
with some awkward input that would otherwise cause a program to
{choke}, presuming normal inputs are dealt with in some cleaner
and more regular way. Also called `ad-hackery', `ad-hocity'
(/ad-hos'*-tee/), `ad-crockery'. See also {ELIZA effect}.

:Ada:: n. A {{Pascal}}-descended language that has been made
mandatory for Department of Defense software projects by the
Pentagon. Hackers are nearly unanimous in observing that,
technically, it is precisely what one might expect given that kind
of endorsement by fiat; designed by committee, crockish, difficult
to use, and overall a disastrous, multi-billion-dollar boondoggle
(one common description is "The PL/I of the 1980s"). Hackers
find Ada's exception-handling and inter-process communication
features particularly hilarious. Ada Lovelace (the daughter of
Lord Byron who became the world's first programmer while
cooperating with Charles Babbage on the design of his mechanical
computing engines in the mid-1800s) would almost certainly blanch
at the use to which her name has latterly been put; the kindest
thing that has been said about it is that there is probably a good
small language screaming to get out from inside its vast,
{elephantine} bulk.

:adger: /aj'r/ [UCLA] vt. To make a bonehead move with consequences
that could have been foreseen with a slight amount of mental
effort. E.g., "He started removing files and promptly adgered the
whole project". Compare {dumbass attack}.

:admin: /ad-min'/ n. Short for `administrator'; very commonly
used in speech or on-line to refer to the systems person in charge
on a computer. Common constructions on this include `sysadmin'
and `site admin' (emphasizing the administrator's role as a site
contact for email and news) or `newsadmin' (focusing specifically
on news). Compare {postmaster}, {sysop}, {system
mangler}.

:ADVENT: /ad'vent/ n. The prototypical computer adventure game, first
implemented on the {PDP-10} by Will Crowther as an attempt at
computer-refereed fantasy gaming, and expanded into a
puzzle-oriented game by Don Woods. Now better known as Adventure,
but the {{TOPS-10}} operating system permitted only 6-letter
filenames. See also {vadding}.

This game defined the terse, dryly humorous style now expected in
text adventure games, and popularized several tag lines that have
become fixtures of hacker-speak: "A huge green fierce snake bars
the way!" "I see no X here" (for some noun X). "You are in a
maze of twisty little passages, all alike." "You are in a little
maze of twisty passages, all different." The `magic words'
{xyzzy} and {plugh} also derive from this game.

Crowther, by the way, participated in the exploration of the
Mammoth & Flint Ridge cave system; it actually *has* a
`Colossal Cave' and a `Bedquilt' as in the game, and the `Y2' that
also turns up is cavers' jargon for a map reference to a secondary
entrance.

:AFJ: n. Written-only abbreviation for "April Fool's Joke".
Elaborate April Fool's hoaxes are a hallowed tradition on USENET
and Internet; see {kremvax} for an example. In fact, April
Fool's Day is the *only* seasonal holiday marked by customary
observances on the hacker networks.

:AI-complete: /A-I k*m-pleet'/ [MIT, Stanford: by analogy with
`NP-complete' (see {NP-})] adj. Used to describe problems or
subproblems in AI, to indicate that the solution presupposes a
solution to the `strong AI problem' (that is, the synthesis of a
human-level intelligence). A problem that is AI-complete is, in
other words, just too hard.

Examples of AI-complete problems are `The Vision Problem'
(building a system that can see as well as a human) and `The
Natural Language Problem' (building a system that can understand
and speak a natural language as well as a human). These may appear
to be modular, but all attempts so far (1991) to solve them have
foundered on the amount of context information and `intelligence'
they seem to require. See also {gedanken}.

:AI koans: /A-I koh'anz/ pl.n. A series of pastiches of Zen
teaching riddles created by Danny Hillis at the MIT AI Lab around
various major figures of the Lab's culture (several are included
under "{A Selection of AI Koans}" in {appendix
A}). See also {ha ha only serious}, {mu}, and {{Humor,
Hacker}}.

:AIDS: /aydz/ n. Short for A* Infected Disk Syndrome (`A*' is a
{glob} pattern that matches, but is not limited to, Apple),
this condition is quite often the result of practicing unsafe
{SEX}. See {virus}, {worm}, {Trojan horse},
{virgin}.

:AIDX: n. /aydkz/ n. Derogatory term for IBM's perverted version
of UNIX, AIX, especially for the AIX 3.? used in the IBM RS/6000
series. A victim of the dreaded "hybridism" disease, this
attempt to combine the two main currents of the UNIX stream
({BSD} and {USG UNIX}) became a {monstrosity} to haunt
system administrators' dreams. For example, if new accounts are
created while many users are logged on, the load average jumps
quickly over 20 due to silly implementation of the user databases.
For a quite similar disease, compare {HP-SUX}. Also, compare
{terminak}, {Macintrash} {Nominal Semidestructor},
{Open DeathTrap}, {ScumOS}, {sun-stools}.

:airplane rule: n. "Complexity increases the possibility of
failure; a twin-engine airplane has twice as many engine problems
as a single-engine airplane." By analogy, in both software and
electronics, the rule that simplicity increases robustness (see
also {KISS Principle}). It is correspondingly argued that the
right way to build reliable systems is to put all your eggs in one
basket, after making sure that you've built a really *good*
basket.

:aliasing bug: n. A class of subtle programming errors that can
arise in code that does dynamic allocation, esp. via
`malloc(3)' or equivalent. If more than one pointer addresses
(`aliases for') a given hunk of storage, it may happen that the
storage is freed or reallocated (and thus moved) through one alias
and then referenced through another, which may lead to subtle (and
possibly intermittent) lossage depending on the state and the
allocation history of the malloc {arena}. Avoidable by use of
allocation strategies that never alias allocated core. Also
avoidable by use of higher-level languages, such as {LISP},
which employ a garbage collector (see {GC}). Also called a
{stale pointer bug}. See also {precedence lossage},
{smash the stack}, {fandango on core}, {memory leak},
{memory smash}, {overrun screw}, {spam}.

Historical note: Though this term is nowadays associated with
C programming, it was already in use in a very similar sense in the
Algol-60 and FORTRAN communities in the 1960s.

:all-elbows: adj. Of a TSR (terminate-and-stay-resident) IBM PC
program, such as the N pop-up calendar and calculator utilities
that circulate on {BBS} systems: unsociable. Used to describe a
program that rudely steals the resources that it needs without
considering that other TSRs may also be resident. One particularly
common form of rudeness is lock-up due to programs fighting over
the keyboard interrupt. See {rude}, also {mess-dos}.

:alpha particles: n. See {bit rot}.

:alt: /awlt/ 1. n. The alt shift key on an IBM PC or {clone}.
2. n. The `clover' or `Command' key on a Macintosh; use of this
term usually reveals that the speaker hacked PCs before coming to
the Mac (see also {feature key}). Some Mac hackers,
confusingly, reserve `alt' for the Option key. 3. n.obs. [PDP-10;
often capitalized to ALT] Alternate name for the ASCII
ESC character (ASCII 0011011), after the keycap labeling on some
older terminals. Also `altmode' (/awlt'mohd/). This character
was almost never pronounced `escape' on an ITS system, in
{TECO}, or under TOPS-10 — always alt, as in "Type alt alt to
end a TECO command" or "alt-U onto the system" (for "log onto
the [ITS] system"). This was probably because alt is more
convenient to say than `escape', especially when followed by
another alt or a character (or another alt *and* a character,
for that matter).

:alt bit: /awlt bit/ [from alternate] adj. See {meta bit}.

:altmode: n. Syn. {alt} sense 3.

:Aluminum Book: [MIT] n. `Common LISP: The Language', by
Guy L. Steele Jr. (Digital Press, first edition 1984, second
edition 1990). Note that due to a technical screwup some printings
of the second edition are actually of a color the author describes
succinctly as "yucky green". See also {{book titles}}.

:amoeba: n. Humorous term for the Commodore Amiga personal computer.

:amp off: [Purdue] vt. To run in {background}. From the UNIX shell `&'
operator.

:amper: n. Common abbreviation for the name of the ampersand (`&',
ASCII 0100110) character. See {{ASCII}} for other synonyms.

:angle brackets: n. Either of the characters `<' (ASCII
0111100) and `>' (ASCII 0111110) (ASCII less-than or
greater-than signs). The {Real World} angle brackets used by
typographers are actually taller than a less-than or greater-than
sign.
See {broket}, {{ASCII}}.

:angry fruit salad: n. A bad visual-interface design that uses too
many colors. This derives, of course, from the bizarre day-glo
colors found in canned fruit salad. Too often one sees similar
effects from interface designers using color window systems such as
{X}; there is a tendency to create displays that are flashy and
attention-getting but uncomfortable for long-term use.

:annoybot: /*-noy-bot/ [IRC] n. See {robot}.

:AOS: 1. /aws/ (East Coast), /ay-os/ (West Coast) [based on a
PDP-10 increment instruction] vt.,obs. To increase the amount of
something. "AOS the campfire." Usage: considered silly, and now
obsolete. Now largely supplanted by {bump}. See {SOS}. 2. A
{{Multics}}-derived OS supported at one time by Data General. This
was pronounced /A-O-S/ or /A-os/. A spoof of the standard
AOS system administrator's manual (`How to Load and Generate
your AOS System') was created, issued a part number, and circulated
as photocopy folklore. It was called `How to Goad and
Levitate your CHAOS System'. 3. Algebraic Operating System, in
reference to those calculators which use infix instead of postfix
(reverse Polish) notation.

Historical note: AOS in sense 1 was the name of a {PDP-10}
instruction that took any memory location in the computer and added
1 to it; AOS meant `Add One and do not Skip'. Why, you may ask,
does the `S' stand for `do not Skip' rather than for `Skip'? Ah,
here was a beloved piece of PDP-10 folklore. There were eight such
instructions: AOSE added 1 and then skipped the next instruction
if the result was Equal to zero; AOSG added 1 and then skipped if
the result was Greater than 0; AOSN added 1 and then skipped
if the result was Not 0; AOSA added 1 and then skipped Always;
and so on. Just plain AOS didn't say when to skip, so it never
skipped.

For similar reasons, AOJ meant `Add One and do not Jump'. Even
more bizarre, SKIP meant `do not SKIP'! If you wanted to skip the
next instruction, you had to say `SKIPA'. Likewise, JUMP meant
`do not JUMP'; the unconditional form was JUMPA. However, hackers
never did this. By some quirk of the 10's design, the {JRST}
(Jump and ReSTore flag with no flag specified) was actually faster
and so was invariably used. Such were the perverse mysteries of
assembler programming.

:app: /ap/ n. Short for `application program', as opposed to a
systems program. What systems vendors are forever chasing
developers to create for their environments so they can sell more
boxes. Hackers tend not to think of the things they themselves run
as apps; thus, in hacker parlance the term excludes compilers,
program editors, games, and messaging systems, though a user would
consider all those to be apps. Oppose {tool}, {operating
system}.

:arc: [primarily MSDOS] vt. To create a compressed {archive} from a
group of files using SEA ARC, PKWare PKARC, or a compatible
program. Rapidly becoming obsolete as the ARC compression method
is falling into disuse, having been replaced by newer compression
techniques. See {tar and feather}, {zip}.

:arc wars: [primarily MSDOS] n. {holy wars} over which archiving
program one should use. The first arc war was sparked when System
Enhancement Associates (SEA) sued PKWare for copyright and
trademark infringement on its ARC program. PKWare's PKARC
outperformed ARC on both compression and speed while largely
retaining compatibility (it introduced a new compression type that
could be disabled for backward-compatibility). PKWare settled out
of court to avoid enormous legal costs (both SEA and PKWare are
small companies); as part of the settlement, the name of PKARC was
changed to PKPAK. The public backlash against SEA for bringing
suit helped to hasten the demise of ARC as a standard when PKWare
and others introduced new, incompatible archivers with better
compression algorithms.

:archive: n. 1. A collection of several files bundled into one file
by a program such as `ar(1)', `tar(1)', `cpio(1)',
or {arc} for shipment or archiving (sense 2). See also {tar
and feather}. 2. A collection of files or archives (sense 1) made
available from an `archive site' via {FTP} or an email server.

:arena: [UNIX] n. The area of memory attached to a process by
`brk(2)' and `sbrk(2)' and used by `malloc(3)' as
dynamic storage. So named from a semi-mythical `malloc:
corrupt arena' message supposedly emitted when some early versions
became terminally confused. See {overrun screw}, {aliasing
bug}, {memory leak}, {memory smash}, {smash the stack}.

:arg: /arg/ n. Abbreviation for `argument' (to a function),
used so often as to have become a new word (like `piano' from
`pianoforte'). "The sine function takes 1 arg, but the
arc-tangent function can take either 1 or 2 args." Compare
{param}, {parm}, {var}.

:armor-plated: n. Syn. for {bulletproof}.

:asbestos: adj. Used as a modifier to anything intended to protect
one from {flame}s. Important cases of this include {asbestos
longjohns} and {asbestos cork award}, but it is used more
generally.

:asbestos cork award: n. Once, long ago at MIT, there was a {flamer}
so consistently obnoxious that another hacker designed, had made,
and distributed posters announcing that said flamer had been
nominated for the `asbestos cork award'. Persons in any doubt as
to the intended application of the cork should consult the
etymology under {flame}. Since then, it is agreed that only a
select few have risen to the heights of bombast required to earn
this dubious dignity — but there is no agreement on *which*
few.

:asbestos longjohns: n. Notional garments often donned by {USENET}
posters just before emitting a remark they expect will elicit
{flamage}. This is the most common of the {asbestos} coinages.
Also `asbestos underwear', `asbestos overcoat', etc.

:ASCII:: [American Standard Code for Information Interchange]
/as'kee/ n. The predominant character set encoding of present-day
computers. Uses 7 bits for each character, whereas most earlier
codes (including an early version of ASCII) used fewer. This
change allowed the inclusion of lowercase letters — a major
{win} — but it did not provide for accented letters or any
other letterforms not used in English (such as the German sharp-S
and the ae-ligature
which is a letter in, for example, Norwegian). It could be worse,
though. It could be much worse. See {{EBCDIC}} to understand how.

Computers are much pickier and less flexible about spelling than
humans; thus, hackers need to be very precise when talking about
characters, and have developed a considerable amount of verbal
shorthand for them. Every character has one or more names — some
formal, some concise, some silly. Common jargon names for ASCII
characters are collected here. See also individual entries for
{bang}, {excl}, {open}, {ques}, {semi}, {shriek},
{splat}, {twiddle}, and {Yu-Shiang Whole Fish}.

This list derives from revision 2.3 of the USENET ASCII
pronunciation guide. Single characters are listed in ASCII order;
character pairs are sorted in by first member. For each character,
common names are given in rough order of popularity, followed by
names that are reported but rarely seen; official ANSI/CCITT names
are surrounded by brokets: <>. Square brackets mark the
particularly silly names introduced by {INTERCAL}. Ordinary
parentheticals provide some usage information.

!
Common: {bang}; pling; excl; shriek; <exclamation mark>.
Rare: factorial; exclam; smash; cuss; boing; yell; wow; hey;
wham; eureka; [spark-spot]; soldier.

"
Common: double quote; quote. Rare: literal mark;
double-glitch; <quotation marks>; <dieresis>; dirk;
[rabbit-ears]; double prime.

#
Common: <number sign>; pound; pound sign; hash; sharp;
{crunch}; hex; [mesh]; octothorpe. Rare: flash; crosshatch;
grid; pig-pen; tictactoe; scratchmark; thud; thump; {splat}.

$
Common: dollar; <dollar sign>. Rare: currency symbol; buck;
cash; string (from BASIC); escape (when used as the echo of
ASCII ESC); ding; cache; [big money].

%
Common: percent; <percent sign>; mod; grapes. Rare:
[double-oh-seven].

&
Common: <ampersand>; amper; and. Rare: address (from C);
reference (from C++); andpersand; bitand; background (from
`sh(1)'); pretzel; amp. [INTERCAL called this `ampersand';
what could be sillier?]

'
Common: single quote; quote; <apostrophe>. Rare: prime;
glitch; tick; irk; pop; [spark]; <closing single quotation
mark>; <acute accent>.

()
Common: left/right paren; left/right parenthesis; left/right;
paren/thesis; open/close paren; open/close; open/close
parenthesis; left/right banana. Rare: so/al-ready;
lparen/rparen; <opening/closing parenthesis>; open/close round
bracket, parenthisey/unparenthisey; [wax/wane]; left/right
ear.

*
Common: star; [{splat}]; <asterisk>. Rare: wildcard; gear;
dingle; mult; spider; aster; times; twinkle; glob (see
{glob}); {Nathan Hale}.

+
Common: <plus>; add. Rare: cross; [intersection].

,
Common: <comma>. Rare: <cedilla>; [tail].

–
Common: dash; <hyphen>; <minus>. Rare: [worm]; option; dak;
bithorpe.

.
Common: dot; point; <period>; <decimal point>. Rare: radix
point; full stop; [spot].

/
Common: slash; stroke; <slant>; forward slash. Rare:
diagonal; solidus; over; slak; virgule; [slat].

:
Common: <colon>. Rare: dots; [two-spot].

;
Common: <semicolon>; semi. Rare: weenie; [hybrid],
pit-thwong.

<>
Common: <less/greater than>; left/right angle bracket;
bra/ket; left/right broket. Rare: from/{into, towards}; read
from/write to; suck/blow; comes-from/gozinta; in/out;
crunch/zap (all from UNIX); [angle/right angle].

=
Common: <equals>; gets; takes. Rare: quadrathorpe;
[half-mesh].

?
Common: query; <question mark>; {ques}. Rare: whatmark;
[what]; wildchar; huh; hook; buttonhook; hunchback.

@
Common: at sign; at; strudel. Rare: each; vortex; whorl;
[whirlpool]; cyclone; snail; ape; cat; rose; cabbage;
<commercial at>.

V
Rare: [book].

[]
Common: left/right square bracket; <opening/closing bracket>;
bracket/unbracket; left/right bracket. Rare: square/unsquare;
[U turn/U turn back].

Common: backslash; escape (from C/UNIX); reverse slash; slosh;
backslant; backwhack. Rare: bash; <reverse slant>; reversed
virgule; [backslat].

^
Common: hat; control; uparrow; caret; <circumflex>. Rare:
chevron; [shark (or shark-fin)]; to the (`to the power of');
fang; pointer (in Pascal).

_
Common: <underline>; underscore; underbar; under. Rare:
score; backarrow; skid; [flatworm].

`
Common: backquote; left quote; left single quote; open quote;
<grave accent>; grave. Rare: backprime; [backspark];
unapostrophe; birk; blugle; back tick; back glitch; push;
<opening single quotation mark>; quasiquote.

{}
Common: open/close brace; left/right brace; left/right
squiggly; left/right squiggly bracket/brace; left/right curly
bracket/brace; <opening/closing brace>. Rare: brace/unbrace;
curly/uncurly; leftit/rytit; left/right squirrelly;
[embrace/bracelet].

|
Common: bar; or; or-bar; v-bar; pipe; vertical bar. Rare:
<vertical line>; gozinta; thru; pipesinta (last three from
UNIX); [spike].

~
Common: <tilde>; squiggle; {twiddle}; not. Rare: approx;
wiggle; swung dash; enyay; [sqiggle (sic)].

The pronunciation of `#' as `pound' is common in the U.S.
but a bad idea; {{Commonwealth Hackish}} has its own, rather more
apposite use of `pound sign' (confusingly, on British keyboards
the pound graphic
happens to replace `#'; thus Britishers sometimes
call `#' on a U.S.-ASCII keyboard `pound', compounding the
American error). The U.S. usage derives from an old-fashioned
commercial practice of using a `#' suffix to tag pound weights
on bills of lading. The character is usually pronounced `hash'
outside the U.S.

The `uparrow' name for circumflex and `leftarrow' name for
underline are historical relics from archaic ASCII (the 1963
version), which had these graphics in those character positions
rather than the modern punctuation characters.

The `swung dash' or `approximation' sign is not quite the same
as tilde in typeset material
but the ASCII tilde serves for both (compare {angle
brackets}).

Some other common usages cause odd overlaps. The `#',
`$', `>', and `&' characters, for example, are all
pronounced "hex" in different communities because various
assemblers use them as a prefix tag for hexadecimal constants (in
particular, `#' in many assembler-programming cultures,
`$' in the 6502 world, `>' at Texas Instruments, and
`&' on the BBC Micro, Sinclair, and some Z80 machines). See
also {splat}.

The inability of ASCII text to correctly represent any of the
world's other major languages makes the designers' choice of 7 bits
look more and more like a serious {misfeature} as the use of
international networks continues to increase (see {software
rot}). Hardware and software from the U.S. still tends to embody
the assumption that ASCII is the universal character set; this is a
a major irritant to people who want to use a character set suited
to their own languages. Perversely, though, efforts to solve this
problem by proliferating `national' character sets produce an
evolutionary pressure to use a *smaller* subset common to all
those in use.

:ASCII art: n. The fine art of drawing diagrams using the ASCII
character set (mainly `|', `-', `/', `', and
`+'). Also known as `character graphics' or `ASCII
graphics'; see also {boxology}. Here is a serious example:

o—-)||(–+–|<—-+ +———o + D O
L )||( | | | C U
A I )||( +–>|-+ | +-//-+–o – T
C N )||( | | | | P
E )||( +–>|-+–)—+–)|–+-o U
)||( | | | GND T
o—-)||(–+–|<—-+———-+

A power supply consisting of a full
wave rectifier circuit feeding a
capacitor input filter circuit

Figure 1.

And here are some very silly examples:

|///| ____/| ___ |_/| ___
| | o.O| ACK! / _ |` '| _/
| | =(_)= THPHTH! / / /
| (o)(o) U /
C _) (__) /// _____ ////
| ,___| (oo) / /
| / /——- U (__)
/____ || | /—V `v'- oo )
/ ||—W|| * * |–| || |`. |_/

Figure 2.

There is an important subgenre of humorous ASCII art that takes
advantage of the names of the various characters to tell a
pun-based joke.

+——————————————————–+
| ^^^^^^^^^^^^ |
| ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ |
| ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ |
| ^^^^^^^ B ^^^^^^^^^ |
| ^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ |
+——————————————————–+
" A Bee in the Carrot Patch "

Figure 3.

Within humorous ASCII art, there is for some reason an entire
flourishing subgenre of pictures of silly cows. Four of these are
reproduced in Figure 2; here are three more:

(__) (__) (__)
(/) ($$) (**)
/——-/ /——-/ /——-/
/ | 666 || / |=====|| / | ||
* ||—-|| * ||—-|| * ||—-||
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
Satanic cow This cow is a Yuppie Cow in love

Figure 4.

:attoparsec: n. `atto-' is the standard SI prefix for
multiplication by 10^(-18). A parsec (parallax-second) is
3.26 light-years; an attoparsec is thus 3.26 * 10^(-18) light
years, or about 3.1 cm (thus, 1 attoparsec/{microfortnight}
equals about 1 inch/sec). This unit is reported to be in use
(though probably not very seriously) among hackers in the U.K. See
{micro-}.

:autobogotiphobia: /aw'to-boh-got`*-foh'bee-*/ n. See {bogotify}.

:automagically: /aw-toh-maj'i-klee/ or /aw-toh-maj'i-k*l-ee/ adv.
Automatically, but in a way that, for some reason (typically
because it is too complicated, or too ugly, or perhaps even too
trivial), the speaker doesn't feel like explaining to you. See
{magic}. "The C-INTERCAL compiler generates C, then automagically
invokes `cc(1)' to produce an executable."

:avatar: [CMU, Tektronix] n. Syn. {root}, {superuser}. There
are quite a few UNIX machines on which the name of the superuser
account is `avatar' rather than `root'. This quirk was
originated by a CMU hacker who disliked the term `superuser',
and was propagated through an ex-CMU hacker at Tektronix.

:awk: 1. n. [UNIX techspeak] An interpreted language for massaging
text data developed by Alfred Aho, Peter Weinberger, and Brian
Kernighan (the name is from their initials). It is characterized
by C-like syntax, a declaration-free approach to variable typing
and declarations, associative arrays, and field-oriented text
processing. See also {Perl}. 2. n. Editing term for an
expression awkward to manipulate through normal {regexp}
facilities (for example, one containing a {newline}). 3. vt. To
process data using `awk(1)'.

= B =
=====

:back door: n. A hole in the security of a system deliberately left
in place by designers or maintainers. The motivation for this is
not always sinister; some operating systems, for example, come out
of the box with privileged accounts intended for use by field
service technicians or the vendor's maintenance programmers.

Historically, back doors have often lurked in systems longer than
anyone expected or planned, and a few have become widely known.
The infamous {RTM} worm of late 1988, for example, used a back door
in the {BSD} UNIX `sendmail(8)' utility.

Ken Thompson's 1983 Turing Award lecture to the ACM revealed the
existence of a back door in early UNIX versions that may have
qualified as the most fiendishly clever security hack of all time.
The C compiler contained code that would recognize when the
`login' command was being recompiled and insert some code
recognizing a password chosen by Thompson, giving him entry to the
system whether or not an account had been created for him.

Normally such a back door could be removed by removing it from the
source code for the compiler and recompiling the compiler. But to
recompile the compiler, you have to *use* the compiler — so
Thompson also arranged that the compiler would *recognize when
it was compiling a version of itself*, and insert into the
recompiled compiler the code to insert into the recompiled `login'
the code to allow Thompson entry — and, of course, the code to
recognize itself and do the whole thing again the next time around!
And having done this once, he was then able to recompile the
compiler from the original sources, leaving his back door in place
and active but with no trace in the sources.

The talk that revealed this truly moby hack was published as
"Reflections on Trusting Trust", `Communications of the
ACM 27', 8 (August 1984), pp. 761–763.

Syn. {trap door}; may also be called a `wormhole'. See also
{iron box}, {cracker}, {worm}, {logic bomb}.

:backbone cabal: n. A group of large-site administrators who pushed
through the {Great Renaming} and reined in the chaos of {USENET}
during most of the 1980s. The cabal {mailing list} disbanded in
late 1988 after a bitter internal catfight, but the net hardly
noticed.

:backbone site: n. A key USENET and email site; one that processes
a large amount of third-party traffic, especially if it is the home
site of any of the regional coordinators for the USENET maps.
Notable backbone sites as of early 1991 include uunet and the
mail machines at Rutgers University, UC Berkeley, DEC's Western
Research Laboratories, Ohio State University, and the University of
Texas. Compare {rib site}, {leaf site}.

:backgammon:: See {bignum}, {moby}, and {pseudoprime}.

:background: n.,adj.,vt. To do a task `in background' is to do
it whenever {foreground} matters are not claiming your undivided
attention, and `to background' something means to relegate it to
a lower priority. "For now, we'll just print a list of nodes and
links; I'm working on the graph-printing problem in background."
Note that this implies ongoing activity but at a reduced level or
in spare time, in contrast to mainstream `back burner' (which
connotes benign neglect until some future resumption of activity).
Some people prefer to use the term for processing that they have
queued up for their unconscious minds (a tack that one can often
fruitfully take upon encountering an obstacle in creative work).
Compare {amp off}, {slopsucker}.

Technically, a task running in background is detached from the
terminal where it was started (and often running at a lower
priority); oppose {foreground}. Nowadays this term is primarily
associated with {{UNIX}}, but it appears to have been first used
in this sense on OS/360.

:backspace and overstrike: interj. Whoa! Back up. Used to suggest
that someone just said or did something wrong. Common among
APL programmers.

:backward combatability: /bak'w*rd k*m-bat'*-bil'*-tee/ [from
`backward compatibility'] n. A property of hardware or software
revisions in which previous protocols, formats, and layouts are
discarded in favor of `new and improved' protocols, formats, and
layouts. Occurs usually when making the transition between major
releases. When the change is so drastic that the old formats are
not retained in the new version, it is said to be `backward
combatable'. See {flag day}.

:BAD: /B-A-D/ [IBM: acronym, `Broken As Designed'] adj. Said
of a program that is {bogus} because of bad design and misfeatures
rather than because of bugginess. See {working as designed}.

:Bad Thing: [from the 1930 Sellar & Yeatman parody `1066 And
All That'] n. Something that can't possibly result in improvement
of the subject. This term is always capitalized, as in "Replacing
all of the 9600-baud modems with bicycle couriers would be a Bad
Thing". Oppose {Good Thing}. British correspondents confirm
that {Bad Thing} and {Good Thing} (and prob. therefore {Right
Thing} and {Wrong Thing}) come from the book referenced in the
etymology, which discusses rulers who were Good Kings but Bad
Things. This has apparently created a mainstream idiom on the
British side of the pond.

:bag on the side: n. An extension to an established hack that is
supposed to add some functionality to the original. Usually
derogatory, implying that the original was being overextended and
should have been thrown away, and the new product is ugly,
inelegant, or bloated. Also v. phrase, `to hang a bag on the side
[of]'. "C++? That's just a bag on the side of C …."
"They want me to hang a bag on the side of the accounting
system."

:bagbiter: /bag'bi:t-*r/ n. 1. Something, such as a program or a
computer, that fails to work, or works in a remarkably clumsy
manner. "This text editor won't let me make a file with a line
longer than 80 characters! What a bagbiter!" 2. A person who has
caused you some trouble, inadvertently or otherwise, typically by
failing to program the computer properly. Synonyms: {loser},
{cretin}, {chomper}. 3. adj. `bagbiting' Having the
quality of a bagbiter. "This bagbiting system won't let me
compute the factorial of a negative number." Compare {losing},
{cretinous}, {bletcherous}, `barfucious' (under
{barfulous}) and `chomping' (under {chomp}). 4. `bite
the bag' vi. To fail in some manner. "The computer keeps crashing
every 5 minutes." "Yes, the disk controller is really biting the
bag." The original loading of these terms was almost undoubtedly
obscene, possibly referring to the scrotum, but in their current
usage they have become almost completely sanitized.

A program called Lexiphage on the old MIT AI PDP-10 would draw on
a selected victim's bitmapped terminal the words "THE BAG" in
ornate letters, and then a pair of jaws biting pieces of it off.
This is the first and to date only known example of a program
*intended* to be a bagbiter.

:bamf: /bamf/ 1. [from old X-Men comics] interj. Notional sound
made by a person or object teleporting in or out of the hearer's
vicinity. Often used in {virtual reality} (esp. {MUD})
electronic {fora} when a character wishes to make a dramatic
entrance or exit. 2. The sound of magical transformation, used in
virtual reality {fora} like sense 1. 3. [from `Don
Washington's Survival Guide'] n. Acronym for `Bad-Ass Mother
Fucker', used to refer to one of the handful of nastiest monsters
on an LPMUD or other similar MUD.

:banana label: n. The labels often used on the sides of {macrotape}
reels, so called because they are shaped roughly like blunt-ended
bananas. This term, like macrotapes themselves, is still current
but visibly headed for obsolescence.

:banana problem: n. [from the story of the little girl who said "I
know how to spell `banana', but I don't know when to stop"]. Not
knowing where or when to bring a production to a close (compare
{fencepost error}). One may say `there is a banana problem' of an
algorithm with poorly defined or incorrect termination conditions,
or in discussing the evolution of a design that may be succumbing
to featuritis (see also {creeping elegance}, {creeping
featuritis}). See item 176 under {HAKMEM}, which describes a
banana problem in a {Dissociated Press} implementation. Also,
see {one-banana problem} for a superficially similar but
unrelated usage.

:bandwidth: n. 1. Used by hackers in a generalization of its
technical meaning as the volume of information per unit time that a
computer, person, or transmission medium can handle. "Those are
amazing graphics, but I missed some of the detail — not enough
bandwidth, I guess." Compare {low-bandwidth}. 2. Attention
span. 3. On {USENET}, a measure of network capacity that is
often wasted by people complaining about how items posted by others
are a waste of bandwidth.