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Therefore at about the end of the seventeenth century in
Russia, the "dumb silent centuries" gradually became articulate
in expressing their opposition to all things western. This is
the heart of Slavophilism, and no one can truly fathom the
Russian soul before understanding its philosophy. It is the
Muscovite theory of the simple life, still crying out against
the Great Peter's work and recalling the devotees of western
culture to its idealization of medieval, theocratic, autocratic
Russia.

Despite this reaction, however, it has a great meaning, a
tender beauty, and a message of depth and power for our western
world. Primarily Russia is a peasant and an agricultural land,
and there is a colorless monotony in her vast plains. Indeed
land and people are alike; as in the average peasant there is
patience, resignation and submission, so there is in the very
land itself. Open and prostrate it lies beneath the torrid sun
of the south, and the arctic winds of the north; subdued and
downtrodden for centuries, it and its people have always been
at the mercy of ruthless men and rainless winds.

Thus passive endurance has become one of the saving qualities
of the Russian's soul. The peasant's nature is one that has few
wants and little rebellious power. The Greek church of the
simple gospel is his and a government of the Czar's will. His
power of self renunciation is one which in Slavophilic thought
gives him true liberty. Therefore ask the followers of this
doctrine, what need is there of the constitutional liberties of
the west, or its republics or limited monarchies, or its
differences in ecclesiastical faith and structure? Slavophilism
declares that Russia has the only true freedom, faith and
brotherhood, which other lands sadly lack. In addition she has
the ancient and splendid heritage of the communal land system,
wherein the inherent justice of the Russian peasant's heart is
shown by his voluntary division and re-division of the land
among his brothers at stated times.

What need therefore, Slavophilism asks, for the degenerate
justice of the west? None! Away with Europe then!–the Europe
of competition and gruesome factories! The Europe of
destructive forces, of greedy land grabbers, of capital and
labor wars, where society is held together, not as in Russia by
the ties of affection, brotherhood and communal interest, but
only by money and greed, and where free thinkers, atheists and
materialists abound, whose lives and thoughts would unsettle
the holy, orthodox feelings of Russia, disturb her ancient
conscience and poison her humility with murmurings of
discontent and rebellion.

Away with the books of the west, too! And its agricultural
implements! Wooden ploughs instead of chilled steel! Outdoor
work and not indoor prisons called factories! Peasants working
for centuries beneath the uncanopied sun, and on the floors
without walls, will not let doors and brickwork thumbscrew
their souls in confinement thus! Indoors awhile in winter will
they labor, but spring airs shatter the moralities of the
time-clock and away to the fields they rush; in the spring to
sow and sing, in the summer to sing again and at the harvest
time too, and then to plait the bearded stalks into wreaths and
crown the maidens with sheaths of corn; the hymns for the
"death of winter" and the "birth of spring," marriage songs and
funeral dirges and chants of olden times well intermingled with
the labor of their hands.

Herein the poetry of agricultural, peaceable Russia clashes
with the prosaic efficiency of the west, the efficiency of
commercial wars, strikes and class struggles which peasant
Muscovy has known so little.

And again, Slavophilism, with its theory of successive
civilizations, culled perhaps from the philosophy of Hegel,
each civilization superior to its forerunner, comes to show us
a vision: the gradual displacement of one type of society by
another, but continuing what is best in the preceding until
nothing except what is good remains and universal peace
results, thus portraying the displacement of national
civilizations by universal ones, from which ultimately an
idealistic world policy will result, and the federation and
peace of men.

Some Slavophiles saw even in Peter's work a process of
progressing from nationality to universality. In his time there
was the same yearning toward its peaceful ideal. The "Old
Russia" party wanted Peter to renounce war and conquest.
Alexis, his own murdered son, worked with this element which
was very largely representative of the nation. To them, St.
Petersburg, then a new and growing capitol, was typical of
change, unrest and falsity; Moscow was in their hearts the only
capital, typical of Russia's old comfort and quiet. Many nobles
antagonized Peter, but he swept them aside, imprisoning them or
sending them to the gallows. Like Russia's slight resistance to
Rurik and others, and to the Tartars, so was her feebleness
before Peter the Great, who was himself, however, by no means
an accomplished military leader, but an enlightened barbarian,
dealing with a people whom writers and observers declare to be
endowed with conspicuous traits of humility, scarcely found in
the Christian nations of the western world.

Russian fiction represents its people in the same way.
Unaggressive characters, who talk and think but do not act,
fill its novels; they dream of the great age of the "Universal
Idea" that shall come for all and regenerate the "rotten west,"
where "rationalism is the original sin"; the typical west that
Slavophilism condemns–the west of the struggles between the
rulers and the ruled; between Scripture and tradition and the
upper and lower classes. The Slavophile idea, in theory at
least, leaves no room for this. Christian love and humility and
peasant communes, where rationalism, strife and rebellion are
unknown, must be instituted in the west; then the "Universal
Idea" of Russia will create Millennial times. This was the
"Messianic hope of Slavophilism," and perhaps is yet to a great
degree destined in the minds of its devotees to give the last
feature to the development of the world, so that the love and
feeling of the east would appease the discord of the west,
diluting its discipline and its logic with true religious
intuition and humility, and eventually the idealized
relationship of autocracy for the Czar and self-government for
the people–the old system so rudely strained by Peter the
Great–would permeate the ruled and rulers of the world.

Here then is Slavophilism! And pacific Russia–the heart and
soul of her, claiming this to be the true ethical and spiritual
ideal for her people, and censoring her upper class, with its
foreign culture, materialism, and infidelity, as being the only
real traitor to this saving morality of the ancient regime.

Among the prominent advocates of this philosophy might be
mentioned, first, Constantine Aksakoff, Russia's Rousseau, who
in the middle of the nineteenth century, was a virtuous
propagandist of the doctrine. He earnestly, even religiously,
preached the return of Russia from the allurements of western
Europe, unto her own theory of national salvation, declaring
that "the social order of the west is on a false foundation"
and that Slavophilism would offset its degeneracy, if only
Russia would free herself from the false class leadership for
whose origin the Great Peter stands the convicted sponsor! Thus
Slavophilism, under the leadership of Aksakoff, instead of
leading forward with the great liberal movement that came after
the Crimean War, resulting finally in the emancipation of the
serfs, would lead backward to the stagnant hours of medieval
Russia. Then there were no German words to disfigure the
Russian language! Then there were no German divisions of rank
among the officials to strangle life by their formality. No,
none of these, nor the disturbing importations of Peter; in
Aksakoff's variation of the gospel, the Russians are the
"beyond men" and need them not. Thus before Peter's reign all
was Slavophilic!–a religion of the simple Christian gospel, a
church considering itself the only true ecclesia, a government
of the Czar's will, a life of passive humility; creating
freedom of conscience and speech for the peasants, and freedom
of activity and legislation for the rulers, unknown in modern
corrupted Russia!

And thus was old peaceable-hearted Muscovy of the past
centuries pictured as the metropolis of true political and
individual morality.

Herzen, too, an able pamphleteer in revolutionary things,
preached something similar, crying from his pulpit at home or
in exile, that Russia would solve all her problems and lead the
human race by the simplicity of the Slavophile ideal. His early
and rabid westernism was greatly tempered on contact with the
west. Disillusion and disgust overcame him. The mercantilism of
the bourgeoisie there drove him into Aksakoff's fold, and he
too thereafter found faith alone in the "regenerative power of
Russia," and her system of the mir, the central sun of the
Slavophilic state, the village commune, self-governing and
self-contained. And then from that, this was to ensue: the
whole world made of village communes as in Russia, perhaps even
their log cabins too, and fresh mud to go with them on their
walls! But this did not deter the vision of these evangelists.
The commune was to be indefinitely extended; national and
international ones were to be organized, all self- governing,
and then would follow as the night the day, universal peace
wherever these communes were found.

This is the Utopia Russia has given to the world to stand
beside Plato's, or Sir Thomas More's or Morris's or Bellamy's.
This was the dream of pacific Pan-Slavism.

Dostoievsky himself is of it, and is luminous not with a mere
facet flash of its philosophy but with the whole orb of it. To
him the Russians "are more than human, they are pan-human."

Count Tolstoi too must be listed with these preachers. He,
making his own shoes and cutting his own and the peasants'
grain, lived it, showing how he thought the world's work ought
to be done. What were factories or the culture of the west to
him in later years–Shakespeare or no Shakespeare? Destructive
ideals of life. Competition, money and land greed,
self-assertion–all things that are the anthitheses of
Slavophilism–he shunned; mocking the palsied heart and
poisoned ideals of the west, and indeed of the "upper class"
section of his own land as no other Slavophile did. And
following its teaching, he journeyed through self-renunciation
to freedom and communal life, after repentance for his
wanderings, expiation and regeneration.

Dostoievsky, on the other hand, reached this philosophy largely
by being born to it among the humble people who lived it.
Melancholy-minded by nature–a sort of a Russian Dante but
living in actual infernos and purgatorios, Siberia and prison
cells, he came at last to worship his fellow countrymen and
their ideals as almost nothing else in heaven or earth, and
bowed down before them "as the only remnant left of Christian
humility, destined by Providence to regenerate the world." Here
is Slavophilism in a fervid extreme. "The Down-trodden and
Offended," "Memoirs of a Dead House," "Crime and Punishment,"
"Poor People,"–these, the titles of his novels, show the
predilections of his own soul. He died in the mystic frenzy of
this enthusiasm.

Here then, in this philosophy and in the lives of these men, is
something of the soul of Russia, beautiful in its humility, yet
not so humble that it is not ambitious to embrace the world in
the folding arms of its peace, its communal government and its
morality. Pan-Slavism of this nature is the only kind that in
truth can ever come from Russia. Pan-Slavism of the military
sort, with musketry, bribery and all other diabolic black arts,
miscalled government, rests on such a slim foundation that it
need be but little apprehended.

It was this brotherly humble soul of Russia that greatly helped
to put an end to the Russo-Japanese war: not merely failing
finances and lack of transportation. The feeling of a kindly
people for their own and a neighboring race caused widespread
mismanagement, opposition and wholesale desertions from the
army, among both the officers and the men. The Romanoff family
and official Russia caused the conflict, but human Russia,
humble and poor, was a great factor in its conclusion.

There is no doubt, however, that a certain number of
Slavophiles are addicted to the military mania, and this form
of their belief is more dangerously reactionary than its
ordinary phase. Many of these belong to the bureaucratic caste.
Official Russia holds aloft the eagle; human Russia the dove.
Official Russia leads the anti-Jewish massacres; human Russia
is very little responsible for pogroms. Ignatieff, "Father of
Lies," a bureaucrat of the military Pan-Slavic breed, about
1882, began the worst persecutions against the Jews in the last
generation, and possibly Pobiedonosteff, the late procurator of
the Holy Synod, was the worst offender in this one. The
peaceful feelings of the masses of the people, however, do not
sanction these outbreaks, and Slavophilism of such a sort is
not the philosophy of the Russian heart, no matter how many
pogroms may be enumerated.

It is therefore to human Russia that one must look for the true
feelings of the people; to their faith and deeds, to the
humility of their devotions, and prostrations before their
numberless shrines and ikons, to their religious ceremonies in
the open fields for huge detachments of the army, to the
thousands of their yearly pilgrims to Jerusalem, to their
superstitions, their poverty and long-suffering, all of which
attest innate passive endurance and non-resistance, and show
their kind of Slavophilism, which all in all, is much more than
"mere reverence for barbarism."

The war-time excitement in their cities seemed characteristic
of this national soul: "Russia is the Mother of Servia" was the
street cry of the marching throngs. It might be added that the
word mother, "matushka," is a prevalent one in expressing their
feelings. They call their greatest river the "Mother Volga."
Conquering Rome said "Father Tiber" and the native warriors of
this continent called the Mississippi the "Father of Waters."
The difference in these appellations shows the tender quality
of the Russian soul, whose ardent sympathies in July, 1914,
were greatly aroused by the spectacle of a large nation
attacking a small one, notwithstanding whatever may be said to
justify that deed.

Finally, however, let it be added, that the one thing that will
recreate Russia in the image of the west, is capital. Once let
the vast sums that have invaded Muscovy be put, not to the
autocratic purpose of the official rulers, but into factories,
mines, city subways and transportation of all kinds,
irrigation, canals, agricultural implements and to other
productive uses, then capitalistic Russia will stand forth
shorn of the Slavophilic simplicities of non-resistance and
humility. Labor wars, practically unknown hitherto, yet now
beginning, will occur in much greater number and the peasant
class, still unified, will be torn asunder by differences in
wealth and interests; the middle class, now very small, will
grow to large proportions, and many destructive forces will
come upon the land which has hitherto mocked western Europe
because of their presence there.

The many centuries of peasant unity, with its beauty of
brotherhood, affection and communal interests, will come to an
end under such a new regime. Already competitive forces are
dissolving communism in land, and many of the old beauties of
Russia are disappearing. Capitalism will bring with it much
turmoil and strife, unhappiness and death, but also the dawn of
brighter hours; newer and better cities, cleaner water, better
food, houses and clothes, and after the stress of its first
attack is over, and Russia has evolved laws and means to
control and socialize the invader, it may be that the old
simplicities and beauties of life will return, and a greater
and holier Russia will arise, still able to teach and aid in
the regeneration of the rest of the world.

PHYSICAL TRAINING AS MENTAL TRAINING

BY DR. J. H. McBRIDE

PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

THE first duty of a people is to provide for the health of its
children. The possible human value of any country fifty years
ahead depends chiefly upon what is done by and for its
children. They are the future in the making.

History seems to justify the statement of Professor Tyler[1]
that conquering races have been physically strong races, and
that nations have failed when they became degenerate.

[1] Growth and Education," J. M. Tyler.

Dionysius, speaking of the advantage of virility in a nation,
said,

It is a law of Nature common to all mankind, which no time
shall annul or destroy, that those who have more strength and
excellence shall bear rule over those who have less.

This law applies equally to individuals. Skill, cunning and
reason play their part, but the animal quality of endurance is
always back of these and is often decisive in a contest.

Darwin said he had difficulty in applying the law of the
survival of the fittest to the facts of the destruction of
Greece until it occurred to him that in this instance the
strongest was the fittest. Civilized people's have been
destroyed by ruder races that were physically superior.

The children that are now in our schools will take to adult
life such foundation as heredity has furnished, with the
equipment that society may care to add. We of this day have no
greater obligation than to prepare these children mentally and
physically for the duties that maturity may bring. Man did not
escape the physical necessities of the body when he became
civilized; the advantages of health are as great to-day as when
our forebears lived in tents. Very few of the primitive man's
activities are left; what he did regularly and from necessity
we do incidentally, and usually for sport, and yet the demands
upon the energies of man have not been lessened, they have only
been changed in form.

Our educational authorities, though in many instances
interested in physical development of the young, have not given
the subject the important place in their program that it
deserves. This is not wholly due to indifference, but largely
to their ideals that were derived from classical-ascetic
standards.

In the medieval ideal the human body was animal and sinful, to
be despised and repressed. The mind was said to be the
spiritual element in man, representing the immortal part of his
nature, and therefore was the only part worthy of attention in
an educational system. From the fall of the Roman empire to the
later nineteenth century this ideal dominated education.

The medieval universities, including Oxford and Cambridge,
provided only for mental training. Their education was intended
for those who were to follow the professions or to become
scholars or gentlemen of leisure. Education was not intended to
prepare the great mass of men for the every-day work of life.

While only indirectly related to my subject, it is interesting
to recall that there was in this country in the early
nineteenth century much opposition to the establishment of
common schools for the masses. It was claimed that those who
belonged to the working classes did not need to be educated.
Our own colleges and universities were originally founded on
the old classical-ascetic model, so that the spirit of the
medieval period survived in the educational plan of this
country. It is only in recent decades that these institutions
have begun to depart from the older, formal, classical methods
that made education a privilege of the few, the average man
being deprived of the advantages of the training that he
needed. Because of this the humble millions of men and women
who wove and spun, and fed and housed the world were left out
of the educational scheme.

Some years ago a London weekly paper, which speaks for the
conservative class of England, in discussing certain suggested
innovations in English higher education, said that the great
merit of education at Oxford and Cambridge was that it was
"absolutely useless." By this it was probably meant that the
education was for a chosen few, was not intended to prepare men
for the practical work of life and was essentially and only an
intellectual and cultural training.

The change of attitude that is seen in our day is due chiefly
to two great discoveries: the re-discovery of the human body
and its relation to our mentality and the discovery of the mind
of the child and youth. We have found that man is an animal who
graduated from caves and dugouts and to whom even barbarism was
a lade and great achievement. That the human body was made by
the experiences of that rude life, and that since then we have
made no change in it except to stand on two feet. Neither have
we added one nerve cell or fiber to our brains since the day
when the cave was home and uncooked food the daily diet.

The conception of man as an animal has led to a study of him as
such. Educators as a class now concede that the physical man
must be considered as an essential part of their scheme, that
the brain is an organ of the body among other organs, and is
subject to the same laws and influenced by similar conditions.

The influence of the mind upon the body is a commonplace of
psychology, but the influence of the body upon the mind is of
equal importance, though less frequently emphasized.

Whatever one's theory of the nature of mind, it must be
considered in relation to the brain as the organ of its
expression. The mind has, too, a broader base than the brain,
for every organ of the body has some share in the mental
functions. Every physician knows that physical disease lowers
the quality of the thinking and, with the exception of a few
geniuses like Darwin and Leopardi, it makes impossible
intellectual work of a high order. Disorders of the internal
organs rob the brain of nourishment and weaken it, and by
obtruding their morbidness upon it they batter down its
resistances and lower the thinking power.

Though we can never know the history of man's origin, the lives
of the child and of the wild man help us to understand
something of the order of racial development. All the higher
mental faculties grow in the child as they grew in the
race–out of impulse, instinct, feeling; and from infancy to
maturity we recapitulate mentally and physically the early
human-making stages, short circuiting in twenty years the
race-process.

The life of physical activity that the child leads develops and
coordinates the brain and the muscular system. In this way the
great motor functions are organized in the brain and become
part of the physical basis of mind.

The older education that trained the intellect exclusively,
without reference to the practical demands of life or the needs
of the body, was inadequate in that it ignored the law of
thinking and doing. It is true that there is much to its
credit, as many fine spirits have testified. They at least
survived it.

Stanley Hall says "we think in terms of muscular movement," and
this expresses the most important single fact in the mature
mentality. That the mind is largely constituted of memories of
muscular movements is basic in development.

The muscles are the special organs of volition, the one part of
the body that the mind can directly command and act on. The
muscles are preeminently the mind's instruments, the visible
and moving part of its machinery. They are thought carriers,
and during the growth period their functional activities are
organized into the mental life. This is why "we think in terms
of muscular movement," and why muscular training supplies a
natural need of the developing mind.

The normal boy says little or nothing of what he thinks, but
much of what he is doing or intends to do. He has the motor
mind, the instinct for doing things by which he builds the
brain and body. It is nature's way of laying the foundation in
the individual as by the more tedious process of evolution she
laid it in the race. The mental development of the normal
infant is indicated by the increasing accuracy and delicacy of
muscular coordination. The feeble-minded child very early shows
its mental defect in the clumsy use of its muscles. Because of
the functional relation of the voluntary muscles and the
mentality, physical training is in a large degree mental
training. When by such training we give dexterity to muscles of
the growing person we are making possible better mental
development; that is, because of this relation of the mind to
action there is a direct mental discipline in the thought-out
processes of physical activity. If, then, we make physical
development a part of our educational process, we are taking
advantage of race tendencies, we are starting the individual as
nature started the race; we are laying the foundation in the
individual as it was originally laid in the race; we are
building as the race built.

Exclusively intellectual training may be sufficient for the
genius or for the few who have great initiative and
intellectual self-confidence, but for the great mass of boys
and girls this training is not sufficient. It does not prepare
the young for the kind of work that three fourths of them will
have to do. We are now beginning to recognize this and through
manual training, vocational guidance, etc., we are teaching
boys and girls how to do things, and this, too, has the
additional merit of being, in a measure, physical training.

Educators, until recently, have, in emphasizing the paramount
importance of mental training, lost sight of the needs of the
body. Their classical ideals and formal methods made dead
languages, mathematics, philosophy etc., the school diet of
boys whose normal hunger was for action, and for learning by
doing.

Sir William Hamilton, who wrote fairy tales in metaphysics for
a generation of Scotchmen, placed these lines over the doorway
of his lecture room.

In earth there 's nothing great but Man;
In Man there 's nothing great but Mind.

This sounds well, but it is poor philosophy. There is much in
earth that is great besides man and much in man that is great
besides his mind. The older type of metaphysician with his
staggering vocabulary and his bag of "categories" has now
chiefly a historic interest. In the modern view the
interdependence of mind and body is a fundamental fact of life.
As science reveals the physiologic marvels of the once despised
body, the latter grows in our respect, for we find that its
seeming humble functions are intimately related to our highest
powers. Sir William's couplet gives a hint of the dominance of
the classical method of his day. It overemphasized the
importance of reason and too often converted the youthful mind
into a rag bag of useless information. The educators of that
time and since have thought more highly of human reason than
experience justifies. With their medieval bias for a world of
will and reason, they drove the young with the whip and spur of
emulation toward what to them seemed the one possible goal,
intellectual achievement.

We exaggerate the share that reason has in conduct. In the
history of the race, which is epitomized in the life of every
individual, reason was a late outgrowth of feeling, passion,
impulse, instinct. It was these older faculties that ruled the
life of the primitive man who made the race, and it was through
them that the race gradually rose to reason by what Emerson
would call the "spiral stairway of development."

These functions of impulse and instinct dominate the life of
the child and they are only a little less potent in the conduct
of us grownups. Much of what we call reason is feeling, and
much of our life activities are due to desire, sentiment,
instinct and habit, which, under the illusion of reason,
determine our decisions and conduct. Some one has said that
reason is the light that nature has placed at the tip of
instinct, and it is certainly true that without these earlier,
basal faculties reason would be a feeble light. During the
growing period these are specially strong, and the important
thing is that they be guided and organized in relation to the
needs of maturity. In combining mental and physical training we
are in some measure furnishing this guidance, doing
intentionally what nature did originally without design.

In the uncivilized state the stress of life was chiefly
physical. The civilized man has to a large degree reversed this
old order, in that the use of the body is incidental in his
work, the stress being placed upon the brain. He piles his life
high with complexities and in place of life being for
necessities, and they few and simple, it is largely for
comforts which we call necessities, and Professor Huxley has
said that the struggle for comforts is more cruel than the
struggle for existence.

This stress which is put upon conscious effort in civilization
places a new and severe tax upon the brain. It intensifies and
narrows the range of man's activities; it causes him to
specialize and localize the strain to a degree that may be
dangerous. It is certainly true that every man has his breaking
strain, and there is nothing that will raise the limit of
endurance like a strong and well-developed body.

The Italian physiologist, Mosso, showed by an ingenious device
that when a person lying quite still was required to add a
column of figures, blood left the extremities and flowed toward
the brain. Any emotional state or effort of thought produces
the same result. This demonstration that we think to our
fingers' ends suggests the importance of a strong body as a
prompt support in mental work.

All our work, mental as well as physical, is a test of
endurance, not a test that is spiritual and non-material, but
even in the sphere of the mind it is plainly animal and
physical. Thinking is primarily a physical process and draws
upon the vital stores of every organ. The energy that makes
clear thinking possible depends largely upon the vigor of the
body, and to the extent that this fails, the brain functions
suffer. Therefore, any work, mental or physical, will be better
done and more easily done if the body is strong. Other things
being equal, the intellectual work of the strong man will be
better done than similar work by one of equal talent, but who
is not strong.

Big muscles are not necessary in physical development. Many
people are not designed for big muscles, and any attempt by
them to produce a heavy, massive development may do harm. What
is wanted is vigor, skill, muscular readiness and a reawakening
of the old associations of thought and action. Such training
goes further than thought and action, for it reaches all the
organs and adds immensely to the vital capacity and working
power of the individual.

The play instinct of the child is as old as the race, or older,
and is a vitally important factor, not only in physical
development, but also in mental development. In its destructive
and disorderly activities the child shows the later adult
forces in the formative stage. Old instincts and movements that
were once self-preservative and of serious meaning to a wild
ancestor reappear in the play of children, and, utilized
wisely, may under new form become a valuable possession of the
adult. There is a great big man, in fact, several possible men,
inside every boy. Through his running, jumping, fighting,
swimming, through impulse, instincts and emotions he is seeking
the man that is in him, and it is by this turbulent and
experimental course that he finally comes to the order of
maturity.

Every boy is a vitally coiled up set of springs pressing to be
released. Race-old energies are struggling in him for
expression, and play is the normal way to satisfy the great
demand. The child may miss some important things and yet get
on, but it can not, without severe and lasting harm miss the
instinctive activities of play.

In play and games the young are re-enacting these old muscular
coordinations and developing mind and body on the old
foundation. The boy's love of outdoor sports and the adventures
of hunting are significant. Those ancestors of ours who hunted
and fished and shaped with care their arrow heads were
developing a manual skill and thinking power that we inherit.
We use our muscles for more varied and possibly more finished
purposes, but it is through the patience and practise of their
rude lives that we possess the delicate uses of the hands and
the finer dexterities of the mind.

The boy who goes whistling to the fields, or hunts, or fishes,
or swims, is unconsciously reaching out toward later life and
is preparing for serious and bigger things.

The growing formative period of life is the time for good
physical development. Whatever is gained and fixed then is
permanent, as it becomes a part of the physiological habits of
the individual. The years before twenty decide the future
energy stores, and the capacity to endure. Every function
enlarged, every gain of power, is additional storage room for
energy, to be drawn upon in the coming days of adult stress.

Good physical development not only gives strength and skill in
the use of the body, but develops a physiological habit of
surplus power that may be called quantity of energy. Life is
not alone in quality, in delicacy of adjustment, in accuracy,
in fineness of feeling; it is also in quantity. The poet who,
with frail physique and feeble pulse, sits in his quiet retreat
and puts his fine fancies into the rhythms of verse has
quality. But in the stress and rivalry of life that awaits the
majority of men, there is a need for quantity of energy, such
as enabled a Washington or a Caesar or a Napoleon or a
Wellington to shoulder his way through difficulties. These men
combined quality with quantity and this combination may make,
and often does make, the life of masterful achievement. The
quantity of energy in us average men may make the difference
between success and failure.

Many men fail in life for lack of staying power, for lack of
that kind of endurance that is furnished by having power in
reserve.

The strong, confident person who has strength to spare,
reserves of energy, does his work easily and without friction.
Half the timidities and indecisions of men are chargeable less
to lack of ability than to lack of the physical vigor, the
QUANTITY of energy, which is the driving power of character. In
all the contests of life an important element in success is the
ability to endure prolonged stress, to have the reserve energy
that can be drawn upon and utilized as a driving force. This
power is not alone necessary in the emergencies, the "short
hauls" of life, but also in the long hauls that spread the
strain through greater periods. Many of the failures of life
are due as much to lack of ability to meet prolonged stress as
to lack of experience or intelligence. Men of moderate ability
but with great powers of endurance often succeed, while men of
greater talent fail for lack of the ability to endure strain.

The man with a weak body and without the self-confidence that
surplus energy gives is liable to be of uncertain judgment.
Such a man in the presence of a problem requiring quick
decision, doubts and hesitates and stands shivering on the
brink of action while hastening opportunities pass him by.

Much of the loose thinking of our time is undoubtedly due to
poor educational drill. In fact the failure of the schools to
teach pupils how to apply the mind and how to think is one of
their common reproaches. Inability to use the mind effectively
is also frequently due to a lack of vigor and physical stamina.
A person with poor digestion, or under-developed body, or weak
circulation has of necessity a badly nourished brain. Such a
brain, unless it belongs to a genius, will do poor thinking.

The mentally trained person who is also physically strong has
the combination that puts his powers at easy command. He can be
joyously busy doing the impossible because the doing of it has
been made easy by training.

How much native power there is in all of us that for want of
proper training or sympathetic encouragement never comes to
maturity! How many of the finer qualities of character that,
for want of a kindlier climate of cheerful companionship and
wise direction, failed to mature and now lie dead in us! Very
many people are only partly alive. A large part, and in some,
the best part, is dead. The capacity they show is probably only
a small share of a fine inheritance which, not knowing how to
use, they allowed to die.

We have an instinctive liking for people who are strong and
healthy. They appeal to us by their robustness and their
confident display of energy. We do not now need the big muscles
that were once necessary in wielding spear and battle-axe. We
need, however, as much as the race ever needed well-developed
bodies and habits of health.

It is not difficult for us to see that sports and games and
play help to physical development, but it is not so plain that
they may be made to develop the best qualities of character.

It is a fact, however, that all the important elements of
character are tried out in games and sports. Enthusiasm,
self-confidence, the adventurous spirit, alertness, promptness,
unselfishness, cooperation, quick judgment–all these have
their training and discipline on the game field. They comprise
those fundamental native qualities that have gone to make
humanity what it is. The young should have this training, and,
if of the right kind, it may be made to contribute to the
making of the best kind of character. The same quickness and
accuracy of judgment that enable a boy to win a point in
football may in later life be used to win a battle or save a
business venture. Beyond this, there is of course gained the
strong body that makes work easy and stress less difficult to
bear.

Hall calls attention to the fact that two generations ago,
Jahn, the great builder of German physique, roused the then
despairing German nation by preaching the gospel of strong
bodies. He created a new spirit in Germany, and the whole
nation was aroused and seized with an enthusiasm for outdoor
games and sports, and there arose a new cult for the body. His
pupils sang of a united fatherland and of a stronger race. The
Germans are in the habit of reminding us that it was about one
generation after Jahn that the German Empire was founded and
Germany became a world power.

Every argument for the physical training of boys applies with
equal force to girls. Women need to be physically as strong as
men. No race will remain virile and progressive unless both the
fathers and mothers have the physical stamina that produces
healthy, vigorous offspring. In this age, when women are going
out into the world to compete with men it is highly important
that they be physically strong if they are to stand the stress
successfully. It was from rough barbarians, the rude war-loving
Teutonic men and women described by Tacitus, that the
Anglo-Saxon race inherited those splendid qualities of mind and
body that have made their descendants masters of seas and
continents.

It has been objected that gymnastics and field sports make
girls coarse and mannish. The exact opposite has been found to
be the case. It has been observed in colleges that when young
women are properly led, their sports, in place of making them
mannish, have a marked refining influence. They care more for
correct posture because this is made one of their tests in
athletic sports. They develop better manners and a new sense of
pride in their appearance. They soon learn to avoid slang, loud
talking and boisterous behavior. In the University of Chicago
where they have excellent training, many of the girls have said
that they came to have a new sense of dignity and to care more
for their personal appearance.

They also develop the finer elements of character, a
cooperative spirit, obedience to commands, patience,
self-confidence, a spirit of comradeship, a democratic attitude
and an appreciation of good qualities in others wherever found.
All of these esthetic, social and moral qualities, woven into
the texture of the growing character, and with the vigorous
health that the physical training brings, are the best
contribution to the making of the most effective type of the
womanly woman. All games and sports and athletics for the young
should therefore make for refinement and esthetic development.

The state needs now, and will always need, men and women who
have sound bodies and abounding energy.

The harsher phases of the human struggle may pass and wars may
cease, but the old contests of races, nations and individuals
will continue under other forms.

As the race grows older life will become more largely mental.
The increasing complexity of human relations and the more
delicate adjustments that these relations require will bring a
new and finer social order that will make higher demands upon
reason.

While there is no evidence that experience or time or training
will ever change the structure of the brain, it is probable
that we have as yet but imperfectly utilized our mental
possibilities. Stratton says:

Out of the depths of the mind new powers are always
emerging.[2]

[2] "Experimental Psychology and Culture," George M. Stratton.

Back of the mental life, and making it possible, are the
energies of the body, the functioning of the animal in man,
which in the brain are changed to the higher uses of the mind.
The ability to execute, to act effectively, to do and keep
doing, to do the work of the professional man, the banker, or
the scientist, all this is primarily physical, and from top to
bottom of man's activities the physical test is applied. With
the mental and emotional strain of civilized life goes the
physical strain which is the other half of the struggle, and
which now and always is both mental and physical. The Greeks
recognized this unity of mind and body twenty-five hundred
years ago and their results remain unmatched by any race.

They saw that the thought-out movements of physical training
resulted in mental training and this law of mental development
through physical training was a fundamental principle in their
educational plan.

The nation that will again make this an ideal will produce a
finer race of men, and other things equal, will excel in all
that makes a people great.

EDWARD JENNER AND VACCINATION

BY PROFESSOR D. FRASER HARRIS, M.D., D.Sc.

DALHOUSIE UNIVERSITY, HALIFAX, N. S.

WE are so exceedingly apt to take our blessings as a matter of
course that at the present time a large number of us have quite
forgotten, and some of us have never known, what a terrible
disease smallpox is and from how much suffering national
vaccination has saved us. But even many of us, who may not be
included amongst those who know nothing of smallpox, do come
within the group of those who know next to nothing of the life
and work of Dr. Edward Jenner. A number of persons think he was
Sir William Jenner, physician to Queen Victoria.

An infectious or communicable disease is one caused by the
admission of some form of living matter into the body of a
human being or of a lower animal. All diseases are clearly not
communicable in the sense that they are due to the presence of
living things. Indigestion, for instance, I can not communicate
to my neighbor, however serious my dietetic indiscretions.

Now, while the actual microorganisms causing many of the
infectious diseases have been discovered in these recent days
through the agency of the microscope–one of science's most
valuable gifts to suffering humanity–a few diseases
undoubtedly infectious have, even up to the present time, not
had their microorganic causes discovered. Smallpox or variola
is one of these. The term variola is from the Latin varus, a
pimple.

The name Small Pox, which first occurs in Holinshead's
"Chronicle" (1571), was given to this disease to distinguish it
from the Great Pox or syphilis, the French disease, or Morbus
Gallicus which attained the proportions of an epidemic in
Europe about 1494. The expression "The Pox" in the older
medical literature always refers to the Lues Venereal The word
"pox" is the plural form of pock; the spelling "pox" is
phonetic; "pocks" is the correct form.[1]

[1] Thus the following expression in Galt's "Annals of the
Parish" is justified–"My son Gilbert was seized with the
smallpox and was blinded by THEM for seventeen days."

Smallpox is unquestionably a highly infectious or communicable
disease, and in the language of a past day, there is a virus or
poison which can pass from the sick to the unaffected; when
this transference occurs on a large scale we speak of an
epidemic of smallpox. As Sir William Osler truly says, "It is
not a little remarkable that in a disease, which is rightly
regarded as the type of all infectious maladies, the specific
virus still remains unknown." The same, however, is true of the
common diseases of scarlatina, measles and chickenpox. Of some
diseases, the virus is a bacillus or coccus, excessively minute
fungi recognizable only under the microscope; but the
bacteriologists are now beginning to speak of viruses so
impalpable that they, unlike ordinary bacteria, can go through
the pores of a clay filter, are filter-passers, that is are of
ultra-microscopic dimensions. Some authorities conjecture that
the virus of variola belongs to the group of filter-passers.
The virus of smallpox, however, is very resistant and can be
carried through the air for considerable distances; it clings
for long periods to clothes, books, furniture, etc.

I shall not now digress to give the clinical details of a case
of smallpox; the eruption may be slight or it may be very
extensive. It occurs in three forms, discrete, confluent and
hemorrhagic. The most dangerous form of smallpox is the
confluent, in which the face and arms particularly are covered
with large pustular areas of a most disfiguring appearance.

The disease called chickenpox, or varicella, has no
relationship to smallpox and does not protect from it, nor does
smallpox protect from chickenpox.

HISTORY OF SMALLPOX

There seems very little doubt that the home of smallpox was
somewhere on the continent of Africa, although it is true that
there are traditions pointing to its existence in Hindustan at
least 1000 B.C. One Hindu account alludes to an ointment for
removing the cicatrices of eruption. Africa has certainly for
long been a prolific source of it: every time a fresh batch of
slaves was brought over to the United States of America there
was a fresh outbreak of smallpox.[2] It seems that the first
outbreak in Europe in the Christian era was in the latter half
of the sixth century, when it traveled from Arabia, visiting
Egypt on the way. The earliest definite statements about it
come from Arabia and are contained in an Arabic manuscript now
in the University of Leyden, which refers to the years A.D. 570
and 571. There is a good deal of evidence that the Arabs
introduced smallpox into Egypt at the sacking of Alexandria in
A.D. 640. Pilgrims and merchants distributed it throughout
Syria and Palestine and along the north of Africa; then,
crossing the Mediterranean, they took it over to Italy. The
Moors introduced it into Spain whence, via Portugal, Navarre,
Languedoc and Guienne it was carried into western and northern
Europe. The earliest physician to describe smallpox is Ahrun, a
Christian Egyptian, who wrote in Greek. He lived in Alexandria
from A.D. 610 to 641. The first independent treatise on the
disease was by the famous Arabian physician, Rhazes, who wrote
in Syriac in 920 A.D., but his book has been translated into
both Greek and Latin. The first allusion to smallpox in English
is in an Anglo-Saxon manuscript of the early part of the tenth
century; the passage is interesting–"Against pockes: very much
shall one let blood and drink a bowl full of melted butter; if
they [pustules] strike out, one should dig each with a thorn
and then drop one-year alder drink in, then they will not be
seen," this was evidently to prevent the pitting dreaded even
at so early a date. Smallpox was first described in Germany in
1493, and appeared in Sweden first in 1578.

[2] Osler thinks the pesta magna of Galen was smallpox; Marcus
Aurelius died of it.

The contributions of Sydenham, the English Hippocrates, to the
knowledge of smallpox, are classical.

Throughout the Middle Ages, owing to the very crowded and
unsanitary state of the cities of Europe, smallpox was one of
the various plagues from which the inhabitants were never free
for any length of time.[3] Leprosy, influenza, smallpox,
cholera, typhus fever and bubonic plague constituted the
dreadful group. In most countries, including England, smallpox
was practically endemic; an attack of it was accepted as a
thing inevitable, in children even more inevitable than
whooping-cough, measles, mumps or chickenpox is regarded at the
present time. There was a common saying–"Few escape love or
smallpox." In the eighteenth century so many faces were pitted
from severe smallpox that it is said any woman who had no
smallpox marks was straightway accounted beautiful. Very few
persons escaped it in either the mild or the severe form in
childhood or in later life.

[3] England was by no means exempt, but it was not infection in
the modern sense that Shakespeare meant when he wrote–
"This England,
This fortress, built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war."

Now it is characteristic of a microorganic disease that a
person who has recovered from an attack of it is immune from
that disease for a longer or shorter time, in some cases for
the remainder of life. This is, luckily, as true of smallpox as
of any of the other acute infections. We do not now need to
enquire into the theory of how this comes about; it is a
well-recognized natural phenomenon. The modern explanation is
in terms of antigens and anti-bodies and is fast passing from
the stage of pure biochemical hypothesis into that of concrete
realization. Persons who have recovered from smallpox rarely
take it a second time; the few who do, have it in a mild form.
It follows, then, that if smallpox is purposely inoculated into
a human being he will for a long time be resistant to the
subsequent infection of smallpox. The fact of smallpox
protecting from smallpox is by no means without analogy in
other diseases. Thus in Switzerland, in Africa, in Senegambia,
it has been the custom for a long time, in order to protect the
cattle from pleuro-pneumonia, to inoculate them with the fluid
from the lung of an animal recently dead of pleuro-pneumonia.
Of course since the time of Pasteur we have been quite familiar
with the inoculation of attenuated virus to protect from the
natural diseases in their fully virulent form, for instance,
anthrax, rabies, plague and typhoid fever.

As it was, then, known to mankind from a very early period that
a person could be protected from smallpox by being inoculated
with it, inoculation grew up as a practice in widely distant
parts of the globe. The purpose of intentional inoculation was
to go through a mild attack of the disease in order to acquire
protection from the much more serious natural form of the
disease–to have had it so as not to have it. A very high
antiquity is claimed for this smallpox inoculation, some even
asserting that the earliest known Hindu physician (Dhanwantari)
supposed to have lived about 1500 B.C., was the first to
practice it. Bruce in his "Voyages to the Sources of the Nile"
(1790) tells us that he found Nubian and Arabian women
inoculating their children against smallpox, and that the
custom had been observed from time immemorial. Records of it
indeed are found all over the world; in Ashantee, amongst the
Arabs of North Africa, in Tripoli, Tunis and Algeria, in
Senegal, in China, in Persia, in Thibet, in Bengal, in Siam, in
Tartary and in Turkey. In Siam the method of inoculation is
very curious; material from a dried pustule is blown up into
the nostrils; but in most other parts of the world the
inoculation is by the ordinary method of superficial incision
or what is called scarification. By the latter part of the
seventeenth century inoculation for smallpox was an established
practise in several European countries into which it had
traveled by the coasts of the Bosphorus, via Constantinople. In
1701 a medical man, Timoni, described the process as he saw it
in Constantinople. Material was taken from the pustules of a
case on the twelfth or thirteenth day of the illness. As early
as 1673 the practice was a common one in Denmark, Bartholinus
tells us. In France inoculation had been widely practiced; on
June 18, 1774, the young king Louis XVI., was inoculated for
smallpox, and the fashionable ladies of the day wore in their
hair a miniature rising sun and olive tree entwined by a
serpent supporting a club, the "pouf a l'inoculation" of
Mademoiselle Rose Bertin, the court milliner to Marie
Antoinette. In Germany inoculation was in vogue all through the
seventeenth century, as also in Holland, Switzerland, Italy and
Circassia. In England the well-known Dr. Mead, honored, by the
way, with a grave in Westminster Abbey, was a firm believer in
inoculation, as was also Dr. Dimsdale, who was sent for by the
Empress Catherine II. to introduce it into Russia. Dr. Dimsdale
inoculated a number of persons in Petrograd, and finally the
Grand Duke and the Empress herself. The lymph he took from the
arm of a child ill of natural smallpox. For his services to the
Russian court Dr. Dimsdale was made a Baron of the Russian
Empire, a councillor of state and physician to the Empress. He
was presented with the sum of 1,000 pounds and voted an annuity
of 500 pounds a year. At the request of Catherine, Dr. Dimsdale
went to Moscow, where thousands were clamoring for inoculation.
The mortality from smallpox in Russia seems to have been still
higher than in the rest of Europe. The annual average death
rate on the Continent at the end of the eighteenth century was
210 per 1,000 deaths from all causes, while in Russia in one
year two million persons perished from smallpox alone. In
England in 1796, the deaths from smallpox were 18.6 per cent.
of deaths from all causes.

A great impetus was given to inoculation in England by the
letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the wife of our
ambassador to Turkey, Edward Wortley Montague, and daughter of
the Duke of Kingston. In 1717 Lady Mary wrote a letter to her
friend Miss Chiswell, in which she explained the process and
promised to introduce it to the notice of the English
physicians. So convinced was Lady Mary of the safety of
smallpox inoculation and its efficacy in preserving from
subsequent smallpox, that in March, 1717, she had her little
boy inoculated at the English embassy by an old Greek woman in
the presence of Dr. Maitland, surgeon to the embassy. In 1722
some criminals under sentence of death in Newgate were offered
a full pardon if they would undergo inoculation. Six men agreed
to this, and none of them suffered at all severely from the
inoculated smallpox. Towards the close of the same year two
children of the Princess of Wales were successfully inoculated;
and in 1746 an Inoculation Hospital was actually opened in
London, but not without much opposition. As early as 1721 the
Rev. Cotton Mather, of Boston (U. S. A.), introduced
inoculation to the notice of the American physicians, and in
1722 Dr. Boylston, of Brooklyn, inoculated 247 persons, of whom
about 2 per cent. died of the acquired smallpox as compared
with 14 per cent. of deaths amongst 6,000 uninoculated persons
who caught the natural smallpox. There was, however, great
popular opposition to the practice of inoculation, and Dr.
Boylston on one occasion was nearly lynched.

While successful inoculation undoubtedly protected the person
from smallpox, sometimes the inoculated form of the disease was
virulent, and certainly all cases of inoculated variola were as
infectious as the natural variety. Inoculated persons were
therefore a danger to the community; and there is no doubt that
such persons had occasionally introduced smallpox into towns
which had been free from the natural disease. At the end of the
eighteenth century, just about the time of Jenner's discovery,
public opinion was strongly against the continuance of the
practice of inoculation, and as natural smallpox had not at all
abated its epidemic character, the times were ripe for "some
new thing."

Now there is a disease of cows know as cowpox or vaccinia (from
the Latin vacca, a cow) which is communicable to human beings.
It is thought to be due to the same virus which in pigs is
called swinepox and in horses "grease." Jenner believed
vaccinia to be the same pathological entity as human smallpox,
modified, however, by its transmission through the cow. For a
long time this view was stoutly resisted, but it has now been
accepted as probably representing the truth. The identity of
vaccinia and "grease" is certainly much more doubtful.

To many of Jenner's contemporaries the view that vaccinia had
at one time been a disease of human beings seemed unlikely; but
we are now in a far better position to admit its probability
than were those of Jenner's time. We have since then learned
that man shares many diseases with the lower animals,
tuberculosis, plague, rabies, diphtheria and pleuro-pneumonia,
to mention only a few. We have also learned that certain lower
animals, insects for instance, are intermediary hosts in the
life-cycle of many minute parasites which cause serious
diseases in the human being, amongst which malaria, yellow
fever and the sleeping sickness are the most familiar.

It appears to have been understood before Jenner's time that
persons who had acquired cowpox by handling cattle, but
especially by milking cows, were immune from smallpox. In the
reign of Charles II. it is well known that the court beauties
envied the dairy-maids because having had cowpox, they could
not take smallpox which all women so dreaded. Dr. Corlett tells
us that the Duchess of Cleveland, one of the King's mistresses,
on being told that she might lose her place in the royal favor
if she were disfigured by smallpox, replied that she had
nothing to fear as she had had cowpox. In 1769 a German, Bose,
wrote on the subject of cowpox protecting from smallpox. In the
year 1774 a cattle dealer, Benjamin Jesty, at Yetminster, in
Dorset, inoculated his wife and three children with cowpox.
None of them ever took smallpox during the rest of their lives
although frequently exposed to its infection. Jesty died in
1816, and it is recorded on his tombstone that he was the first
person who inoculated cowpox to protect from smallpox. Cowpox,
or vaccinia, though infectious for cows, is not transmissible
among human beings, in other words, as a disease of man it is
not infectious. Edward Jenner, the Englishman of Berkeley in
Gloucestershire, was the first person to think scientifically
on the fact that cowpox protected from smallpox. John Hunter
had said to him, "Jenner, don't think, try." Luckily, however,
he did both. Thinking alone avails little, experimentation
alone avails not much, but the one along with the other has
removed mountains. Just as Newton thought scientifically about
that falling apple and reduced our conceptions of the universe
to order, just as Watt thought scientifically about that
kettle-lid lifted by the steam and so introduced the modern era
of mechanical power brought under man's control, so Jenner
thought about and experimented with cowpox until he had
satisfied himself that he had discovered something which would
rid the human race forever of the incubus of an intolerable
pestilence.

It was in 1780 that Jenner set himself to study cowpox in a way
that had never before been attempted, for he was convinced that
in the having had an attack of the disease lay the secret of
the conquest of that world-scourge. He confided in his fried
Edward Gardner about "a most important matter . . . which I
firmly believe will prove of essential benefit to the human
race . . . should anything untoward turn up in my experiments,
I should be made, particularly by my medical brethren, the
subject of ridicule." Luckily he was quite prepared for both
ridicule and opposition; for has not everything new been
ridiculed and opposed? Galileo was opposed, Bruno was opposed,
Copernicus was opposed, Harvey was opposed, George Stevenson
was opposed, Pasteur was ridiculed and opposed, and so were
Darwin, Simpson and even Lister. The physiological inertia even
of the educated has too often blocked the path of advancement:
but Jenner is in illustrious company, a prince amongst the
hierarchy of the misunderstood.

The facts or surmises before Jenner at this date, then,
were–(a) Cowpox produces an eruption extremely like that of
mild smallpox, it is, therefore, probably a form of smallpox
modified by transmission through the cow; (b) And an attack of
cowpox protects from smallpox. To test these things
experimentally some one must first be inoculated with cowpox,
and, having recovered from the vaccinia, that same person must,
secondly, be inoculated with the virus of smallpox or be
exposed to the infection, and, thirdly, this person ought not
to take the disease.

In 1788 Jenner had a careful drawing made of the hand of a
milkmaid suffering from cowpox to demonstrate to Sir Everard
Home how exceedingly similar were vaccinia and variola. Home
agreed it was "interesting and curious," and the subject began
to attract some attention in medical circles.

In November, 1789, Dr. Jenner inoculated his eldest child
Edward, aged 18 months, with some swinepox virus, and as
nothing untoward happened, he inoculated him again with
swinepox on April 7, 1791. The child had a slight illness, very
like vaccinia, from which he rapidly recovered. The moment for
the crucial experiment was not yet; it came in due time, but
Jenner had to wait five years for it, and five years are a long
time to a man who is yearning to perform his crucial
experiment. Happily for suffering humanity, in the early summer
of 1796 the opportunity came; the hour and the man were there
together.

Cowpox had broken out on a farm near Berkeley and a dairy maid
called Sarah Neames contracted the disease. On May 14, 1796,
Dr. Jenner took some fluid from a sore on this woman's hand and
inoculated it by slight scratching into the arm of a healthy
boy eight years old, by name James Phipps. The boy had the
usual "reaction" or attack of vaccinia, a disorder
indistinguishable from the mildest form of smallpox. After an
interval of six weeks, on July 1, Jenner made the most
momentous but justifiable experiment, for he inoculated James
Phipps with smallpox by lymph taken from a sore on a case of
genuine, well-marked, human smallpox, AND THE BOY DID NOT TAKE
THE DISEASE AT ALL. Jenner waited till the nineteenth of the
month, and finding that the boy had still not developed
variola, he could hardly write for joy. "Listen," he wrote to
Gardner, "to the most delightful part of my story. The boy has
since been inoculated for the smallpox which, aS I VERNTURED TO
PREDICT, produced no effect. I shall now pursue my experiments
with redoubled ardor."

Here we are behind the scenes at a great discovery; "as I
ventured to predict"; prediction is part of scientific
theorizing; there is a place for legitimate prediction as there
is for experimentation. All discoverers have made predictions;
Harvey predicted the existence of the capillaries, Halley
predicted the return of his comet, Adams predicted the place of
the planet Neptune, the missing link in the evolutionary series
of the fossil horses had been predicted long before it was
actually found by Professor Marsh. Pasteur predicted that the
sheep inoculated with the weak anthrax virus would be alive in
the anthrax-infected field, while those not so protected would
all be dead. A prediction verified is a conclusion
corroborated, an investigator encouraged.

Early in 1797, through another outbreak of cowpox, Jenner was
able to inoculate three persons with variola, only to find as
before that they were immune from smallpox. He now felt himself
justified in preparing a paper for the Royal Society, the
highest scientific tribunal in England. The council, however,
returned him his paper with the remark that in their opinion
the amount of evidence was not strong enough to warrant its
publication in the Transactions. Jenner was wise enough not to
be discouraged, and so in June, 1798, he published the paper
himself under the title, "Inquiry into the causes and effects
of the Variolae-Vacciniae, a disease discovered in some of the
western counties of England, particularly Gloucestershire, and
known by the name of cowpox." This historic pamphlet, which
ranks with the great classics of medicine, was dedicated to Dr.
O. H. Parry, of Bath. Later on the Royal Society was sagacious
enough to elect the very man whose paper it had previously
refused.

While in London attending to the publication of his pamphlet,
Dr. Jenner called on the great surgeon Mr. Cline, and left some
cowpox virus with him for trial. Cline inoculated a young
tubercular patient with vaccinia and later with smallpox in no
less than three places. In due time this patient did not show a
sign of smallpox. So impressed was Cline with this remarkable
result that he wrote to Jenner thus: "I think the substitution
of cowpox poison for smallpox one of the greatest improvements
that has ever been made in medicine. The more I think on the
subject, the more I am impressed with its importance."

The word "vaccination" was coined by the French, so remarkable
for the aptness of their descriptive terms, and it has ever
since remained with us as a convenient expression for the
inoculation of vaccinia as protecting from variola.[4]

[4] It is certainly not necessary to point out that the
principle of vaccination has been one of wide application in
modern medicine. Our word "vaccine" testifies to this. A
vaccine is a liquid, the result of bacterial growth, injected
into a patient in order to render him immune from that
particular disease which is caused by sufficient infection with
the microorganisms in question, e. g., of typhoid fever or of
plague.

Dr. Jenner's views were now becoming known, and the critics and
the doubters had appeared: St. Thomas has always had a large
following. The most formidable of the early objectors was Dr.
Igenhouz, who had come to London to study inoculation for
variola, and had already inoculated, among other notable
persons, the Archduchess Theresa Elizabeth of Vienna. The
careless vaccinations of Doctors Pearson and Woodville at the
London Smallpox Hospital brought much apparent discredit on
Jenner's work. In all his early work Jenner used lymph obtained
directly from papules on the cow or calf, but Woodville in 1799
showed that excellent results could be got from arm-to-arm
vaccination. As this latter method is a very convenient one,
the technique was widely adopted. We have to remember that we
are speaking of a period about sixty years before Lister gave
to suffering humanity that other great gift, antisepsis: and so
many arms "went wrong," not because of being vaccinated, but
because the scratches were afterwards infected by the
microorganisms of dirt. Jenner knew well the difference between
the reaction of clean vaccination and that of an infected arm,
but a great many medical men of his time did not, and so he was
constantly plagued with reports of vaccinations "going wrong"
when it was septic infection of uncleansed skin that had
occurred. The explanation of these things by letter consumed a
very great deal of his valuable time. By the end of 1799 a
large number of persons had, however, been successfully
vaccinated. As one Pearson proved troublesome by starting an
institution for public vaccination on principles which Jenner
knew to be wrong, and as Jenner found himself virtually
supplanted and misrepresented, he came up to London in 1800 to
vindicate his position. The King, the Queen and the Prince of
Wales, to whom he was presented, materially helped on the cause
by countenancing the practice of vaccination. Lord Berkeley,
his Lord of the Manor, was in this as in all things a kind and
wise patron. In the United States of America vaccination made
rapid progress, having been introduced there under the good
auspices of Dr. Waterhouse, professor of medicine at Cambridge,
Mass. The discovery was announced with true American
informality as "Something curious in the medical line," on
March 12, 1799.

Things went even better on the continent of Europe; deCarro, of
Vienna, inaugurated vaccination with such zeal and
discrimination that it spread to Switzerland, France, Italy and
Spain. From Spain it passed over to Latin America. In Sicily
and Naples, "the blessed vaccine" was received by religious
processions. Sacco, of Milan, commenced vaccinating in 1801,
and in a few years had vaccinated 20,000. In Paris, a Vaccine
Institute was established; and Napoleon ordered all his
soldiers who had not had smallpox to be vaccinated. On Jenner's
application, the Emperor liberated several English prisoners
remarking–"What that man asks is not to be refused." Napoleon
voted 100,000 francs for the propagation of vaccination. Lord
Elgin introduced it into Turkey and Greece. The Empress of
Russia, Catherine II., was one of the greatest supporters of
Jennerian vaccination. She decreed that the first child
vaccinated in Russia should be called "Vaccinoff," should be
conveyed to Petrograd in an imperial coach, educated at the
expense of the state and receive a pension for life. The
Emperor of Austria and the King of Spain released English
prisoners at Jenner's request. There were statues of Jenner
erected abroad, at Boulogne and at Brunn, in Moravia, before
any in England. Thus the European countries showed their
gratitude to the Englishman whose patience, genius and absence
of self-seeking had rid them of the detestable world-plague of
smallpox. Vaccination was made compulsory by law in no less
than five European countries before it was so in the United
Kingdom in 1853. In eight countries vaccination is provided
free at the expense of the government. The clergy of Geneva and
of Holland from their pulpits recommended their people to be
vaccinated. In Germany, Jenner's birthday (May 17) was
celebrated as a holiday. Within six years, Jenner's gift to
humanity had been accepted with that readiness with which the
drowning clutch at straws. The most diverse climes, races,
tongues and religions were united in blessing vaccination and
its discoverer. The North American Indians forwarded to Dr.
Jenner a quaintly worded address full of the deepest gratitude
for what he had saved them from: "We shall not fail," said
these simple people, "to teach our children to speak the name
of Jenner, and to thank the Great Spirit for bestowing upon him
so much wisdom and so much benevolence."

There are two allusions to smallpox in "Don Juan," which was
published in 1819, showing to what an extent Jennerian
teachings were in the air. The first is:

The doctor paid off an old pox
By borrowing a new one from an ox.
(Canto I., stanza 129.)

The second is:

I said the smallpox has gone out of late,
Perhaps it may be followed by the great.
(Stanza 130.)

Before 1812, Jenner had been made an honorary member of nearly
every scientific society in Europe, and had received the
freedom of the cities of London, Edinburgh, Dublin and Glasgow.
The Medical Society of London presented him with a gold medal
struck in his honor; in Berlin in 1812 there was a Jennerian
festival on the anniversary of Phipps's vaccination. Addresses
and diplomas were showered on him, and in 1813 the University
of Oxford conferred on him the degree of M.D. honoris causa. As
he refused point blank to pass the examination in Latin and
Greek required by the Royal College of Physicians of London,
Jenner never obtained admission into that learned body. When
some one recommended him to revise his classics so that he
might become an F.R.C.P. he replied, "I would not do it for a
diadem"; and then, thinking of a far better reward, added: "I
would not do it for John Hunter's museum."

But while the pure in heart were thus receiving the blessing
offered them by the benovelent man of science, the pests of
society, those discontented and jaundiced ones who are always
to be found in the dark recesses of the cave of Adullam, were
not idle. Many of his medical colleagues did indeed sneer, as
some are always apt to do at any new thing however good. To all
these Jenner replied, and a very great deal of his valuable
time was consumed in arguing with them. But the sect of the
anti-vaccinators had arisen, and was to some extent organized.
Caricatures, lampoons, scurrilities, vulgarities and
misrepresentations, the mean, were scattered on all sides.
Nothing was too absurd to be stated or believed–that
vaccinated persons had their faces grow like oxen, that they
coughed like cows, bellowed like bulls and became hairy on the
body. One omniscient objector declared that, "vaccination was
the most degrading relapse of philosophy that had ever
disgraced the civilized world." A Dr. Rowley, evidently
imagining himself honored by a special participation in the
Divine counsels, declared that "smallpox is a visitation from
God, but cowpox is produced by presumptuous man. The former was
what Heaven had ordained, the latter is a daring violation of
our holy religion." It was rather hard to blame Dr. Jenner for
the origin of cowpox. It took much forbearance to endure this
sort of thing; but Jenner's was a first-class mind and he
evidently dealt leniently even with fools. It was not for the
first time in the world's history that a lover of mankind had
been spurned with the words–"He hath a devil and is mad."

Besides enduring all these mental and physical worries, and the
annoyance that the Royal Jennerian Society established in 1802
was so mismanaged that it collapsed in 1808, Jenner had spent a
very large sum of private money on the introduction of
vaccination. He had been, as he himself expressed it, "Vaccine
clerk to the whole world." Parliament, it is true, in 1801,
voted him a sum of 10,000 pounds which was not paid for three
years afterwards and was diminished by 1,000 pounds deducted
for fees, so that it barely recompensed him for his outlays. By
1806, the immensity of the benefit conferred upon his diseased
fellow-creatures having been recognized more perfectly in every
other country than his own, the British Parliament woke up, and
voted him a sum of 20,000 pounds, only one member representing
the anti-vaccinators opposing the grant. Parliament, which had
previously received from the Colleges of Physicians of London,
Edinburgh and Dublin the most favorable reports of the efficacy
of vaccination, decided to reestablish the Royal Jennerian
Institute. A subscription of 7,383 pounds from grateful India
reached Jenner in 1812. In 1814 he was in London for the last
time, when he was presented to the Emperor of Russia, Alexander
I., who told him that he had very nearly subdued smallpox
throughout that vast Empire. Jenner refused a Russian order on
the ground that he was not a man of independent means.

The management of the Institute caused him much concern in his
later years; he disapproved of the personnel and of many of the
details of its working. One of the last worries of his life was
an article in the November number for 1822 of the famous
Edinburgh Review. Although it contained a good deal of praise,
it was not favorable to Jenner, who said of it, "I put it down
at 100,000 deaths at least." I have ascertained that this
article was not written by the celebrated Francis Jeffrey,
although he was editor of the Review until 1829.

Jenner's life, apart from his great discovery and his
developing the practice of vaccination, has not much incident
in it. He was born on May 17, 1749, the son of the Rev. Stephen
Jenner, vicar of Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England, the same
Berkeley in whose castle, Edward II., the vanquished at
Banockburn, was murdered in 1327. Jenner's mother's name was
Head. Edward went to school at Wotton-under-Edge and at
Cirencester, and began to study medicine with a Mr. Ludlow, a
surgeon at Sodbury near Bristol. In his twenty-first year,
Jenner went to London as a pupil of the great John Hunter, in
whose house, he lived two years, during which time he was
entered as a medical student at St. George's Hospital. It is
interesting to know that while still a student he was asked by
Sir Joseph Banks to arrange and catalogue the zoological
specimens brought home by the circumnavigator Captain Cook in
his first voyage of 1771. Jenner devoted considerable attention
to natural history, to geology and to the study of fossils, on
which topics he kept up correspondence with Hunter long after
he left London. In the year 1788 he married a Miss Kingscote,
and settled down to practice in his native place. Mrs. Jenner
died in 1815, after which date Jenner never left Berkeley
again.

Curiously enough, it was not until 1792 that Jenner obtained
the degree of M.D., and it was not from an English university
at all, but from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland.
This university, the smallest although the oldest of the
Scottish universities, has therefore the honor of being the
Alma Mater to the epoch-making Englishman. I have seen the
entry of the name in the list of graduates for the year 1792;
it has evidently been misspelled, for the name is corrected.
The first foreign university to recognize Jenner's eminence was
Gottingen. In 1794 Jenner had an attack of typhus fever. Jenner
never cared for London or a city life, and although in 1808 he
was persuaded to take a house in town, he soon gave it up and
went back to his beautiful Gloucestershire. For many years he
practiced during the season in the pleasant health-resort of
Cheltenham. He loved the country, he studied lovingly the
living things around him there: many are familiar with a piece
of verse he wrote on "The signs of rain."

The year 1810 was a sad one for Jenner: his eldest son died,
and that noticeably depressed his health. In 1823 he presented
a paper to the Royal Society on the migration of birds, a
subject not even yet fully cleared up. On January 26, in the
same year, he was stricken with paralysis on the right side and
died within twenty-four hours. His body was buried in the
chancel of the parish church of Berkeley, where there is a
memorial window placed by public subscription. In person,
Edward Jenner was short and rather heavily built; his
expression of face was pleasant with a touch of sadness. All
reports agree that in dress he was conspicuously neat, looking
more like a gentleman-farmer than a physician, with his blue
coat, yellow buttons, red waistcoat, buff breeches and
top-boots.[5]

[5] He was painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, by Northcote and by
Vigneron.

There is no disguising the fact that during his lifetime Dr.
Jenner was much more appreciated in foreign countries than in
England. The medico-social club of Alverton, near where he
lived, would not listen to him when he addressed them on
vaccination. The effort to collect enough money from the
medical men of England in order to place a marble statue to
Jenner in the nave of Gloucester Cathedral, was successful only
after a long delay. An attempt to erect a statue in London died
of apathy; but in 1858, 32 years after he died, a statue was
erected in Trafalgar Square. In 1862 it was removed to a quiet
corner of Kensington gardens; and perhaps its surroundings, the
trees, the flowers and the birds he loved are more suitable
than the effigies of those national heroes who served their
country by taking, not by saving life. No, Nelson the hero is
hardly the suitable companion for Jenner the hero.

There is no doubt that Jenner's medical contemporaries, at
least in England, failed to appreciate the magnitude of the
gift their colleague had presented not merely to his own
country, but to the world at large. The discovery had, of
course, been led up to by several different lines of
indication, but this in no way detracts from the genius of
Jenner in drawing his memorable inductions from the few facts
which others had known before his time. The fame of Newton is
no whit diminished because Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo lived
and worked before him, the credit due to Harvey is none the
less because many before his time had worked on the problem of
the heart and vessels, and because some of them, notably
Cesalpinus, came within a very little of the discovery of the
circulation; the achievements of Darwin are not to be belittled
because Lamarck, Malthus or Monboddo had notions in accordance
with the tenor of his great generalization of evolution among
living beings. Certainly Jenner had precursors; but it was his
genius and his genius alone which, putting together the various
fragments of knowledge already possessed, gave us the grand but
simple induction based on his own experiments that vaccinia
prevents from variola. It was too simple and too new to be
appreciated in all its bearings either by the medical men or
the laity of his own day. Its impressiveness is not inherent in
it, as it is in the mathematical demonstration of universal
gravitation, as it is in the atomic theory or in that of the
survival of the fittest through natural selection. The English
country doctor merely said in essence–"let me give you cowpox
and you will not get smallpox." Unless the fact of this
immunity is regarded as possessed by all the nations of the
world for ever more there is nothing particularly impressive in
it; and so it failed to impress his contemporaries. It is only
when we contrast the loathsomeness and danger of smallpox with
the mildness and safety of vaccinia and varioloid that we grasp
the greatness of the work which Jenner did for mankind. The
very simplicity of vaccination detracts from its impressiveness
unless its results are viewed through the vista of the
centuries. We need the proper historical perspective in this as
in all else. Thus viewed, however, the simplicity of the
procedure and the universality of its application are most
imposing. Vaccination does not, indeed, dazzle the scientific
imagination like some of the other generalizations of biology,
but it is one that has been gloriously vindicated by the
subsequent history of the world's hygiene.

Jenner knew himself to be a benefactor of the human race; he
would have been insincere if he had pretended otherwise; he
finished his first paper with these words: "I shall endeavor
still farther to prosecute this enquiry, an enquiry, I trust,
not merely speculative, but of sufficient moment to inspire the
pleasing hope of its becoming essentially useful to mankind";
and on his death-bed he said, "I do not marvel that men are not
grateful to me, but I am surprised that they do not feel
grateful to God for making me a medium of good."

In private life Dr. Jenner was amiable and kind-hearted. Dibden
said of him: "I never knew a man of simpler mind or of warmer
heart." He was particularly kind to the poor. Dr. Matthew
Baillie said of him: "Jenner might have been immensely rich if
he had not published his discovery."

We may in conclusion examine some of the objections to and
criticisms of vaccination. The objections can be classified as
those entertained (a) by medical men and (b) those by the
public generally.

The objections raised by medical men are now a matter of
ancient history. Each generation of medical men has refused at
first to admit any new teaching promulgated in its time;
physiological inertia is not at once overcome. The most
enlightened of Jenner's critics did really believe that he was
drawing too extensive an induction from insufficient data; this
was the position of the Royal Society in 1788; but the
Edinburgh reviewer of 1822 should have known better. The purely
technical criticisms of Jenner's work have by this time been
fully assessed and replied to. It is true that at one time it
was not clear what were the relationships of chickenpox and
smallpox, of vaccinia and variola, of vaccinia and varioloid,
of the various forms of pox in animals–cowpox, swinepox,
horsepox or grease–either inter se or to human smallpox. But I
do not suppose that in this year of grace 1914 there can be
found one properly trained medical man, acquainted with the
history of Jennerian vaccination, familiar with the ravages of
smallpox and with the protective power of vaccinia, who could
be induced, by no matter how large a bribe, to say that he
disapproved of vaccination or that he believed it did not
protect from smallpox. There are cranks in all walks of life,
but the medical crank who is also an anti-vaccinationist is
happily the rarest of them all.

The lay objectors–the professed anti-vaccinators–are with us
yet in spite of some very serious lessons which have been
taught them. We may pass by the objectors of the class who
believe that vaccinated persons cough like cows and bellow like
bulls; these objections go into the limbo of old wives' fables
or into the category of wilful misrepresentation. Unfortunately
there is a large class of persons who can believe the absurdest
nonsense about any subject which is particularly distasteful to
them.[6] Another class of objection is the sentimental
repugnance to the idea of being given one of the diseases of
"the lower animals." Now the fact is that already we share a
great many diseases with the lower animals, a few of them being
tuberculosis, anthrax, rabies, tetanus, cancer,
pleuro-pneumonia, certain insect-borne diseases, some parasitic
worm diseases and some skin diseases like favus. As the
knowledge of the lowly origin of many of our diseases is more
widespread, this sort of objection will die out.

[6] Antivaccinators constantly allude to calf-lymph as "filth";
if lymph is filth, then I am able to assure them that each one
of them has about three liters of it in his own body.

An objection which is worthy of more consideration is that in
being vaccinated a child is apt to contract some infectious
disease such as tuberculosis or syphilis which are the two most
dreaded. Now so long as arm-to-arm vaccination was the routine
practice, there was a remote probability that this sort of
accident might occur. It appears to be true that a few
accidents of this kind have occurred, just as a few arms have
become septic or had erysipelas develop in them. But when the
few such cases are compared with the millions and millions of
uncomplicated vaccinations, their importance becomes very
insignificant. Now that arm-to-arm vaccination is no longer
practiced, but fresh calf-lymph used for each child, these
accidental inoculations are a thing of the past. The ignorance
of cause and effect is responsible for a great deal of the most
childish objections to vaccination as to much else. One woman
lately told me that she could not have her child vaccinated
because a child in the same street was made a cripple for life
by being vaccinated. Could we have a better example of the
"post hoc sed non propter hoc."[7]

[7] Now and again, however, we have the sad spectacle of some
one really well educated but apparently either ignorant of
logic or desirous of wilfully misrepresenting facts. The Hon.
Stephen Coleridge has an article in the June (1914) number of
the Contemporary Review which is, to say the least of it,
highly immoral in ethics and statistics.

I shall examine only that part of it bearing on vaccination.
The statements are that in the last five recorded years, 58
persons died from smallpox vaccination (he means vaccination
against smallpox), whereas in the same five years, 85 persons
died from smallpox itself. The inference we are intended to
draw from these figures is that to be vaccinated is nearly as
fatal as to have smallpox itself.

Now this kind of argument is a very common one with
statistically immoral persons, and is known as the suppression
of the ratio. Before we can appreciate the fact that in five
years 58 persons died after being vaccinated, we at least need
to know the total number of persons who were vaccinated. If
only 58 persons were vaccinated and they all died, then the
mortality was 100 per cent., but if, as was practically the
case, thousands of infants in Great Britain were vaccinated in
five years, then if only 58 died after vaccination (although
not necessarily in consequence of it) the mortality falls some
thousands of a per cent. The suppression of the ratio, i. e.,
58/many thousands is the deceit that is practiced.

Fifty-eight per year for five years, is 11.6 deaths per year of
persons vaccinated: presumably these were infants: taking the
birth-rate in England as 30 per 1,000 living, we may say that
900,000 infants were born; deduct 100,000 as not vaccinated, we
have 800,000 infants vaccinated, of these 11.6 died after being
vaccinated, which is 0.0014 per cent. This is not much of a
mortality from any cause; but using Mr. Coleridge's own
figures, it is a splendid demonstration of the safety of
infant-vaccination, the opposite of what he pretends it shows.

Mr. Coleridge proceeds to tell us that in five years 85 persons
died of smallpox in Great Britain, i. e., an average of 17
persons per year. In other words 17 persons died of smallpox in
a country with 30 million inhabitants, or 0.000056 per cent. of
persons living, not a high mortality. And we strongly suspect,
may we hope, that those 17 were persons who had not been
vaccinated.

But in Pre-Jennerian days, 17 persons died of smallpox out of
every 100 persons dying from all causes.

Mr. Coleridge's figures, properly and honestly interpreted,
testify loudly to conclusions exactly the opposite of what he
desires to insinuate; he has no doubt taken the statistics of
the Registrar-General, but he has prostituted them.

Mr. Coleridge's paper could not be a better example of the art
of concealing the causes of phenomena.

He exhibits the following table:

Deaths from smallpox per annum per a million living:

1862-1870 …………………………… 172.2
1871-1880 …………………………… 244.6
1881-1890 …………………………… 45.8
1891-1900 …………………………… 13.3
1901-1910 …………………………… 12.8

So that the table shows that since 1880 in Great Britain the
deaths from smallpox per million per year have declined until
they are only about 1/14th of their original number.

The natural inference from these figures, viewed in the light
of the history of smallpox in Great Britain, is that compulsory
vaccination has been steadily eradicating the disease; but this
is not Mr. Coleridge's conclusion: He says it is due to the
large number of persons who have refused to be vaccinated! This
would be laughable if it were not really serious; it is sad and
serious that a man of Mr. Coleridge's education and social
position should so consistently mislead the uncritical readers
of the Contemporary Review to whose pages he has unfortunately
very free access. If Mr. Coleridge really believes these things
he is either very stupid or very ignorant; if he knows them to
be otherwise, but wilfully deceives the public, he is immoral.
He suffers from the worst form of bias, the anti-scientific.
{the end of long footnote}

There is still that group of persons who object to
everything–anti-vivisection, anti-meat eating, anti-breakfast,
anti-hats and of course also anti-vaccination. They are anti
the usual and the normal that are quite good enough for the
most of people. They generally also believe that the earth is
flat; they are past praying for, all we can do with them is to
look them, like the difficulty of Jonah and the whale, "full in
the face and pass on."

Many people at the present time allow themselves to be
persuaded into being anti-vaccinators because neither they nor
their deluders have ever known what an epidemic of smallpox is,
have never seen with their own eyes the awful spectacle of a
person suffering from smallpox in any of its forms–discrete,
confluent or hemorrhagic. Thanks to this very Jenner, the world
has now for 100 years been almost free from epidemic, virulent
smallpox and most perfectly so in the vaccinated countries, so
that millions, the majority, of Englishmen, have never seen a
case of smallpox at all. Not knowing the awful danger they have
escaped, through Great Britain having had compulsory
vaccination since 1853, they have become lax in their belief in
the necessity for the continuance of that precaution. "They
jest at scars that never felt a wound." Towns such as
Gloucester in England, in which a large number of children have
been allowed to grow up unvaccinated, have always been visited
sooner or later by a serious outbreak of smallpox. It must be
so; the laws of natural phenomena can not be changed to suit
the taste of those persons who are mentally incapable of
understanding them. They can not be evaded; ignorance of the
law is no more an excuse in the realm of natural than of
man-made law.

We now come to that undesirable product of present-day,
grandmotherly legislation, the conscientious objector. As I am
not a politician, I shall not say anything for or against the
policy of inserting in a bill which makes vaccination
compulsory a clause giving to the conscientious objector the
power or right to refuse to have his child vaccinated, but as a
medical man who knows a little of the history of medicine, I
can only describe it as gratuitous folly. I am one of those who
believe that the laity should have no say in the matter of
whether any given procedure is or is not advantageous for the
public health. The efficacy of universal inoculation of
vaccinia as a prophylactic against variola is a question of
scientific medicine to be decided on technical grounds and
ought not to be a matter open to debate by the public at all.
It is perfectly monstrous to suppose that the ordinary person,
quite untrained to weigh evidence for or against the
advisability of the carrying out of a particular form of
national immunization against a horrid disease, is qualified to
form any opinion. He might as well be consulted on the
advisability of making the channel tunnel or on the safest type
of aeroplane or on any other subject involving the technical
training of the engineer. To permit the so-called "man in the
street" to say whether he shall or shall not permit the
carrying out of some important piece of civic hygiene is to
introduce a principle subversive of all system and obstructive
of all progress in the science of public health. It is absurd
that in a case like this the pronouncements of the judges are
to be submitted to the criticisms of the jury. England has
already had one or two pretty severe lessons through allowing
such places as Gloucester and Leicester to exercise their right
of private judgment on the question of vaccination. In
Gloucester where there was at one time a vigorous
anti-vaccination movement, a serious epidemic overtook the city
a few years ago (1896). What science pronounces to be
beneficial, the layman must submit to. What we want in these
days is less superstition and more faith–in science. I am
informed that there are more than 2,000 unvaccinated children
in the schools of this city at the present moment, and all
because a piece of legislation allows any unintelligent,
prejudiced or credulous parent to decide on the momentous
question of the vaccination of his children.

Our quarantine regulations are extremely strict, and rightly
so, on the subject of smallpox; but is it not a farce to take
so much trouble about the health of our immigrants when inside
the city we are all the time encouraging a high degree of
receptivity towards this very disease? I should call this a
very clear case of straining at the international gnat and
swallowing the municipal camel. The community at present is at
the mercy of its least instructed members. A most sensible
suggestion is that if an outbreak of smallpox occurs in
Halifax, the cost of it should be borne by the unvaccinated and
by the anti-vaccinators. The fact is we have forgotten what
smallpox is like. In 1796 before Jennerian vaccination, the
death-rate from smallpox in England was 18.5 per cent. of
deaths from all causes; in London between 1838 and 1869 it was
1.4 per cent., while in 1871–the worst year for smallpox since
vaccination became compulsory–the deaths from smallpox were
barely 4.5 per cent. of deaths from all causes, a proportion
which was exceeded 93 times in the eighteenth century. At the
present moment the deaths from smallpox in London constitute a
little under 0.24 per cent. of deaths from all causes, or 77
times less than in pre-Jennerian times.

According to MacVail, in the pre-vaccination period smallpox
was nine times as fatal as measles and seven and one half times
as fatal as whooping cough. To-day in the vaccinated community
its fatality is negligable, in the unvaccinated it is as high
as it was in the Middle Ages. In the city of Berlin, where
vaccination is absolutely compulsory, there is no smallpox
hospital at all; the cases of smallpox in that city being only
a few unvaccinated foreigners. In 1912 the deaths in New York
City were as follow: 671 from measles, 614 from scarlatina, 500
from typhoid fever, 187 from whooping cough and 2 from
smallpox.

In London there were in 48 years of the seventeenth century no
less than 10 epidemics of smallpox; in the whole of the
eighteenth, 19; and in the nineteenth no epidemic at all during
which smallpox was responsible for more than one tenth of the
deaths from all causes in any one year.

In Sweden, the highest death-rate before vaccination was 7.23
per 1,000 persons, the lowest 0.30; under permissive
vaccination the highest was 2.57, the lowest 0.12; under
compulsory vaccination the highest was 0.94, the lowest 0.0005.

It is so frequently said that the disappearance of smallpox is
due not to vaccination, but to improved general hygiene, that
we must look into this criticism with some care. In the first
place, a large diminution in the mortality from smallpox
occurred before there was any great change in the unsanitary
conditions of the English towns, before there was any enforcing
of the isolation of patients either in hospitals or in their
own homes. Since the introduction of vaccination, measles and
whooping cough still remain in the status quo ante, while
smallpox has been exterminated in all fully vaccinated
communities, these two diseases of children are as prevalent as
ever in England even although the general sanitary conditions
have been immensely improved in that country. Of course the
effects of vaccination wear out in time, and that is why it is
well to be revaccinated once or twice. Now there has been a
remarkable progressive change in the age-incidence of smallpox
"which can only be explained," says Dr. Newsholme, "on the
assumption that vaccination protects children from smallpox and
that the protection diminishes, though it never entirely
disappears, as age advances.

The "conscience clause" should be immediately removed from the
act in which it was inserted on the grounds that it is weak and
reactionary in principle, not in the interests of the
development of the legislative aspect of the science of public
health, and that it permits in certain unintelligent
communities quite a considerable number of unvaccinated
children to grow up as a permanent menace to their town and
district.

When the history of medicine becomes more widely known, when
the principles of prophylactic inoculation are more generally
understood, when respect for science is the rule rather than
the exception, when great achievements in the saving rather
than the destroying of life are objects of national veneration,
then we may hope to see the day when it will be unhesitatingly
admitted that the discovery by Dr. Edward Jenner, the
Englishman, was one of the most momentous in the history of the
human race, and that his life was one of the noblest, most
unselfish and, in its far-reaching effects, most important that
has ever been lived on this planet.

THE VALUE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH

BY W. A. HAMOR

MELLON INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH, UNIVERSITY OF
PITTSBURGH

THE aim of all industrial operations is toward perfection, both
in process and mechanical equipment, and every development in
manufacturing creates new problems. It is only to be expected,
therefore, that the industrial researcher is becoming less and
less regarded as a burden unwarranted by returns.
Industrialists have, in fact, learned to recognize chemistry as
the intelligence department of industry, and manufacturing is
accordingly becoming more and more a system of scientific
processes. The accruement of technical improvements in
particularly the great chemical industry is primarily dependent
upon systematic industrial research, and this is being
increasingly fostered by American manufacturers.

Ten thousand American chemists are at present engaged in
pursuits which affect over 1,000,000 wage-earners and produce
over $5,000,000,000 worth of manufactured products each year.
These trained men have actively and effectively collaborated in
bringing about stupendous results in American industry. There
are, in fact, at least nineteen American industries in which
the chemist has been of great assistance, either in founding
the industry, in developing it, or in refining the methods of
control or of manufacture, thus ensuring profits, lower costs
and uniform outputs.

At the recent symposium on the contributions of the chemist to
American industries, at the fiftieth meeting of the American
Chemical Society in New Orleans, the industrial achievements of
that scientific scout, the chemist, were brought out
clearly.[1]

[1] In this connection, see Hesse, J. Ind. Eng. Chem., 7
(1915), 293.

The chemist has made the wine industry reasonably independent
of climatic conditions; he has enabled it to produce
substantially the same wine, year in and year out, no matter
what the weather; he has reduced the spoilage from 25 per cent.
to 0.46 per cent. of the total; he has increased the shipping
radius of the goods and has made preservatives unnecessary. In
the copper industry he has learned and has taught how to make
operations so constant and so continuous that in the
manufacture of blister copper valuations are less than $1.00
apart on every $10,000 worth of product and in refined copper
the valuations of the product do not differ by more than $1.00
in every $50,000 worth of product. The quality of output is
maintained constant within microscopic differences. Without the
chemist the corn-products industry would never have arisen and
in 1914 this industry consumed as much corn as was grown in
that year by the nine states of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont,
Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey
and Delaware combined; this amount is equal to the entire
production of the state of North Carolina and about 80 per
cent. of the production of each of the states of Georgia,
Michigan and Wisconsin; the chemist has produced over 100
useful commercial products from corn, which, without him, would
never have been produced. In the asphalt industry the chemist
has taught how to lay a road surface that will always be good,
and he has learned and taught how to construct a suitable road
surface for different conditions of service. In the cottonseed
oil industry, the chemist standardized methods of production,
reduced losses, increased yields, made new use of wastes and
by-products, and has added somewhere between $10 and $12 to the
value of each bale of cotton grown. In the cement industry, the
chemist has ascertained new ingredients, has utilized
theretofore waste products for this purpose, has reduced the
waste heaps of many industries and made them his starting
material; he has standardized methods of manufacture,
introduced methods of chemical control and has insured
constancy and permanency of quality and quantity of output. In
the sugar industry, the chemist has been active for so long a
time that "the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." The
sugar industry without the chemist is unthinkable. The Welsbach
mantle is distinctly a chemist's invention and its successful
and economical manufacture depends largely upon chemical
methods. It would be difficult to give a just estimate of the
economic effect of this device upon illumination, so great and
valuable is it. In the textile industry, he has substituted
uniform, rational, well-thought out and simple methods of
treatment of all the various textile fabrics and fibers where
mystery, empiricism, "rule-of-thumb" and their accompanying
uncertainties reigned. In the fertilizer industry, it was the
chemist who learned and who taught how to make our immense beds
of phosphate rock useful and serviceable to man in the
enrichment of the soil; he has taught how to make waste
products of other industries useful and available for
fertilization and he has shown how to make the gas works
contribute to the fertility of the soil. In the soda industry,
the chemist can successfully claim that he has founded it,
developed it and brought it to its present state of perfection
and utility, but not without the help of other technical men;
the fundamental ideas were and are chemical. In the leather
industry, the chemist has given us all of the modern methods of
mineral tanning, and without them the modern leather industry
is unthinkable. In the case of vegetable-tanned leather he has
also stepped in, standardized the quality of incoming material
and of outgoing product. In the flour industry the chemist has
learned and taught how to select the proper grain for specific
purposes, to standardize the product, and how to make flour
available for certain specific culinary and food purposes. In
the brewing industry, the chemist has standardized the methods
of determining the quality of incoming material and of outgoing
products, and has assisted in the development of a product of a
quality far beyond that obtaining prior to his entry into that
industry. In the preservation of foods, the chemist made the
fundamental discoveries; up to twenty years ago, however, he
took little or no part in the commercial operations, but now is
almost indispensable to commercial success. In the water supply
of cities, the chemist has put certainty in the place of
uncertainty; he has learned and has shown how, by chemical
methods of treatment and control, raw water of varying quality
can be made to yield potable water of substantially uniform
composition and quality. The celluloid industry and the
nitro-cellulose industry owe their very existence and much of
their development to the chemist. In the glass industry the
chemist has learned and taught how to prepare glasses suitable
for the widest ranges of uses and to control the quality and
quantity of the output. In the pulp and paper industry, the
chemist made the fundamental observations, inventions and
operations and to-day he is in control of all the operations of
the plant itself; to the chemist also is due the cheap
production of many of the materials entering into this
industry, as well as the increased and expanding market for the
product itself.

III.
THE RECOGNITION

From this intense consciousness of being the object of severe and
universal observation, the wearer of the scarlet letter was at length
relieved, by discerning, on the outskirts of the crowd, a figure which
irresistibly took possession of her thoughts. An Indian in his native
garb was standing there; but the red men were not so infrequent
visitors of the English settlements that one of them would have
attracted any notice from Hester Prynne at such a time; much less would
he have excluded all other objects and ideas from her mind. By the
Indian’s side, and evidently sustaining a companionship with him, stood
a white man, clad in a strange disarray of civilized and savage
costume.

He was small in stature, with a furrowed visage, which as yet could
hardly be termed aged. There was a remarkable intelligence in his
features, as of a person who had so cultivated his mental part that it
could not fail to mould the physical to itself and become manifest by
unmistakable tokens. Although, by a seemingly careless arrangement of
his heterogeneous garb, he had endeavoured to conceal or abate the
peculiarity, it was sufficiently evident to Hester Prynne that one of
this man’s shoulders rose higher than the other. Again, at the first
instant of perceiving that thin visage, and the slight deformity of the
figure, she pressed her infant to her bosom with so convulsive a force
that the poor babe uttered another cry of pain. But the mother did not
seem to hear it.

At his arrival in the market-place, and some time before she saw him,
the stranger had bent his eyes on Hester Prynne. It was carelessly at
first, like a man chiefly accustomed to look inward, and to whom
external matters are of little value and import, unless they bear
relation to something within his mind. Very soon, however, his look
became keen and penetrative. A writhing horror twisted itself across
his features, like a snake gliding swiftly over them, and making one
little pause, with all its wreathed intervolutions in open sight. His
face darkened with some powerful emotion, which, nevertheless, he so
instantaneously controlled by an effort of his will, that, save at a
single moment, its expression might have passed for calmness. After a
brief space, the convulsion grew almost imperceptible, and finally
subsided into the depths of his nature. When he found the eyes of
Hester Prynne fastened on his own, and saw that she appeared to
recognize him, he slowly and calmly raised his finger, made a gesture
with it in the air, and laid it on his lips.

Then touching the shoulder of a townsman who stood near to him, he
addressed him in a formal and courteous manner:

“I pray you, good Sir,” said he, “who is this woman?—and wherefore is
she here set up to public shame?”

“You must needs be a stranger in this region, friend,” answered the
townsman, looking curiously at the questioner and his savage companion,
“else you would surely have heard of Mistress Hester Prynne and her
evil doings. She hath raised a great scandal, I promise you, in godly
Master Dimmesdale’s church.”

“You say truly,” replied the other; “I am a stranger, and have been a
wanderer, sorely against my will. I have met with grievous mishaps by
sea and land, and have been long held in bonds among the heathen-folk
to the southward; and am now brought hither by this Indian to be
redeemed out of my captivity. Will it please you, therefore, to tell me
of Hester Prynne’s—have I her name rightly?—of this woman’s offences,
and what has brought her to yonder scaffold?”

“Truly, friend; and methinks it must gladden your heart, after your
troubles and sojourn in the wilderness,” said the townsman, “to find
yourself at length in a land where iniquity is searched out and
punished in the sight of rulers and people, as here in our godly New
England. Yonder woman, Sir, you must know, was the wife of a certain
learned man, English by birth, but who had long ago dwelt in Amsterdam,
whence some good time agone he was minded to cross over and cast in his
lot with us of the Massachusetts. To this purpose he sent his wife
before him, remaining himself to look after some necessary affairs.
Marry, good Sir, in some two years, or less, that the woman has been a
dweller here in Boston, no tidings have come of this learned gentleman,
Master Prynne; and his young wife, look you, being left to her own
misguidance—”

“Ah!—aha!—I conceive you,” said the stranger with a bitter smile. “So
learned a man as you speak of should have learned this too in his
books. And who, by your favour, Sir, may be the father of yonder
babe—it is some three or four months old, I should judge—which Mistress
Prynne is holding in her arms?”

“Of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and the Daniel who
shall expound it is yet a-wanting,” answered the townsman. “Madame
Hester absolutely refuseth to speak, and the magistrates have laid
their heads together in vain. Peradventure the guilty one stands
looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man, and forgetting that
God sees him.”

“The learned man,” observed the stranger with another smile, “should
come himself to look into the mystery.”

“It behoves him well if he be still in life,” responded the townsman.
“Now, good Sir, our Massachusetts magistracy, bethinking themselves
that this woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless was strongly
tempted to her fall, and that, moreover, as is most likely, her husband
may be at the bottom of the sea, they have not been bold to put in
force the extremity of our righteous law against her. The penalty
thereof is death. But in their great mercy and tenderness of heart they
have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space of three hours on the
platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for the remainder of
her natural life to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom.”

“A wise sentence,” remarked the stranger, gravely, bowing his head.
“Thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious
letter be engraved upon her tombstone. It irks me, nevertheless, that
the partner of her iniquity should not at least, stand on the scaffold
by her side. But he will be known—he will be known!—he will be known!”

He bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and whispering a
few words to his Indian attendant, they both made their way through the
crowd.

While this passed, Hester Prynne had been standing on her pedestal,
still with a fixed gaze towards the stranger—so fixed a gaze that, at
moments of intense absorption, all other objects in the visible world
seemed to vanish, leaving only him and her. Such an interview, perhaps,
would have been more terrible than even to meet him as she now did,
with the hot mid-day sun burning down upon her face, and lighting up
its shame; with the scarlet token of infamy on her breast; with the
sin-born infant in her arms; with a whole people, drawn forth as to a
festival, staring at the features that should have been seen only in
the quiet gleam of the fireside, in the happy shadow of a home, or
beneath a matronly veil at church. Dreadful as it was, she was
conscious of a shelter in the presence of these thousand witnesses. It
was better to stand thus, with so many betwixt him and her, than to
greet him face to face—they two alone. She fled for refuge, as it were,
to the public exposure, and dreaded the moment when its protection
should be withdrawn from her. Involved in these thoughts, she scarcely
heard a voice behind her until it had repeated her name more than once,
in a loud and solemn tone, audible to the whole multitude.

“Hearken unto me, Hester Prynne!” said the voice.

It has already been noticed that directly over the platform on which
Hester Prynne stood was a kind of balcony, or open gallery, appended to
the meeting-house. It was the place whence proclamations were wont to
be made, amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with all the
ceremonial that attended such public observances in those days. Here,
to witness the scene which we are describing, sat Governor Bellingham
himself with four sergeants about his chair, bearing halberds, as a
guard of honour. He wore a dark feather in his hat, a border of
embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath—a gentleman
advanced in years, with a hard experience written in his wrinkles. He
was not ill-fitted to be the head and representative of a community
which owed its origin and progress, and its present state of
development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the stern and
tempered energies of manhood and the sombre sagacity of age;
accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and hoped so
little. The other eminent characters by whom the chief ruler was
surrounded were distinguished by a dignity of mien, belonging to a
period when the forms of authority were felt to possess the sacredness
of Divine institutions. They were, doubtless, good men, just and sage.
But, out of the whole human family, it would not have been easy to
select the same number of wise and virtuous persons, who should be less
capable of sitting in judgment on an erring woman’s heart, and
disentangling its mesh of good and evil, than the sages of rigid aspect
towards whom Hester Prynne now turned her face. She seemed conscious,
indeed, that whatever sympathy she might expect lay in the larger and
warmer heart of the multitude; for, as she lifted her eyes towards the
balcony, the unhappy woman grew pale, and trembled.

The voice which had called her attention was that of the reverend and
famous John Wilson, the eldest clergyman of Boston, a great scholar,
like most of his contemporaries in the profession, and withal a man of
kind and genial spirit. This last attribute, however, had been less
carefully developed than his intellectual gifts, and was, in truth,
rather a matter of shame than self-congratulation with him. There he
stood, with a border of grizzled locks beneath his skull-cap, while his
grey eyes, accustomed to the shaded light of his study, were winking,
like those of Hester’s infant, in the unadulterated sunshine. He looked
like the darkly engraved portraits which we see prefixed to old volumes
of sermons, and had no more right than one of those portraits would
have to step forth, as he now did, and meddle with a question of human
guilt, passion, and anguish.

“Hester Prynne,” said the clergyman, “I have striven with my young
brother here, under whose preaching of the Word you have been
privileged to sit”—here Mr. Wilson laid his hand on the shoulder of a
pale young man beside him—“I have sought, I say, to persuade this godly
youth, that he should deal with you, here in the face of Heaven, and
before these wise and upright rulers, and in hearing of all the people,
as touching the vileness and blackness of your sin. Knowing your
natural temper better than I, he could the better judge what arguments
to use, whether of tenderness or terror, such as might prevail over
your hardness and obstinacy, insomuch that you should no longer hide
the name of him who tempted you to this grievous fall. But he opposes
to me—with a young man’s over-softness, albeit wise beyond his
years—that it were wronging the very nature of woman to force her to
lay open her heart’s secrets in such broad daylight, and in presence of
so great a multitude. Truly, as I sought to convince him, the shame lay
in the commission of the sin, and not in the showing of it forth. What
say you to it, once again, brother Dimmesdale? Must it be thou, or I,
that shall deal with this poor sinner’s soul?”

There was a murmur among the dignified and reverend occupants of the
balcony; and Governor Bellingham gave expression to its purport,
speaking in an authoritative voice, although tempered with respect
towards the youthful clergyman whom he addressed:

“Good Master Dimmesdale,” said he, “the responsibility of this woman’s
soul lies greatly with you. It behoves you; therefore, to exhort her to
repentance and to confession, as a proof and consequence thereof.”

The directness of this appeal drew the eyes of the whole crowd upon the
Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale—young clergyman, who had come from one of the
great English universities, bringing all the learning of the age into
our wild forest land. His eloquence and religious fervour had already
given the earnest of high eminence in his profession. He was a person
of very striking aspect, with a white, lofty, and impending brow;
large, brown, melancholy eyes, and a mouth which, unless when he
forcibly compressed it, was apt to be tremulous, expressing both
nervous sensibility and a vast power of self restraint. Notwithstanding
his high native gifts and scholar-like attainments, there was an air
about this young minister—an apprehensive, a startled, a
half-frightened look—as of a being who felt himself quite astray, and
at a loss in the pathway of human existence, and could only be at ease
in some seclusion of his own. Therefore, so far as his duties would
permit, he trod in the shadowy by-paths, and thus kept himself simple
and childlike, coming forth, when occasion was, with a freshness, and
fragrance, and dewy purity of thought, which, as many people said,
affected them like the speech of an angel.

Such was the young man whom the Reverend Mr. Wilson and the Governor
had introduced so openly to the public notice, bidding him speak, in
the hearing of all men, to that mystery of a woman’s soul, so sacred
even in its pollution. The trying nature of his position drove the
blood from his cheek, and made his lips tremulous.

“Speak to the woman, my brother,” said Mr. Wilson. “It is of moment to
her soul, and, therefore, as the worshipful Governor says, momentous to
thine own, in whose charge hers is. Exhort her to confess the truth!”

The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale bent his head, in silent prayer, as it
seemed, and then came forward.

“Hester Prynne,” said he, leaning over the balcony and looking down
steadfastly into her eyes, “thou hearest what this good man says, and
seest the accountability under which I labour. If thou feelest it to be
for thy soul’s peace, and that thy earthly punishment will thereby be
made more effectual to salvation, I charge thee to speak out the name
of thy fellow-sinner and fellow-sufferer! Be not silent from any
mistaken pity and tenderness for him; for, believe me, Hester, though
he were to step down from a high place, and stand there beside thee, on
thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so than to hide a guilty
heart through life. What can thy silence do for him, except it tempt
him—yea, compel him, as it were—to add hypocrisy to sin? Heaven hath
granted thee an open ignominy, that thereby thou mayest work out an
open triumph over the evil within thee and the sorrow without. Take
heed how thou deniest to him—who, perchance, hath not the courage to
grasp it for himself—the bitter, but wholesome, cup that is now
presented to thy lips!”

The young pastor’s voice was tremulously sweet, rich, deep, and broken.
The feeling that it so evidently manifested, rather than the direct
purport of the words, caused it to vibrate within all hearts, and
brought the listeners into one accord of sympathy. Even the poor baby
at Hester’s bosom was affected by the same influence, for it directed
its hitherto vacant gaze towards Mr. Dimmesdale, and held up its little
arms with a half-pleased, half-plaintive murmur. So powerful seemed the
minister’s appeal that the people could not believe but that Hester
Prynne would speak out the guilty name, or else that the guilty one
himself in whatever high or lowly place he stood, would be drawn forth
by an inward and inevitable necessity, and compelled to ascend the
scaffold.

Hester shook her head.

“Woman, transgress not beyond the limits of Heaven’s mercy!” cried the
Reverend Mr. Wilson, more harshly than before. “That little babe hath
been gifted with a voice, to second and confirm the counsel which thou
hast heard. Speak out the name! That, and thy repentance, may avail to
take the scarlet letter off thy breast.”

“Never,” replied Hester Prynne, looking, not at Mr. Wilson, but into
the deep and troubled eyes of the younger clergyman. “It is too deeply
branded. Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might endure his agony
as well as mine!”

“Speak, woman!” said another voice, coldly and sternly, proceeding from
the crowd about the scaffold, “Speak; and give your child a father!”

“I will not speak!” answered Hester, turning pale as death, but
responding to this voice, which she too surely recognised. “And my
child must seek a heavenly father; she shall never know an earthly
one!”

“She will not speak!” murmured Mr. Dimmesdale, who, leaning over the
balcony, with his hand upon his heart, had awaited the result of his
appeal. He now drew back with a long respiration. “Wondrous strength
and generosity of a woman’s heart! She will not speak!”

Discerning the impracticable state of the poor culprit’s mind, the
elder clergyman, who had carefully prepared himself for the occasion,
addressed to the multitude a discourse on sin, in all its branches, but
with continual reference to the ignominious letter. So forcibly did he
dwell upon this symbol, for the hour or more during which his periods
were rolling over the people’s heads, that it assumed new terrors in
their imagination, and seemed to derive its scarlet hue from the flames
of the infernal pit. Hester Prynne, meanwhile, kept her place upon the
pedestal of shame, with glazed eyes, and an air of weary indifference.
She had borne that morning all that nature could endure; and as her
temperament was not of the order that escapes from too intense
suffering by a swoon, her spirit could only shelter itself beneath a
stony crust of insensibility, while the faculties of animal life
remained entire. In this state, the voice of the preacher thundered
remorselessly, but unavailingly, upon her ears. The infant, during the
latter portion of her ordeal, pierced the air with its wailings and
screams; she strove to hush it mechanically, but seemed scarcely to
sympathise with its trouble. With the same hard demeanour, she was led
back to prison, and vanished from the public gaze within its
iron-clamped portal. It was whispered by those who peered after her
that the scarlet letter threw a lurid gleam along the dark passage-way
of the interior.

IV.
THE INTERVIEW

After her return to the prison, Hester Prynne was found to be in a
state of nervous excitement, that demanded constant watchfulness, lest
she should perpetrate violence on herself, or do some half-frenzied
mischief to the poor babe. As night approached, it proving impossible
to quell her insubordination by rebuke or threats of punishment, Master
Brackett, the jailer, thought fit to introduce a physician. He
described him as a man of skill in all Christian modes of physical
science, and likewise familiar with whatever the savage people could
teach in respect to medicinal herbs and roots that grew in the forest.
To say the truth, there was much need of professional assistance, not
merely for Hester herself, but still more urgently for the child—who,
drawing its sustenance from the maternal bosom, seemed to have drank in
with it all the turmoil, the anguish and despair, which pervaded the
mother’s system. It now writhed in convulsions of pain, and was a
forcible type, in its little frame, of the moral agony which Hester
Prynne had borne throughout the day.

Closely following the jailer into the dismal apartment, appeared that
individual, of singular aspect whose presence in the crowd had been of
such deep interest to the wearer of the scarlet letter. He was lodged
in the prison, not as suspected of any offence, but as the most
convenient and suitable mode of disposing of him, until the magistrates
should have conferred with the Indian sagamores respecting his ransom.
His name was announced as Roger Chillingworth. The jailer, after
ushering him into the room, remained a moment, marvelling at the
comparative quiet that followed his entrance; for Hester Prynne had
immediately become as still as death, although the child continued to
moan.

“Prithee, friend, leave me alone with my patient,” said the
practitioner. “Trust me, good jailer, you shall briefly have peace in
your house; and, I promise you, Mistress Prynne shall hereafter be more
amenable to just authority than you may have found her heretofore.”

“Nay, if your worship can accomplish that,” answered Master Brackett,
“I shall own you for a man of skill, indeed! Verily, the woman hath
been like a possessed one; and there lacks little that I should take in
hand, to drive Satan out of her with stripes.”

The stranger had entered the room with the characteristic quietude of
the profession to which he announced himself as belonging. Nor did his
demeanour change when the withdrawal of the prison keeper left him face
to face with the woman, whose absorbed notice of him, in the crowd, had
intimated so close a relation between himself and her. His first care
was given to the child, whose cries, indeed, as she lay writhing on the
trundle-bed, made it of peremptory necessity to postpone all other
business to the task of soothing her. He examined the infant carefully,
and then proceeded to unclasp a leathern case, which he took from
beneath his dress. It appeared to contain medical preparations, one of
which he mingled with a cup of water.

“My old studies in alchemy,” observed he, “and my sojourn, for above a
year past, among a people well versed in the kindly properties of
simples, have made a better physician of me than many that claim the
medical degree. Here, woman! The child is yours—she is none of
mine—neither will she recognise my voice or aspect as a father’s.
Administer this draught, therefore, with thine own hand.”

Hester repelled the offered medicine, at the same time gazing with
strongly marked apprehension into his face. “Wouldst thou avenge
thyself on the innocent babe?” whispered she.

“Foolish woman!” responded the physician, half coldly, half soothingly.
“What should ail me to harm this misbegotten and miserable babe? The
medicine is potent for good, and were it my child—yea, mine own, as
well as thine! I could do no better for it.”

As she still hesitated, being, in fact, in no reasonable state of mind,
he took the infant in his arms, and himself administered the draught.
It soon proved its efficacy, and redeemed the leech’s pledge. The moans
of the little patient subsided; its convulsive tossings gradually
ceased; and in a few moments, as is the custom of young children after
relief from pain, it sank into a profound and dewy slumber. The
physician, as he had a fair right to be termed, next bestowed his
attention on the mother. With calm and intent scrutiny, he felt her
pulse, looked into her eyes—a gaze that made her heart shrink and
shudder, because so familiar, and yet so strange and cold—and, finally,
satisfied with his investigation, proceeded to mingle another draught.

“I know not Lethe nor Nepenthe,” remarked he; “but I have learned many
new secrets in the wilderness, and here is one of them—a recipe that an
Indian taught me, in requital of some lessons of my own, that were as
old as Paracelsus. Drink it! It may be less soothing than a sinless
conscience. That I cannot give thee. But it will calm the swell and
heaving of thy passion, like oil thrown on the waves of a tempestuous
sea.”

He presented the cup to Hester, who received it with a slow, earnest
look into his face; not precisely a look of fear, yet full of doubt and
questioning as to what his purposes might be. She looked also at her
slumbering child.

“I have thought of death,” said she—“have wished for it—would even have
prayed for it, were it fit that such as I should pray for anything.
Yet, if death be in this cup, I bid thee think again, ere thou
beholdest me quaff it. See! it is even now at my lips.”

“Drink, then,” replied he, still with the same cold composure. “Dost
thou know me so little, Hester Prynne? Are my purposes wont to be so
shallow? Even if I imagine a scheme of vengeance, what could I do
better for my object than to let thee live—than to give thee medicines
against all harm and peril of life—so that this burning shame may still
blaze upon thy bosom?” As he spoke, he laid his long forefinger on the
scarlet letter, which forthwith seemed to scorch into Hester’s breast,
as if it had been red hot. He noticed her involuntary gesture, and
smiled. “Live, therefore, and bear about thy doom with thee, in the
eyes of men and women—in the eyes of him whom thou didst call thy
husband—in the eyes of yonder child! And, that thou mayest live, take
off this draught.”

Without further expostulation or delay, Hester Prynne drained the cup,
and, at the motion of the man of skill, seated herself on the bed,
where the child was sleeping; while he drew the only chair which the
room afforded, and took his own seat beside her. She could not but
tremble at these preparations; for she felt that—having now done all
that humanity, or principle, or, if so it were, a refined cruelty,
impelled him to do for the relief of physical suffering—he was next to
treat with her as the man whom she had most deeply and irreparably
injured.

“Hester,” said he, “I ask not wherefore, nor how thou hast fallen into
the pit, or say, rather, thou hast ascended to the pedestal of infamy
on which I found thee. The reason is not far to seek. It was my folly,
and thy weakness. I—a man of thought—the book-worm of great libraries—a
man already in decay, having given my best years to feed the hungry
dream of knowledge—what had I to do with youth and beauty like thine
own? Misshapen from my birth-hour, how could I delude myself with the
idea that intellectual gifts might veil physical deformity in a young
girl’s fantasy? Men call me wise. If sages were ever wise in their own
behoof, I might have foreseen all this. I might have known that, as I
came out of the vast and dismal forest, and entered this settlement of
Christian men, the very first object to meet my eyes would be thyself,
Hester Prynne, standing up, a statue of ignominy, before the people.
Nay, from the moment when we came down the old church-steps together, a
married pair, I might have beheld the bale-fire of that scarlet letter
blazing at the end of our path!”

“Thou knowest,” said Hester—for, depressed as she was, she could not
endure this last quiet stab at the token of her shame—“thou knowest
that I was frank with thee. I felt no love, nor feigned any.”

“True,” replied he. “It was my folly! I have said it. But, up to that
epoch of my life, I had lived in vain. The world had been so cheerless!
My heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and
chill, and without a household fire. I longed to kindle one! It seemed
not so wild a dream—old as I was, and sombre as I was, and misshapen as
I was—that the simple bliss, which is scattered far and wide, for all
mankind to gather up, might yet be mine. And so, Hester, I drew thee
into my heart, into its innermost chamber, and sought to warm thee by
the warmth which thy presence made there!”

“I have greatly wronged thee,” murmured Hester.

“We have wronged each other,” answered he. “Mine was the first wrong,
when I betrayed thy budding youth into a false and unnatural relation
with my decay. Therefore, as a man who has not thought and
philosophised in vain, I seek no vengeance, plot no evil against thee.
Between thee and me, the scale hangs fairly balanced. But, Hester, the
man lives who has wronged us both! Who is he?”

“Ask me not!” replied Hester Prynne, looking firmly into his face.
“That thou shalt never know!”

“Never, sayest thou?” rejoined he, with a smile of dark and
self-relying intelligence. “Never know him! Believe me, Hester, there
are few things whether in the outward world, or, to a certain depth, in
the invisible sphere of thought—few things hidden from the man who
devotes himself earnestly and unreservedly to the solution of a
mystery. Thou mayest cover up thy secret from the prying multitude.
Thou mayest conceal it, too, from the ministers and magistrates, even
as thou didst this day, when they sought to wrench the name out of thy
heart, and give thee a partner on thy pedestal. But, as for me, I come
to the inquest with other senses than they possess. I shall seek this
man, as I have sought truth in books: as I have sought gold in alchemy.
There is a sympathy that will make me conscious of him. I shall see him
tremble. I shall feel myself shudder, suddenly and unawares. Sooner or
later, he must needs be mine.”

The eyes of the wrinkled scholar glowed so intensely upon her, that
Hester Prynne clasped her hand over her heart, dreading lest he should
read the secret there at once.

“Thou wilt not reveal his name? Not the less he is mine,” resumed he,
with a look of confidence, as if destiny were at one with him. “He
bears no letter of infamy wrought into his garment, as thou dost, but I
shall read it on his heart. Yet fear not for him! Think not that I
shall interfere with Heaven’s own method of retribution, or, to my own
loss, betray him to the gripe of human law. Neither do thou imagine
that I shall contrive aught against his life; no, nor against his fame,
if as I judge, he be a man of fair repute. Let him live! Let him hide
himself in outward honour, if he may! Not the less he shall be mine!”

“Thy acts are like mercy,” said Hester, bewildered and appalled; “but
thy words interpret thee as a terror!”

“One thing, thou that wast my wife, I would enjoin upon thee,”
continued the scholar. “Thou hast kept the secret of thy paramour.
Keep, likewise, mine! There are none in this land that know me. Breathe
not to any human soul that thou didst ever call me husband! Here, on
this wild outskirt of the earth, I shall pitch my tent; for, elsewhere
a wanderer, and isolated from human interests, I find here a woman, a
man, a child, amongst whom and myself there exist the closest
ligaments. No matter whether of love or hate: no matter whether of
right or wrong! Thou and thine, Hester Prynne, belong to me. My home is
where thou art and where he is. But betray me not!”

“Wherefore dost thou desire it?” inquired Hester, shrinking, she hardly
knew why, from this secret bond. “Why not announce thyself openly, and
cast me off at once?”

“It may be,” he replied, “because I will not encounter the dishonour
that besmirches the husband of a faithless woman. It may be for other
reasons. Enough, it is my purpose to live and die unknown. Let,
therefore, thy husband be to the world as one already dead, and of whom
no tidings shall ever come. Recognise me not, by word, by sign, by
look! Breathe not the secret, above all, to the man thou wottest of.
Shouldst thou fail me in this, beware! His fame, his position, his life
will be in my hands. Beware!”

“I will keep thy secret, as I have his,” said Hester.

“Swear it!” rejoined he.

And she took the oath.

“And now, Mistress Prynne,” said old Roger Chillingworth, as he was
hereafter to be named, “I leave thee alone: alone with thy infant and
the scarlet letter! How is it, Hester? Doth thy sentence bind thee to
wear the token in thy sleep? Art thou not afraid of nightmares and
hideous dreams?”

“Why dost thou smile so at me?” inquired Hester, troubled at the
expression of his eyes. “Art thou like the Black Man that haunts the
forest round about us? Hast thou enticed me into a bond that will prove
the ruin of my soul?”

“Not thy soul,” he answered, with another smile. “No, not thine!”

V.
HESTER AT HER NEEDLE

Hester Prynne’s term of confinement was now at an end. Her prison-door
was thrown open, and she came forth into the sunshine, which, falling
on all alike, seemed, to her sick and morbid heart, as if meant for no
other purpose than to reveal the scarlet letter on her breast. Perhaps
there was a more real torture in her first unattended footsteps from
the threshold of the prison than even in the procession and spectacle
that have been described, where she was made the common infamy, at
which all mankind was summoned to point its finger. Then, she was
supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves, and by all the
combative energy of her character, which enabled her to convert the
scene into a kind of lurid triumph. It was, moreover, a separate and
insulated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, and to meet which,
therefore, reckless of economy, she might call up the vital strength
that would have sufficed for many quiet years. The very law that
condemned her—a giant of stern features but with vigour to support, as
well as to annihilate, in his iron arm—had held her up through the
terrible ordeal of her ignominy. But now, with this unattended walk
from her prison door, began the daily custom; and she must either
sustain and carry it forward by the ordinary resources of her nature,
or sink beneath it. She could no longer borrow from the future to help
her through the present grief. Tomorrow would bring its own trial with
it; so would the next day, and so would the next: each its own trial,
and yet the very same that was now so unutterably grievous to be borne.
The days of the far-off future would toil onward, still with the same
burden for her to take up, and bear along with her, but never to fling
down; for the accumulating days and added years would pile up their
misery upon the heap of shame. Throughout them all, giving up her
individuality, she would become the general symbol at which the
preacher and moralist might point, and in which they might vivify and
embody their images of woman’s frailty and sinful passion. Thus the
young and pure would be taught to look at her, with the scarlet letter
flaming on her breast—at her, the child of honourable parents—at her,
the mother of a babe that would hereafter be a woman—at her, who had
once been innocent—as the figure, the body, the reality of sin. And
over her grave, the infamy that she must carry thither would be her
only monument.

It may seem marvellous that, with the world before her—kept by no
restrictive clause of her condemnation within the limits of the Puritan
settlement, so remote and so obscure—free to return to her birth-place,
or to any other European land, and there hide her character and
identity under a new exterior, as completely as if emerging into
another state of being—and having also the passes of the dark,
inscrutable forest open to her, where the wildness of her nature might
assimilate itself with a people whose customs and life were alien from
the law that had condemned her—it may seem marvellous that this woman
should still call that place her home, where, and where only, she must
needs be the type of shame. But there is a fatality, a feeling so
irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost
invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like,
the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to
their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge
that saddens it. Her sin, her ignominy, were the roots which she had
struck into the soil. It was as if a new birth, with stronger
assimilations than the first, had converted the forest-land, still so
uncongenial to every other pilgrim and wanderer, into Hester Prynne’s
wild and dreary, but life-long home. All other scenes of earth—even
that village of rural England, where happy infancy and stainless
maidenhood seemed yet to be in her mother’s keeping, like garments put
off long ago—were foreign to her, in comparison. The chain that bound
her here was of iron links, and galling to her inmost soul, but could
never be broken.

It might be, too—doubtless it was so, although she hid the secret from
herself, and grew pale whenever it struggled out of her heart, like a
serpent from its hole—it might be that another feeling kept her within
the scene and pathway that had been so fatal. There dwelt, there trode,
the feet of one with whom she deemed herself connected in a union that,
unrecognised on earth, would bring them together before the bar of
final judgment, and make that their marriage-altar, for a joint
futurity of endless retribution. Over and over again, the tempter of
souls had thrust this idea upon Hester’s contemplation, and laughed at
the passionate and desperate joy with which she seized, and then strove
to cast it from her. She barely looked the idea in the face, and
hastened to bar it in its dungeon. What she compelled herself to
believe—what, finally, she reasoned upon as her motive for continuing a
resident of New England—was half a truth, and half a self-delusion.
Here, she said to herself had been the scene of her guilt, and here
should be the scene of her earthly punishment; and so, perchance, the
torture of her daily shame would at length purge her soul, and work out
another purity than that which she had lost: more saint-like, because
the result of martyrdom.

Hester Prynne, therefore, did not flee. On the outskirts of the town,
within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinity to any
other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. It had been built
by an earlier settler, and abandoned, because the soil about it was too
sterile for cultivation, while its comparative remoteness put it out of
the sphere of that social activity which already marked the habits of
the emigrants. It stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea
at the forest-covered hills, towards the west. A clump of scrubby
trees, such as alone grew on the peninsula, did not so much conceal the
cottage from view, as seem to denote that here was some object which
would fain have been, or at least ought to be, concealed. In this
little lonesome dwelling, with some slender means that she possessed,
and by the licence of the magistrates, who still kept an inquisitorial
watch over her, Hester established herself, with her infant child. A
mystic shadow of suspicion immediately attached itself to the spot.
Children, too young to comprehend wherefore this woman should be shut
out from the sphere of human charities, would creep nigh enough to
behold her plying her needle at the cottage-window, or standing in the
doorway, or labouring in her little garden, or coming forth along the
pathway that led townward, and, discerning the scarlet letter on her
breast, would scamper off with a strange contagious fear.

Lonely as was Hester’s situation, and without a friend on earth who
dared to show himself, she, however, incurred no risk of want. She
possessed an art that sufficed, even in a land that afforded
comparatively little scope for its exercise, to supply food for her
thriving infant and herself. It was the art, then, as now, almost the
only one within a woman’s grasp—of needle-work. She bore on her breast,
in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen of her delicate and
imaginative skill, of which the dames of a court might gladly have
availed themselves, to add the richer and more spiritual adornment of
human ingenuity to their fabrics of silk and gold. Here, indeed, in the
sable simplicity that generally characterised the Puritanic modes of
dress, there might be an infrequent call for the finer productions of
her handiwork. Yet the taste of the age, demanding whatever was
elaborate in compositions of this kind, did not fail to extend its
influence over our stern progenitors, who had cast behind them so many
fashions which it might seem harder to dispense with.

Public ceremonies, such as ordinations, the installation of
magistrates, and all that could give majesty to the forms in which a
new government manifested itself to the people, were, as a matter of
policy, marked by a stately and well-conducted ceremonial, and a
sombre, but yet a studied magnificence. Deep ruffs, painfully wrought
bands, and gorgeously embroidered gloves, were all deemed necessary to
the official state of men assuming the reins of power, and were readily
allowed to individuals dignified by rank or wealth, even while
sumptuary laws forbade these and similar extravagances to the plebeian
order. In the array of funerals, too—whether for the apparel of the
dead body, or to typify, by manifold emblematic devices of sable cloth
and snowy lawn, the sorrow of the survivors—there was a frequent and
characteristic demand for such labour as Hester Prynne could supply.
Baby-linen—for babies then wore robes of state—afforded still another
possibility of toil and emolument.

By degrees, not very slowly, her handiwork became what would now be
termed the fashion. Whether from commiseration for a woman of so
miserable a destiny; or from the morbid curiosity that gives a
fictitious value even to common or worthless things; or by whatever
other intangible circumstance was then, as now, sufficient to bestow,
on some persons, what others might seek in vain; or because Hester
really filled a gap which must otherwise have remained vacant; it is
certain that she had ready and fairly requited employment for as many
hours as she saw fit to occupy with her needle. Vanity, it may be,
chose to mortify itself, by putting on, for ceremonials of pomp and
state, the garments that had been wrought by her sinful hands. Her
needle-work was seen on the ruff of the Governor; military men wore it
on their scarfs, and the minister on his band; it decked the baby’s
little cap; it was shut up, to be mildewed and moulder away, in the
coffins of the dead. But it is not recorded that, in a single instance,
her skill was called in to embroider the white veil which was to cover
the pure blushes of a bride. The exception indicated the ever
relentless vigour with which society frowned upon her sin.

Hester sought not to acquire anything beyond a subsistence, of the
plainest and most ascetic description, for herself, and a simple
abundance for her child. Her own dress was of the coarsest materials
and the most sombre hue, with only that one ornament—the scarlet
letter—which it was her doom to wear. The child’s attire, on the other
hand, was distinguished by a fanciful, or, we may rather say, a
fantastic ingenuity, which served, indeed, to heighten the airy charm
that early began to develop itself in the little girl, but which
appeared to have also a deeper meaning. We may speak further of it
hereafter. Except for that small expenditure in the decoration of her
infant, Hester bestowed all her superfluous means in charity, on
wretches less miserable than herself, and who not unfrequently insulted
the hand that fed them. Much of the time, which she might readily have
applied to the better efforts of her art, she employed in making coarse
garments for the poor. It is probable that there was an idea of penance
in this mode of occupation, and that she offered up a real sacrifice of
enjoyment in devoting so many hours to such rude handiwork. She had in
her nature a rich, voluptuous, Oriental characteristic—a taste for the
gorgeously beautiful, which, save in the exquisite productions of her
needle, found nothing else, in all the possibilities of her life, to
exercise itself upon. Women derive a pleasure, incomprehensible to the
other sex, from the delicate toil of the needle. To Hester Prynne it
might have been a mode of expressing, and therefore soothing, the
passion of her life. Like all other joys, she rejected it as sin. This
morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter betokened, it
is to be feared, no genuine and steadfast penitence, but something
doubtful, something that might be deeply wrong beneath.

In this manner, Hester Prynne came to have a part to perform in the
world. With her native energy of character and rare capacity, it could
not entirely cast her off, although it had set a mark upon her, more
intolerable to a woman’s heart than that which branded the brow of
Cain. In all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing
that made her feel as if she belonged to it. Every gesture, every word,
and even the silence of those with whom she came in contact, implied,
and often expressed, that she was banished, and as much alone as if she
inhabited another sphere, or communicated with the common nature by
other organs and senses than the rest of human kind. She stood apart
from mortal interests, yet close beside them, like a ghost that
revisits the familiar fireside, and can no longer make itself seen or
felt; no more smile with the household joy, nor mourn with the kindred
sorrow; or, should it succeed in manifesting its forbidden sympathy,
awakening only terror and horrible repugnance. These emotions, in fact,
and its bitterest scorn besides, seemed to be the sole portion that she
retained in the universal heart. It was not an age of delicacy; and her
position, although she understood it well, and was in little danger of
forgetting it, was often brought before her vivid self-perception, like
a new anguish, by the rudest touch upon the tenderest spot. The poor,
as we have already said, whom she sought out to be the objects of her
bounty, often reviled the hand that was stretched forth to succour
them. Dames of elevated rank, likewise, whose doors she entered in the
way of her occupation, were accustomed to distil drops of bitterness
into her heart; sometimes through that alchemy of quiet malice, by
which women can concoct a subtle poison from ordinary trifles; and
sometimes, also, by a coarser expression, that fell upon the sufferer’s
defenceless breast like a rough blow upon an ulcerated wound. Hester
had schooled herself long and well; and she never responded to these
attacks, save by a flush of crimson that rose irrepressibly over her
pale cheek, and again subsided into the depths of her bosom. She was
patient—a martyr, indeed—but she forebore to pray for enemies, lest, in
spite of her forgiving aspirations, the words of the blessing should
stubbornly twist themselves into a curse.

Continually, and in a thousand other ways, did she feel the innumerable
throbs of anguish that had been so cunningly contrived for her by the
undying, the ever-active sentence of the Puritan tribunal. Clergymen
paused in the streets, to address words of exhortation, that brought a
crowd, with its mingled grin and frown, around the poor, sinful woman.
If she entered a church, trusting to share the Sabbath smile of the
Universal Father, it was often her mishap to find herself the text of
the discourse. She grew to have a dread of children; for they had
imbibed from their parents a vague idea of something horrible in this
dreary woman gliding silently through the town, with never any
companion but one only child. Therefore, first allowing her to pass,
they pursued her at a distance with shrill cries, and the utterances of
a word that had no distinct purport to their own minds, but was none
the less terrible to her, as proceeding from lips that babbled it
unconsciously. It seemed to argue so wide a diffusion of her shame,
that all nature knew of it; it could have caused her no deeper pang had
the leaves of the trees whispered the dark story among themselves—had
the summer breeze murmured about it—had the wintry blast shrieked it
aloud! Another peculiar torture was felt in the gaze of a new eye. When
strangers looked curiously at the scarlet letter—and none ever failed
to do so—they branded it afresh in Hester’s soul; so that, oftentimes,
she could scarcely refrain, yet always did refrain, from covering the
symbol with her hand. But then, again, an accustomed eye had likewise
its own anguish to inflict. Its cool stare of familiarity was
intolerable. From first to last, in short, Hester Prynne had always
this dreadful agony in feeling a human eye upon the token; the spot
never grew callous; it seemed, on the contrary, to grow more sensitive
with daily torture.

But sometimes, once in many days, or perchance in many months, she felt
an eye—a human eye—upon the ignominious brand, that seemed to give a
momentary relief, as if half of her agony were shared. The next
instant, back it all rushed again, with still a deeper throb of pain;
for, in that brief interval, she had sinned anew. (Had Hester sinned
alone?)

Her imagination was somewhat affected, and, had she been of a softer
moral and intellectual fibre would have been still more so, by the
strange and solitary anguish of her life. Walking to and fro, with
those lonely footsteps, in the little world with which she was
outwardly connected, it now and then appeared to Hester—if altogether
fancy, it was nevertheless too potent to be resisted—she felt or
fancied, then, that the scarlet letter had endowed her with a new
sense. She shuddered to believe, yet could not help believing, that it
gave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts. She
was terror-stricken by the revelations that were thus made. What were
they? Could they be other than the insidious whispers of the bad angel,
who would fain have persuaded the struggling woman, as yet only half
his victim, that the outward guise of purity was but a lie, and that,
if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarlet letter would blaze
forth on many a bosom besides Hester Prynne’s? Or, must she receive
those intimations—so obscure, yet so distinct—as truth? In all her
miserable experience, there was nothing else so awful and so loathsome
as this sense. It perplexed, as well as shocked her, by the irreverent
inopportuneness of the occasions that brought it into vivid action.
Sometimes the red infamy upon her breast would give a sympathetic
throb, as she passed near a venerable minister or magistrate, the model
of piety and justice, to whom that age of antique reverence looked up,
as to a mortal man in fellowship with angels. “What evil thing is at
hand?” would Hester say to herself. Lifting her reluctant eyes, there
would be nothing human within the scope of view, save the form of this
earthly saint! Again a mystic sisterhood would contumaciously assert
itself, as she met the sanctified frown of some matron, who, according
to the rumour of all tongues, had kept cold snow within her bosom
throughout life. That unsunned snow in the matron’s bosom, and the
burning shame on Hester Prynne’s—what had the two in common? Or, once
more, the electric thrill would give her warning—“Behold Hester, here
is a companion!” and, looking up, she would detect the eyes of a young
maiden glancing at the scarlet letter, shyly and aside, and quickly
averted, with a faint, chill crimson in her cheeks as if her purity
were somewhat sullied by that momentary glance. O Fiend, whose talisman
was that fatal symbol, wouldst thou leave nothing, whether in youth or
age, for this poor sinner to revere?—such loss of faith is ever one of
the saddest results of sin. Be it accepted as a proof that all was not
corrupt in this poor victim of her own frailty, and man’s hard law,
that Hester Prynne yet struggled to believe that no fellow-mortal was
guilty like herself.

The vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were always contributing a
grotesque horror to what interested their imaginations, had a story
about the scarlet letter which we might readily work up into a terrific
legend. They averred that the symbol was not mere scarlet cloth, tinged
in an earthly dye-pot, but was red-hot with infernal fire, and could be
seen glowing all alight whenever Hester Prynne walked abroad in the
night-time. And we must needs say it seared Hester’s bosom so deeply,
that perhaps there was more truth in the rumour than our modern
incredulity may be inclined to admit.

VI.
PEARL

We have as yet hardly spoken of the infant; that little creature, whose
innocent life had sprung, by the inscrutable decree of Providence, a
lovely and immortal flower, out of the rank luxuriance of a guilty
passion. How strange it seemed to the sad woman, as she watched the
growth, and the beauty that became every day more brilliant, and the
intelligence that threw its quivering sunshine over the tiny features
of this child! Her Pearl—for so had Hester called her; not as a name
expressive of her aspect, which had nothing of the calm, white,
unimpassioned lustre that would be indicated by the comparison. But she
named the infant “Pearl,” as being of great price—purchased with all
she had—her mother’s only treasure! How strange, indeed! Man had marked
this woman’s sin by a scarlet letter, which had such potent and
disastrous efficacy that no human sympathy could reach her, save it
were sinful like herself. God, as a direct consequence of the sin which
man thus punished, had given her a lovely child, whose place was on
that same dishonoured bosom, to connect her parent for ever with the
race and descent of mortals, and to be finally a blessed soul in
heaven! Yet these thoughts affected Hester Prynne less with hope than
apprehension. She knew that her deed had been evil; she could have no
faith, therefore, that its result would be good. Day after day she
looked fearfully into the child’s expanding nature, ever dreading to
detect some dark and wild peculiarity that should correspond with the
guiltiness to which she owed her being.

Certainly there was no physical defect. By its perfect shape, its
vigour, and its natural dexterity in the use of all its untried limbs,
the infant was worthy to have been brought forth in Eden: worthy to
have been left there to be the plaything of the angels after the
world’s first parents were driven out. The child had a native grace
which does not invariably co-exist with faultless beauty; its attire,
however simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were the very
garb that precisely became it best. But little Pearl was not clad in
rustic weeds. Her mother, with a morbid purpose that may be better
understood hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could be
procured, and allowed her imaginative faculty its full play in the
arrangement and decoration of the dresses which the child wore before
the public eye. So magnificent was the small figure when thus arrayed,
and such was the splendour of Pearl’s own proper beauty, shining
through the gorgeous robes which might have extinguished a paler
loveliness, that there was an absolute circle of radiance around her on
the darksome cottage floor. And yet a russet gown, torn and soiled with
the child’s rude play, made a picture of her just as perfect. Pearl’s
aspect was imbued with a spell of infinite variety; in this one child
there were many children, comprehending the full scope between the
wild-flower prettiness of a peasant-baby, and the pomp, in little, of
an infant princess. Throughout all, however, there was a trait of
passion, a certain depth of hue, which she never lost; and if in any of
her changes, she had grown fainter or paler, she would have ceased to
be herself—it would have been no longer Pearl!

This outward mutability indicated, and did not more than fairly
express, the various properties of her inner life. Her nature appeared
to possess depth, too, as well as variety; but—or else Hester’s fears
deceived her—it lacked reference and adaptation to the world into which
she was born. The child could not be made amenable to rules. In giving
her existence a great law had been broken; and the result was a being
whose elements were perhaps beautiful and brilliant, but all in
disorder, or with an order peculiar to themselves, amidst which the
point of variety and arrangement was difficult or impossible to be
discovered. Hester could only account for the child’s character—and
even then most vaguely and imperfectly—by recalling what she herself
had been during that momentous period while Pearl was imbibing her soul
from the spiritual world, and her bodily frame from its material of
earth. The mother’s impassioned state had been the medium through which
were transmitted to the unborn infant the rays of its moral life; and,
however white and clear originally, they had taken the deep stains of
crimson and gold, the fiery lustre, the black shadow, and the
untempered light of the intervening substance. Above all, the warfare
of Hester’s spirit at that epoch was perpetuated in Pearl. She could
recognize her wild, desperate, defiant mood, the flightiness of her
temper, and even some of the very cloud-shapes of gloom and despondency
that had brooded in her heart. They were now illuminated by the morning
radiance of a young child’s disposition, but, later in the day of
earthly existence, might be prolific of the storm and whirlwind.

The discipline of the family in those days was of a far more rigid kind
than now. The frown, the harsh rebuke, the frequent application of the
rod, enjoined by Scriptural authority, were used, not merely in the way
of punishment for actual offences, but as a wholesome regimen for the
growth and promotion of all childish virtues. Hester Prynne,
nevertheless, the loving mother of this one child, ran little risk of
erring on the side of undue severity. Mindful, however, of her own
errors and misfortunes, she early sought to impose a tender but strict
control over the infant immortality that was committed to her charge.
But the task was beyond her skill. After testing both smiles and
frowns, and proving that neither mode of treatment possessed any
calculable influence, Hester was ultimately compelled to stand aside
and permit the child to be swayed by her own impulses. Physical
compulsion or restraint was effectual, of course, while it lasted. As
to any other kind of discipline, whether addressed to her mind or
heart, little Pearl might or might not be within its reach, in
accordance with the caprice that ruled the moment. Her mother, while
Pearl was yet an infant, grew acquainted with a certain peculiar look,
that warned her when it would be labour thrown away to insist, persuade
or plead.

It was a look so intelligent, yet inexplicable, perverse, sometimes so
malicious, but generally accompanied by a wild flow of spirits, that
Hester could not help questioning at such moments whether Pearl was a
human child. She seemed rather an airy sprite, which, after playing its
fantastic sports for a little while upon the cottage floor, would flit
away with a mocking smile. Whenever that look appeared in her wild,
bright, deeply black eyes, it invested her with a strange remoteness
and intangibility: it was as if she were hovering in the air, and might
vanish, like a glimmering light that comes we know not whence and goes
we know not whither. Beholding it, Hester was constrained to rush
towards the child—to pursue the little elf in the flight which she
invariably began—to snatch her to her bosom with a close pressure and
earnest kisses—not so much from overflowing love as to assure herself
that Pearl was flesh and blood, and not utterly delusive. But Pearl’s
laugh, when she was caught, though full of merriment and music, made
her mother more doubtful than before.

Heart-smitten at this bewildering and baffling spell, that so often
came between herself and her sole treasure, whom she had bought so
dear, and who was all her world, Hester sometimes burst into passionate
tears. Then, perhaps—for there was no foreseeing how it might affect
her—Pearl would frown, and clench her little fist, and harden her small
features into a stern, unsympathising look of discontent. Not seldom
she would laugh anew, and louder than before, like a thing incapable
and unintelligent of human sorrow. Or—but this more rarely happened—she
would be convulsed with rage of grief and sob out her love for her
mother in broken words, and seem intent on proving that she had a heart
by breaking it. Yet Hester was hardly safe in confiding herself to that
gusty tenderness: it passed as suddenly as it came. Brooding over all
these matters, the mother felt like one who has evoked a spirit, but,
by some irregularity in the process of conjuration, has failed to win
the master-word that should control this new and incomprehensible
intelligence. Her only real comfort was when the child lay in the
placidity of sleep. Then she was sure of her, and tasted hours of
quiet, sad, delicious happiness; until—perhaps with that perverse
expression glimmering from beneath her opening lids—little Pearl awoke!

How soon—with what strange rapidity, indeed—did Pearl arrive at an age
that was capable of social intercourse beyond the mother’s ever-ready
smile and nonsense-words! And then what a happiness would it have been
could Hester Prynne have heard her clear, bird-like voice mingling with
the uproar of other childish voices, and have distinguished and
unravelled her own darling’s tones, amid all the entangled outcry of a
group of sportive children. But this could never be. Pearl was a born
outcast of the infantile world. An imp of evil, emblem and product of
sin, she had no right among christened infants. Nothing was more
remarkable than the instinct, as it seemed, with which the child
comprehended her loneliness: the destiny that had drawn an inviolable
circle round about her: the whole peculiarity, in short, of her
position in respect to other children. Never since her release from
prison had Hester met the public gaze without her. In all her walks
about the town, Pearl, too, was there: first as the babe in arms, and
afterwards as the little girl, small companion of her mother, holding a
forefinger with her whole grasp, and tripping along at the rate of
three or four footsteps to one of Hester’s. She saw the children of the
settlement on the grassy margin of the street, or at the domestic
thresholds, disporting themselves in such grim fashions as the
Puritanic nurture would permit; playing at going to church, perchance,
or at scourging Quakers; or taking scalps in a sham fight with the
Indians, or scaring one another with freaks of imitative witchcraft.
Pearl saw, and gazed intently, but never sought to make acquaintance.
If spoken to, she would not speak again. If the children gathered about
her, as they sometimes did, Pearl would grow positively terrible in her
puny wrath, snatching up stones to fling at them, with shrill,
incoherent exclamations, that made her mother tremble, because they had
so much the sound of a witch’s anathemas in some unknown tongue.

The truth was, that the little Puritans, being of the most intolerant
brood that ever lived, had got a vague idea of something outlandish,
unearthly, or at variance with ordinary fashions, in the mother and
child, and therefore scorned them in their hearts, and not unfrequently
reviled them with their tongues. Pearl felt the sentiment, and requited
it with the bitterest hatred that can be supposed to rankle in a
childish bosom. These outbreaks of a fierce temper had a kind of value,
and even comfort for the mother; because there was at least an
intelligible earnestness in the mood, instead of the fitful caprice
that so often thwarted her in the child’s manifestations. It appalled
her, nevertheless, to discern here, again, a shadowy reflection of the
evil that had existed in herself. All this enmity and passion had Pearl
inherited, by inalienable right, out of Hester’s heart. Mother and
daughter stood together in the same circle of seclusion from human
society; and in the nature of the child seemed to be perpetuated those
unquiet elements that had distracted Hester Prynne before Pearl’s
birth, but had since begun to be soothed away by the softening
influences of maternity.

At home, within and around her mother’s cottage, Pearl wanted not a
wide and various circle of acquaintance. The spell of life went forth
from her ever-creative spirit, and communicated itself to a thousand
objects, as a torch kindles a flame wherever it may be applied. The
unlikeliest materials—a stick, a bunch of rags, a flower—were the
puppets of Pearl’s witchcraft, and, without undergoing any outward
change, became spiritually adapted to whatever drama occupied the stage
of her inner world. Her one baby-voice served a multitude of imaginary
personages, old and young, to talk withal. The pine-trees, aged, black,
and solemn, and flinging groans and other melancholy utterances on the
breeze, needed little transformation to figure as Puritan elders; the
ugliest weeds of the garden were their children, whom Pearl smote down
and uprooted most unmercifully. It was wonderful, the vast variety of
forms into which she threw her intellect, with no continuity, indeed,
but darting up and dancing, always in a state of preternatural
activity—soon sinking down, as if exhausted by so rapid and feverish a
tide of life—and succeeded by other shapes of a similar wild energy. It
was like nothing so much as the phantasmagoric play of the northern
lights. In the mere exercise of the fancy, however, and the
sportiveness of a growing mind, there might be a little more than was
observable in other children of bright faculties; except as Pearl, in
the dearth of human playmates, was thrown more upon the visionary
throng which she created. The singularity lay in the hostile feelings
with which the child regarded all these offsprings of her own heart and
mind. She never created a friend, but seemed always to be sowing
broadcast the dragon’s teeth, whence sprung a harvest of armed enemies,
against whom she rushed to battle. It was inexpressibly sad—then what
depth of sorrow to a mother, who felt in her own heart the cause—to
observe, in one so young, this constant recognition of an adverse
world, and so fierce a training of the energies that were to make good
her cause in the contest that must ensue.

Gazing at Pearl, Hester Prynne often dropped her work upon her knees,
and cried out with an agony which she would fain have hidden, but which
made utterance for itself betwixt speech and a groan—“O Father in
Heaven—if Thou art still my Father—what is this being which I have
brought into the world?” And Pearl, overhearing the ejaculation, or
aware through some more subtile channel, of those throbs of anguish,
would turn her vivid and beautiful little face upon her mother, smile
with sprite-like intelligence, and resume her play.

One peculiarity of the child’s deportment remains yet to be told. The
very first thing which she had noticed in her life, was—what?—not the
mother’s smile, responding to it, as other babies do, by that faint,
embryo smile of the little mouth, remembered so doubtfully afterwards,
and with such fond discussion whether it were indeed a smile. By no
means! But that first object of which Pearl seemed to become aware
was—shall we say it?—the scarlet letter on Hester’s bosom! One day, as
her mother stooped over the cradle, the infant’s eyes had been caught
by the glimmering of the gold embroidery about the letter; and putting
up her little hand she grasped at it, smiling, not doubtfully, but with
a decided gleam, that gave her face the look of a much older child.
Then, gasping for breath, did Hester Prynne clutch the fatal token,
instinctively endeavouring to tear it away, so infinite was the torture
inflicted by the intelligent touch of Pearl’s baby-hand. Again, as if
her mother’s agonised gesture were meant only to make sport for her,
did little Pearl look into her eyes, and smile. From that epoch, except
when the child was asleep, Hester had never felt a moment’s safety: not
a moment’s calm enjoyment of her. Weeks, it is true, would sometimes
elapse, during which Pearl’s gaze might never once be fixed upon the
scarlet letter; but then, again, it would come at unawares, like the
stroke of sudden death, and always with that peculiar smile and odd
expression of the eyes.

Once this freakish, elvish cast came into the child’s eyes while Hester
was looking at her own image in them, as mothers are fond of doing; and
suddenly—for women in solitude, and with troubled hearts, are pestered
with unaccountable delusions—she fancied that she beheld, not her own
miniature portrait, but another face in the small black mirror of
Pearl’s eye. It was a face, fiend-like, full of smiling malice, yet
bearing the semblance of features that she had known full well, though
seldom with a smile, and never with malice in them. It was as if an
evil spirit possessed the child, and had just then peeped forth in
mockery. Many a time afterwards had Hester been tortured, though less
vividly, by the same illusion.

In the afternoon of a certain summer’s day, after Pearl grew big enough
to run about, she amused herself with gathering handfuls of wild
flowers, and flinging them, one by one, at her mother’s bosom; dancing
up and down like a little elf whenever she hit the scarlet letter.
Hester’s first motion had been to cover her bosom with her clasped
hands. But whether from pride or resignation, or a feeling that her
penance might best be wrought out by this unutterable pain, she
resisted the impulse, and sat erect, pale as death, looking sadly into
little Pearl’s wild eyes. Still came the battery of flowers, almost
invariably hitting the mark, and covering the mother’s breast with
hurts for which she could find no balm in this world, nor knew how to
seek it in another. At last, her shot being all expended, the child
stood still and gazed at Hester, with that little laughing image of a
fiend peeping out—or, whether it peeped or no, her mother so imagined
it—from the unsearchable abyss of her black eyes.

“Child, what art thou?” cried the mother.

“Oh, I am your little Pearl!” answered the child.

But while she said it, Pearl laughed, and began to dance up and down
with the humoursome gesticulation of a little imp, whose next freak
might be to fly up the chimney.

“Art thou my child, in very truth?” asked Hester.

Nor did she put the question altogether idly, but, for the moment, with
a portion of genuine earnestness; for, such was Pearl’s wonderful
intelligence, that her mother half doubted whether she were not
acquainted with the secret spell of her existence, and might not now
reveal herself.

“Yes; I am little Pearl!” repeated the child, continuing her antics.

“Thou art not my child! Thou art no Pearl of mine!” said the mother
half playfully; for it was often the case that a sportive impulse came
over her in the midst of her deepest suffering. “Tell me, then, what
thou art, and who sent thee hither?”

“Tell me, mother!” said the child, seriously, coming up to Hester, and
pressing herself close to her knees. “Do thou tell me!”

“Thy Heavenly Father sent thee!” answered Hester Prynne.

But she said it with a hesitation that did not escape the acuteness of
the child. Whether moved only by her ordinary freakishness, or because
an evil spirit prompted her, she put up her small forefinger and
touched the scarlet letter.

“He did not send me!” cried she, positively. “I have no Heavenly
Father!”

“Hush, Pearl, hush! Thou must not talk so!” answered the mother,
suppressing a groan. “He sent us all into the world. He sent even me,
thy mother. Then, much more thee! Or, if not, thou strange and elfish
child, whence didst thou come?”

“Tell me! Tell me!” repeated Pearl, no longer seriously, but laughing
and capering about the floor. “It is thou that must tell me!”

But Hester could not resolve the query, being herself in a dismal
labyrinth of doubt. She remembered—betwixt a smile and a shudder—the
talk of the neighbouring townspeople, who, seeking vainly elsewhere for
the child’s paternity, and observing some of her odd attributes, had
given out that poor little Pearl was a demon offspring: such as, ever
since old Catholic times, had occasionally been seen on earth, through
the agency of their mother’s sin, and to promote some foul and wicked
purpose. Luther, according to the scandal of his monkish enemies, was a
brat of that hellish breed; nor was Pearl the only child to whom this
inauspicious origin was assigned among the New England Puritans.

VII.
THE GOVERNOR’S HALL

Hester Prynne went one day to the mansion of Governor Bellingham, with
a pair of gloves which she had fringed and embroidered to his order,
and which were to be worn on some great occasion of state; for, though
the chances of a popular election had caused this former ruler to
descend a step or two from the highest rank, he still held an
honourable and influential place among the colonial magistracy.

Another and far more important reason than the delivery of a pair of
embroidered gloves, impelled Hester, at this time, to seek an interview
with a personage of so much power and activity in the affairs of the
settlement. It had reached her ears that there was a design on the part
of some of the leading inhabitants, cherishing the more rigid order of
principles in religion and government, to deprive her of her child. On
the supposition that Pearl, as already hinted, was of demon origin,
these good people not unreasonably argued that a Christian interest in
the mother’s soul required them to remove such a stumbling-block from
her path. If the child, on the other hand, were really capable of moral
and religious growth, and possessed the elements of ultimate salvation,
then, surely, it would enjoy all the fairer prospect of these
advantages by being transferred to wiser and better guardianship than
Hester Prynne’s. Among those who promoted the design, Governor
Bellingham was said to be one of the most busy. It may appear singular,
and, indeed, not a little ludicrous, that an affair of this kind, which
in later days would have been referred to no higher jurisdiction than
that of the select men of the town, should then have been a question
publicly discussed, and on which statesmen of eminence took sides. At
that epoch of pristine simplicity, however, matters of even slighter
public interest, and of far less intrinsic weight than the welfare of
Hester and her child, were strangely mixed up with the deliberations of
legislators and acts of state. The period was hardly, if at all,
earlier than that of our story, when a dispute concerning the right of
property in a pig not only caused a fierce and bitter contest in the
legislative body of the colony, but resulted in an important
modification of the framework itself of the legislature.

Full of concern, therefore—but so conscious of her own right that it
seemed scarcely an unequal match between the public on the one side,
and a lonely woman, backed by the sympathies of nature, on the
other—Hester Prynne set forth from her solitary cottage. Little Pearl,
of course, was her companion. She was now of an age to run lightly
along by her mother’s side, and, constantly in motion from morn till
sunset, could have accomplished a much longer journey than that before
her. Often, nevertheless, more from caprice than necessity, she
demanded to be taken up in arms; but was soon as imperious to be let
down again, and frisked onward before Hester on the grassy pathway,
with many a harmless trip and tumble. We have spoken of Pearl’s rich
and luxuriant beauty—a beauty that shone with deep and vivid tints, a
bright complexion, eyes possessing intensity both of depth and glow,
and hair already of a deep, glossy brown, and which, in after years,
would be nearly akin to black. There was fire in her and throughout
her: she seemed the unpremeditated offshoot of a passionate moment. Her
mother, in contriving the child’s garb, had allowed the gorgeous
tendencies of her imagination their full play, arraying her in a
crimson velvet tunic of a peculiar cut, abundantly embroidered in
fantasies and flourishes of gold thread. So much strength of colouring,
which must have given a wan and pallid aspect to cheeks of a fainter
bloom, was admirably adapted to Pearl’s beauty, and made her the very
brightest little jet of flame that ever danced upon the earth.

But it was a remarkable attribute of this garb, and indeed, of the
child’s whole appearance, that it irresistibly and inevitably reminded
the beholder of the token which Hester Prynne was doomed to wear upon
her bosom. It was the scarlet letter in another form: the scarlet
letter endowed with life! The mother herself—as if the red ignominy
were so deeply scorched into her brain that all her conceptions assumed
its form—had carefully wrought out the similitude, lavishing many hours
of morbid ingenuity to create an analogy between the object of her
affection and the emblem of her guilt and torture. But, in truth, Pearl
was the one as well as the other; and only in consequence of that
identity had Hester contrived so perfectly to represent the scarlet
letter in her appearance.

As the two wayfarers came within the precincts of the town, the
children of the Puritans looked up from their play,—or what passed for
play with those sombre little urchins—and spoke gravely one to another.

“Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter: and of a
truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running
along by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!”

But Pearl, who was a dauntless child, after frowning, stamping her
foot, and shaking her little hand with a variety of threatening
gestures, suddenly made a rush at the knot of her enemies, and put them
all to flight. She resembled, in her fierce pursuit of them, an infant
pestilence—the scarlet fever, or some such half-fledged angel of
judgment—whose mission was to punish the sins of the rising generation.
She screamed and shouted, too, with a terrific volume of sound, which,
doubtless, caused the hearts of the fugitives to quake within them. The
victory accomplished, Pearl returned quietly to her mother, and looked
up, smiling, into her face.

Without further adventure, they reached the dwelling of Governor
Bellingham. This was a large wooden house, built in a fashion of which
there are specimens still extant in the streets of our older towns now
moss-grown, crumbling to decay, and melancholy at heart with the many
sorrowful or joyful occurrences, remembered or forgotten, that have
happened and passed away within their dusky chambers. Then, however,
there was the freshness of the passing year on its exterior, and the
cheerfulness, gleaming forth from the sunny windows, of a human
habitation, into which death had never entered. It had, indeed, a very
cheery aspect, the walls being overspread with a kind of stucco, in
which fragments of broken glass were plentifully intermixed; so that,
when the sunshine fell aslant-wise over the front of the edifice, it
glittered and sparkled as if diamonds had been flung against it by the
double handful. The brilliancy might have befitted Aladdin’s palace
rather than the mansion of a grave old Puritan ruler. It was further
decorated with strange and seemingly cabalistic figures and diagrams,
suitable to the quaint taste of the age which had been drawn in the
stucco, when newly laid on, and had now grown hard and durable, for the
admiration of after times.

Pearl, looking at this bright wonder of a house began to caper and
dance, and imperatively required that the whole breadth of sunshine
should be stripped off its front, and given her to play with.

“No, my little Pearl!” said her mother; “thou must gather thine own
sunshine. I have none to give thee!”

They approached the door, which was of an arched form, and flanked on
each side by a narrow tower or projection of the edifice, in both of
which were lattice-windows, the wooden shutters to close over them at
need. Lifting the iron hammer that hung at the portal, Hester Prynne
gave a summons, which was answered by one of the Governor’s
bond-servants—a free-born Englishman, but now a seven years’ slave.
During that term he was to be the property of his master, and as much a
commodity of bargain and sale as an ox, or a joint-stool. The serf wore
the customary garb of serving-men at that period, and long before, in
the old hereditary halls of England.

“Is the worshipful Governor Bellingham within?” inquired Hester.

“Yea, forsooth,” replied the bond-servant, staring with wide-open eyes
at the scarlet letter, which, being a new-comer in the country, he had
never before seen. “Yea, his honourable worship is within. But he hath
a godly minister or two with him, and likewise a leech. Ye may not see
his worship now.”

“Nevertheless, I will enter,” answered Hester Prynne; and the
bond-servant, perhaps judging from the decision of her air, and the
glittering symbol in her bosom, that she was a great lady in the land,
offered no opposition.

So the mother and little Pearl were admitted into the hall of entrance.
With many variations, suggested by the nature of his building
materials, diversity of climate, and a different mode of social life,
Governor Bellingham had planned his new habitation after the residences
of gentlemen of fair estate in his native land. Here, then, was a wide
and reasonably lofty hall, extending through the whole depth of the
house, and forming a medium of general communication, more or less
directly, with all the other apartments. At one extremity, this
spacious room was lighted by the windows of the two towers, which
formed a small recess on either side of the portal. At the other end,
though partly muffled by a curtain, it was more powerfully illuminated
by one of those embowed hall windows which we read of in old books, and
which was provided with a deep and cushioned seat. Here, on the
cushion, lay a folio tome, probably of the Chronicles of England, or
other such substantial literature; even as, in our own days, we scatter
gilded volumes on the centre table, to be turned over by the casual
guest. The furniture of the hall consisted of some ponderous chairs,
the backs of which were elaborately carved with wreaths of oaken
flowers; and likewise a table in the same taste, the whole being of the
Elizabethan age, or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, transferred hither
from the Governor’s paternal home. On the table—in token that the
sentiment of old English hospitality had not been left behind—stood a
large pewter tankard, at the bottom of which, had Hester or Pearl
peeped into it, they might have seen the frothy remnant of a recent
draught of ale.

On the wall hung a row of portraits, representing the forefathers of
the Bellingham lineage, some with armour on their breasts, and others
with stately ruffs and robes of peace. All were characterised by the
sternness and severity which old portraits so invariably put on, as if
they were the ghosts, rather than the pictures, of departed worthies,
and were gazing with harsh and intolerant criticism at the pursuits and
enjoyments of living men.

At about the centre of the oaken panels that lined the hall was
suspended a suit of mail, not, like the pictures, an ancestral relic,
but of the most modern date; for it had been manufactured by a skilful
armourer in London, the same year in which Governor Bellingham came
over to New England. There was a steel head-piece, a cuirass, a gorget
and greaves, with a pair of gauntlets and a sword hanging beneath; all,
and especially the helmet and breastplate, so highly burnished as to
glow with white radiance, and scatter an illumination everywhere about
upon the floor. This bright panoply was not meant for mere idle show,
but had been worn by the Governor on many a solemn muster and training
field, and had glittered, moreover, at the head of a regiment in the
Pequod war. For, though bred a lawyer, and accustomed to speak of
Bacon, Coke, Noye, and Finch, as his professional associates, the
exigencies of this new country had transformed Governor Bellingham into
a soldier, as well as a statesman and ruler.

Little Pearl, who was as greatly pleased with the gleaming armour as
she had been with the glittering frontispiece of the house, spent some
time looking into the polished mirror of the breastplate.

“Mother,” cried she, “I see you here. Look! Look!”

Hester looked by way of humouring the child; and she saw that, owing to
the peculiar effect of this convex mirror, the scarlet letter was
represented in exaggerated and gigantic proportions, so as to be
greatly the most prominent feature of her appearance. In truth, she
seemed absolutely hidden behind it. Pearl pointed upwards also, at a
similar picture in the head-piece; smiling at her mother, with the
elfish intelligence that was so familiar an expression on her small
physiognomy. That look of naughty merriment was likewise reflected in
the mirror, with so much breadth and intensity of effect, that it made
Hester Prynne feel as if it could not be the image of her own child,
but of an imp who was seeking to mould itself into Pearl’s shape.

“Come along, Pearl,” said she, drawing her away, “Come and look into
this fair garden. It may be we shall see flowers there; more beautiful
ones than we find in the woods.”

Pearl accordingly ran to the bow-window, at the further end of the
hall, and looked along the vista of a garden walk, carpeted with
closely-shaven grass, and bordered with some rude and immature attempt
at shrubbery. But the proprietor appeared already to have relinquished
as hopeless, the effort to perpetuate on this side of the Atlantic, in
a hard soil, and amid the close struggle for subsistence, the native
English taste for ornamental gardening. Cabbages grew in plain sight;
and a pumpkin-vine, rooted at some distance, had run across the
intervening space, and deposited one of its gigantic products directly
beneath the hall window, as if to warn the Governor that this great
lump of vegetable gold was as rich an ornament as New England earth
would offer him. There were a few rose-bushes, however, and a number of
apple-trees, probably the descendants of those planted by the Reverend
Mr. Blackstone, the first settler of the peninsula; that half
mythological personage who rides through our early annals, seated on
the back of a bull.

Pearl, seeing the rose-bushes, began to cry for a red rose, and would
not be pacified.

“Hush, child—hush!” said her mother, earnestly. “Do not cry, dear
little Pearl! I hear voices in the garden. The Governor is coming, and
gentlemen along with him.”

In fact, adown the vista of the garden avenue, a number of persons were
seen approaching towards the house. Pearl, in utter scorn of her
mother’s attempt to quiet her, gave an eldritch scream, and then became
silent, not from any notion of obedience, but because the quick and
mobile curiosity of her disposition was excited by the appearance of
those new personages.

VIII.
THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER

Governor Bellingham, in a loose gown and easy cap—such as elderly
gentlemen loved to endue themselves with, in their domestic
privacy—walked foremost, and appeared to be showing off his estate, and
expatiating on his projected improvements. The wide circumference of an
elaborate ruff, beneath his grey beard, in the antiquated fashion of
King James’s reign, caused his head to look not a little like that of
John the Baptist in a charger. The impression made by his aspect, so
rigid and severe, and frost-bitten with more than autumnal age, was
hardly in keeping with the appliances of worldly enjoyment wherewith he
had evidently done his utmost to surround himself. But it is an error
to suppose that our great forefathers—though accustomed to speak and
think of human existence as a state merely of trial and warfare, and
though unfeignedly prepared to sacrifice goods and life at the behest
of duty—made it a matter of conscience to reject such means of comfort,
or even luxury, as lay fairly within their grasp. This creed was never
taught, for instance, by the venerable pastor, John Wilson, whose
beard, white as a snow-drift, was seen over Governor Bellingham’s
shoulders, while its wearer suggested that pears and peaches might yet
be naturalised in the New England climate, and that purple grapes might
possibly be compelled to flourish against the sunny garden-wall. The
old clergyman, nurtured at the rich bosom of the English Church, had a
long established and legitimate taste for all good and comfortable
things, and however stern he might show himself in the pulpit, or in
his public reproof of such transgressions as that of Hester Prynne,
still, the genial benevolence of his private life had won him warmer
affection than was accorded to any of his professional contemporaries.

Behind the Governor and Mr. Wilson came two other guests—one, the
Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, whom the reader may remember as having
taken a brief and reluctant part in the scene of Hester Prynne’s
disgrace; and, in close companionship with him, old Roger
Chillingworth, a person of great skill in physic, who for two or three
years past had been settled in the town. It was understood that this
learned man was the physician as well as friend of the young minister,
whose health had severely suffered of late by his too unreserved
self-sacrifice to the labours and duties of the pastoral relation.

The Governor, in advance of his visitors, ascended one or two steps,
and, throwing open the leaves of the great hall window, found himself
close to little Pearl. The shadow of the curtain fell on Hester Prynne,
and partially concealed her.

“What have we here?” said Governor Bellingham, looking with surprise at
the scarlet little figure before him. “I profess, I have never seen the
like since my days of vanity, in old King James’s time, when I was wont
to esteem it a high favour to be admitted to a court mask! There used
to be a swarm of these small apparitions in holiday time, and we called
them children of the Lord of Misrule. But how gat such a guest into my
hall?”

“Ay, indeed!” cried good old Mr. Wilson. “What little bird of scarlet
plumage may this be? Methinks I have seen just such figures when the
sun has been shining through a richly painted window, and tracing out
the golden and crimson images across the floor. But that was in the old
land. Prithee, young one, who art thou, and what has ailed thy mother
to bedizen thee in this strange fashion? Art thou a Christian child—ha?
Dost know thy catechism? Or art thou one of those naughty elfs or
fairies whom we thought to have left behind us, with other relics of
Papistry, in merry old England?”

“I am mother’s child,” answered the scarlet vision, “and my name is
Pearl!”

“Pearl?—Ruby, rather—or Coral!—or Red Rose, at the very least, judging
from thy hue!” responded the old minister, putting forth his hand in a
vain attempt to pat little Pearl on the cheek. “But where is this
mother of thine? Ah! I see,” he added; and, turning to Governor
Bellingham, whispered, “This is the selfsame child of whom we have held
speech together; and behold here the unhappy woman, Hester Prynne, her
mother!”

“Sayest thou so?” cried the Governor. “Nay, we might have judged that
such a child’s mother must needs be a scarlet woman, and a worthy type
of her of Babylon! But she comes at a good time, and we will look into
this matter forthwith.”

Governor Bellingham stepped through the window into the hall, followed
by his three guests.

“Hester Prynne,” said he, fixing his naturally stern regard on the
wearer of the scarlet letter, “there hath been much question concerning
thee of late. The point hath been weightily discussed, whether we, that
are of authority and influence, do well discharge our consciences by
trusting an immortal soul, such as there is in yonder child, to the
guidance of one who hath stumbled and fallen amid the pitfalls of this
world. Speak thou, the child’s own mother! Were it not, thinkest thou,
for thy little one’s temporal and eternal welfare that she be taken out
of thy charge, and clad soberly, and disciplined strictly, and
instructed in the truths of heaven and earth? What canst thou do for
the child in this kind?”

“I can teach my little Pearl what I have learned from this!” answered
Hester Prynne, laying her finger on the red token.

“Woman, it is thy badge of shame!” replied the stern magistrate. “It is
because of the stain which that letter indicates that we would transfer
thy child to other hands.”

“Nevertheless,” said the mother, calmly, though growing more pale,
“this badge hath taught me—it daily teaches me—it is teaching me at
this moment—lessons whereof my child may be the wiser and better,
albeit they can profit nothing to myself.”

“We will judge warily,” said Bellingham, “and look well what we are
about to do. Good Master Wilson, I pray you, examine this Pearl—since
that is her name—and see whether she hath had such Christian nurture as
befits a child of her age.”

The old minister seated himself in an arm-chair and made an effort to
draw Pearl betwixt his knees. But the child, unaccustomed to the touch
or familiarity of any but her mother, escaped through the open window,
and stood on the upper step, looking like a wild tropical bird of rich
plumage, ready to take flight into the upper air. Mr. Wilson, not a
little astonished at this outbreak—for he was a grandfatherly sort of
personage, and usually a vast favourite with children—essayed, however,
to proceed with the examination.

“Pearl,” said he, with great solemnity, “thou must take heed to
instruction, that so, in due season, thou mayest wear in thy bosom the
pearl of great price. Canst thou tell me, my child, who made thee?”

Now Pearl knew well enough who made her, for Hester Prynne, the
daughter of a pious home, very soon after her talk with the child about
her Heavenly Father, had begun to inform her of those truths which the
human spirit, at whatever stage of immaturity, imbibes with such eager
interest. Pearl, therefore—so large were the attainments of her three
years’ lifetime—could have borne a fair examination in the New England
Primer, or the first column of the Westminster Catechisms, although
unacquainted with the outward form of either of those celebrated works.
But that perversity, which all children have more or less of, and of
which little Pearl had a tenfold portion, now, at the most inopportune
moment, took thorough possession of her, and closed her lips, or
impelled her to speak words amiss. After putting her finger in her
mouth, with many ungracious refusals to answer good Mr. Wilson’s
question, the child finally announced that she had not been made at
all, but had been plucked by her mother off the bush of wild roses that
grew by the prison-door.

This phantasy was probably suggested by the near proximity of the
Governor’s red roses, as Pearl stood outside of the window, together
with her recollection of the prison rose-bush, which she had passed in
coming hither.

Old Roger Chillingworth, with a smile on his face, whispered something
in the young clergyman’s ear. Hester Prynne looked at the man of skill,
and even then, with her fate hanging in the balance, was startled to
perceive what a change had come over his features—how much uglier they
were, how his dark complexion seemed to have grown duskier, and his
figure more misshapen—since the days when she had familiarly known him.
She met his eyes for an instant, but was immediately constrained to
give all her attention to the scene now going forward.

“This is awful!” cried the Governor, slowly recovering from the
astonishment into which Pearl’s response had thrown him. “Here is a
child of three years old, and she cannot tell who made her! Without
question, she is equally in the dark as to her soul, its present
depravity, and future destiny! Methinks, gentlemen, we need inquire no
further.”

Hester caught hold of Pearl, and drew her forcibly into her arms,
confronting the old Puritan magistrate with almost a fierce expression.
Alone in the world, cast off by it, and with this sole treasure to keep
her heart alive, she felt that she possessed indefeasible rights
against the world, and was ready to defend them to the death.

“God gave me the child!” cried she. “He gave her in requital of all
things else which ye had taken from me. She is my happiness—she is my
torture, none the less! Pearl keeps me here in life! Pearl punishes me,
too! See ye not, she is the scarlet letter, only capable of being
loved, and so endowed with a millionfold the power of retribution for
my sin? Ye shall not take her! I will die first!”

“My poor woman,” said the not unkind old minister, “the child shall be
well cared for—far better than thou canst do for it.”

“God gave her into my keeping!” repeated Hester Prynne, raising her
voice almost to a shriek. “I will not give her up!” And here by a
sudden impulse, she turned to the young clergyman, Mr. Dimmesdale, at
whom, up to this moment, she had seemed hardly so much as once to
direct her eyes. “Speak thou for me!” cried she. “Thou wast my pastor,
and hadst charge of my soul, and knowest me better than these men can.
I will not lose the child! Speak for me! Thou knowest—for thou hast
sympathies which these men lack—thou knowest what is in my heart, and
what are a mother’s rights, and how much the stronger they are when
that mother has but her child and the scarlet letter! Look thou to it!
I will not lose the child! Look to it!”

At this wild and singular appeal, which indicated that Hester Prynne’s
situation had provoked her to little less than madness, the young
minister at once came forward, pale, and holding his hand over his
heart, as was his custom whenever his peculiarly nervous temperament
was thrown into agitation. He looked now more careworn and emaciated
than as we described him at the scene of Hester’s public ignominy; and
whether it were his failing health, or whatever the cause might be, his
large dark eyes had a world of pain in their troubled and melancholy
depth.

“There is truth in what she says,” began the minister, with a voice
sweet, tremulous, but powerful, insomuch that the hall re-echoed and
the hollow armour rang with it—“truth in what Hester says, and in the
feeling which inspires her! God gave her the child, and gave her, too,
an instinctive knowledge of its nature and requirements—both seemingly
so peculiar—which no other mortal being can possess. And, moreover, is
there not a quality of awful sacredness in the relation between this
mother and this child?”

“Ay—how is that, good Master Dimmesdale?” interrupted the Governor.
“Make that plain, I pray you!”

“It must be even so,” resumed the minister. “For, if we deem it
otherwise, do we not thereby say that the Heavenly Father, the creator
of all flesh, hath lightly recognised a deed of sin, and made of no
account the distinction between unhallowed lust and holy love? This
child of its father’s guilt and its mother’s shame has come from the
hand of God, to work in many ways upon her heart, who pleads so
earnestly and with such bitterness of spirit the right to keep her. It
was meant for a blessing—for the one blessing of her life! It was
meant, doubtless, the mother herself hath told us, for a retribution,
too; a torture to be felt at many an unthought-of moment; a pang, a
sting, an ever-recurring agony, in the midst of a troubled joy! Hath
she not expressed this thought in the garb of the poor child, so
forcibly reminding us of that red symbol which sears her bosom?”

“Well said again!” cried good Mr. Wilson. “I feared the woman had no
better thought than to make a mountebank of her child!”

“Oh, not so!—not so!” continued Mr. Dimmesdale. “She recognises,
believe me, the solemn miracle which God hath wrought in the existence
of that child. And may she feel, too—what, methinks, is the very
truth—that this boon was meant, above all things else, to keep the
mother’s soul alive, and to preserve her from blacker depths of sin
into which Satan might else have sought to plunge her! Therefore it is
good for this poor, sinful woman, that she hath an infant immortality,
a being capable of eternal joy or sorrow, confided to her care—to be
trained up by her to righteousness, to remind her, at every moment, of
her fall, but yet to teach her, as if it were by the Creator’s sacred
pledge, that, if she bring the child to heaven, the child also will
bring its parents thither! Herein is the sinful mother happier than the
sinful father. For Hester Prynne’s sake, then, and no less for the poor
child’s sake, let us leave them as Providence hath seen fit to place
them!”

“You speak, my friend, with a strange earnestness,” said old Roger
Chillingworth, smiling at him.

“And there is a weighty import in what my young brother hath spoken,”
added the Rev. Mr. Wilson.

“What say you, worshipful Master Bellingham? Hath he not pleaded well
for the poor woman?”

“Indeed hath he,” answered the magistrate; “and hath adduced such
arguments, that we will even leave the matter as it now stands; so
long, at least, as there shall be no further scandal in the woman. Care
must be had nevertheless, to put the child to due and stated
examination in the catechism, at thy hands or Master Dimmesdale’s.
Moreover, at a proper season, the tithing-men must take heed that she
go both to school and to meeting.”

The young minister, on ceasing to speak had withdrawn a few steps from
the group, and stood with his face partially concealed in the heavy
folds of the window-curtain; while the shadow of his figure, which the
sunlight cast upon the floor, was tremulous with the vehemence of his
appeal. Pearl, that wild and flighty little elf stole softly towards
him, and taking his hand in the grasp of both her own, laid her cheek
against it; a caress so tender, and withal so unobtrusive, that her
mother, who was looking on, asked herself—“Is that my Pearl?” Yet she
knew that there was love in the child’s heart, although it mostly
revealed itself in passion, and hardly twice in her lifetime had been
softened by such gentleness as now. The minister—for, save the
long-sought regards of woman, nothing is sweeter than these marks of
childish preference, accorded spontaneously by a spiritual instinct,
and therefore seeming to imply in us something truly worthy to be
loved—the minister looked round, laid his hand on the child’s head,
hesitated an instant, and then kissed her brow. Little Pearl’s unwonted
mood of sentiment lasted no longer; she laughed, and went capering down
the hall so airily, that old Mr. Wilson raised a question whether even
her tiptoes touched the floor.

“The little baggage hath witchcraft in her, I profess,” said he to Mr.
Dimmesdale. “She needs no old woman’s broomstick to fly withal!”

“A strange child!” remarked old Roger Chillingworth. “It is easy to see
the mother’s part in her. Would it be beyond a philosopher’s research,
think ye, gentlemen, to analyse that child’s nature, and, from it make
a mould, to give a shrewd guess at the father?”

“Nay; it would be sinful, in such a question, to follow the clue of
profane philosophy,” said Mr. Wilson. “Better to fast and pray upon it;
and still better, it may be, to leave the mystery as we find it, unless
Providence reveal it of its own accord. Thereby, every good Christian
man hath a title to show a father’s kindness towards the poor, deserted
babe.”

The affair being so satisfactorily concluded, Hester Prynne, with
Pearl, departed from the house. As they descended the steps, it is
averred that the lattice of a chamber-window was thrown open, and forth
into the sunny day was thrust the face of Mistress Hibbins, Governor
Bellingham’s bitter-tempered sister, and the same who, a few years
later, was executed as a witch.

“Hist, hist!” said she, while her ill-omened physiognomy seemed to cast
a shadow over the cheerful newness of the house. “Wilt thou go with us
tonight? There will be a merry company in the forest; and I well-nigh
promised the Black Man that comely Hester Prynne should make one.”

“Make my excuse to him, so please you!” answered Hester, with a
triumphant smile. “I must tarry at home, and keep watch over my little
Pearl. Had they taken her from me, I would willingly have gone with
thee into the forest, and signed my name in the Black Man’s book too,
and that with mine own blood!”

“We shall have thee there anon!” said the witch-lady, frowning, as she
drew back her head.

But here—if we suppose this interview betwixt Mistress Hibbins and
Hester Prynne to be authentic, and not a parable—was already an
illustration of the young minister’s argument against sundering the
relation of a fallen mother to the offspring of her frailty. Even thus
early had the child saved her from Satan’s snare.

IX.
THE LEECH

Under the appellation of Roger Chillingworth, the reader will remember,
was hidden another name, which its former wearer had resolved should
never more be spoken. It has been related, how, in the crowd that
witnessed Hester Prynne’s ignominious exposure, stood a man, elderly,
travel-worn, who, just emerging from the perilous wilderness, beheld
the woman, in whom he hoped to find embodied the warmth and
cheerfulness of home, set up as a type of sin before the people. Her
matronly fame was trodden under all men’s feet. Infamy was babbling
around her in the public market-place. For her kindred, should the
tidings ever reach them, and for the companions of her unspotted life,
there remained nothing but the contagion of her dishonour; which would
not fail to be distributed in strict accordance and proportion with the
intimacy and sacredness of their previous relationship. Then why—since
the choice was with himself—should the individual, whose connexion with
the fallen woman had been the most intimate and sacred of them all,
come forward to vindicate his claim to an inheritance so little
desirable? He resolved not to be pilloried beside her on her pedestal
of shame. Unknown to all but Hester Prynne, and possessing the lock and
key of her silence, he chose to withdraw his name from the roll of
mankind, and, as regarded his former ties and interest, to vanish out
of life as completely as if he indeed lay at the bottom of the ocean,
whither rumour had long ago consigned him. This purpose once effected,
new interests would immediately spring up, and likewise a new purpose;
dark, it is true, if not guilty, but of force enough to engage the full
strength of his faculties.

In pursuance of this resolve, he took up his residence in the Puritan
town as Roger Chillingworth, without other introduction than the
learning and intelligence of which he possessed more than a common
measure. As his studies, at a previous period of his life, had made him
extensively acquainted with the medical science of the day, it was as a
physician that he presented himself and as such was cordially received.
Skilful men, of the medical and chirurgical profession, were of rare
occurrence in the colony. They seldom, it would appear, partook of the
religious zeal that brought other emigrants across the Atlantic. In
their researches into the human frame, it may be that the higher and
more subtle faculties of such men were materialised, and that they lost
the spiritual view of existence amid the intricacies of that wondrous
mechanism, which seemed to involve art enough to comprise all of life
within itself. At all events, the health of the good town of Boston, so
far as medicine had aught to do with it, had hitherto lain in the
guardianship of an aged deacon and apothecary, whose piety and godly
deportment were stronger testimonials in his favour than any that he
could have produced in the shape of a diploma. The only surgeon was one
who combined the occasional exercise of that noble art with the daily
and habitual flourish of a razor. To such a professional body Roger
Chillingworth was a brilliant acquisition. He soon manifested his
familiarity with the ponderous and imposing machinery of antique
physic; in which every remedy contained a multitude of far-fetched and
heterogeneous ingredients, as elaborately compounded as if the proposed
result had been the Elixir of Life. In his Indian captivity, moreover,
he had gained much knowledge of the properties of native herbs and
roots; nor did he conceal from his patients that these simple
medicines, Nature’s boon to the untutored savage, had quite as large a
share of his own confidence as the European Pharmacopœia, which so
many learned doctors had spent centuries in elaborating.

This learned stranger was exemplary as regarded at least the outward
forms of a religious life; and early after his arrival, had chosen for
his spiritual guide the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. The young divine,
whose scholar-like renown still lived in Oxford, was considered by his
more fervent admirers as little less than a heavenly ordained apostle,
destined, should he live and labour for the ordinary term of life, to
do as great deeds, for the now feeble New England Church, as the early
Fathers had achieved for the infancy of the Christian faith. About this
period, however, the health of Mr. Dimmesdale had evidently begun to
fail. By those best acquainted with his habits, the paleness of the
young minister’s cheek was accounted for by his too earnest devotion to
study, his scrupulous fulfilment of parochial duty, and more than all,
to the fasts and vigils of which he made a frequent practice, in order
to keep the grossness of this earthly state from clogging and obscuring
his spiritual lamp. Some declared, that if Mr. Dimmesdale were really
going to die, it was cause enough that the world was not worthy to be
any longer trodden by his feet. He himself, on the other hand, with
characteristic humility, avowed his belief that if Providence should
see fit to remove him, it would be because of his own unworthiness to
perform its humblest mission here on earth. With all this difference of
opinion as to the cause of his decline, there could be no question of
the fact. His form grew emaciated; his voice, though still rich and
sweet, had a certain melancholy prophecy of decay in it; he was often
observed, on any slight alarm or other sudden accident, to put his hand
over his heart with first a flush and then a paleness, indicative of
pain.

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.

The Old Testament of the King James Version of the Bible
The First Book of Moses: Called Genesis
The Second Book of Moses: Called Exodus
The Third Book of Moses: Called Leviticus
The Fourth Book of Moses: Called Numbers
The Fifth Book of Moses: Called Deuteronomy
The Book of Joshua
The Book of Judges
The Book of Ruth
The First Book of Samuel
The Second Book of Samuel
The First Book of the Kings
The Second Book of the Kings
The First Book of the Chronicles
The Second Book of the Chronicles
Ezra
The Book of Nehemiah
The Book of Esther
The Book of Job
The Book of Psalms
The Proverbs
Ecclesiastes
The Song of Solomon
The Book of the Prophet Isaiah
The Book of the Prophet Jeremiah
The Lamentations of Jeremiah
The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel
The Book of Daniel
Hosea
Joel
Amos
Obadiah
Jonah
Micah
Nahum
Habakkuk
Zephaniah
Haggai
Zechariah
Malachi

The New Testament of the King James Bible
The Gospel According to Saint Matthew
The Gospel According to Saint Mark
The Gospel According to Saint Luke
The Gospel According to Saint John
The Acts of the Apostles
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Romans
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Galatians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Philippians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Colossians
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Titus
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Philemon
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews
The General Epistle of James
The First Epistle General of Peter
The Second General Epistle of Peter
The First Epistle General of John
The Second Epistle General of John
The Third Epistle General of John
The General Epistle of Jude
The Revelation of Saint John the Divine

The Old Testament of the King James Version of the Bible

The First Book of Moses: Called Genesis

1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

1:2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon
the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the
waters.

1:3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

1:4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light
from the darkness.

1:5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.
And the evening and the morning were the first day.

1:6 And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters,
and let it divide the waters from the waters.

1:7 And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were
under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament:
and it was so.

1:8 And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the
morning were the second day.

1:9 And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together
unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

1:10 And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of
the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.

1:11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding
seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is
in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

1:12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after
his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after
his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:13 And the evening and the morning were the third day.

1:14 And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven
to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for
seasons, and for days, and years: 1:15 And let them be for lights in
the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was
so.

1:16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day,
and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.

1:17 And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light
upon the earth, 1:18 And to rule over the day and over the night, and
to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.

1:19 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

1:20 And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving
creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the
open firmament of heaven.

1:21 And God created great whales, and every living creature that
moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind,
and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:22 And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill
the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

1:23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

1:24 And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after
his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his
kind: and it was so.

1:25 And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle
after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after
his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness:
and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl
of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over
every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

1:27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created
he him; male and female created he them.

1:28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and
multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion
over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every
living thing that moveth upon the earth.

1:29 And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed,
which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which
is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

1:30 And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air,
and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is
life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.

1:31 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was
very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

2:1 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of
them.

2:2 And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and
he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made.

2:3 And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that
in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.

2:4 These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when
they were created, in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the
heavens, 2:5 And every plant of the field before it was in the earth,
and every herb of the field before it grew: for the LORD God had not
caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the
ground.

2:6 But there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole
face of the ground.

2:7 And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and
breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living
soul.

2:8 And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he
put the man whom he had formed.

2:9 And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is
pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the
midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

2:10 And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence
it was parted, and became into four heads.

2:11 The name of the first is Pison: that is it which compasseth the
whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 2:12 And the gold of that
land is good: there is bdellium and the onyx stone.

2:13 And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that
compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.

2:14 And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which
goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth river is Euphrates.

2:15 And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of
Eden to dress it and to keep it.

2:16 And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the
garden thou mayest freely eat: 2:17 But of the tree of the knowledge
of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou
eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.

2:18 And the LORD God said, It is not good that the man should be
alone; I will make him an help meet for him.

2:19 And out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the
field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see
what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living
creature, that was the name thereof.

2:20 And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air,
and to every beast of the field; but for Adam there was not found an
help meet for him.

2:21 And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he
slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead
thereof; 2:22 And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made
he a woman, and brought her unto the man.

2:23 And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my
flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.

2:24 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall
cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.

2:25 And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not
ashamed.

3:1 Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which
the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said,
Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? 3:2 And the woman said
unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden:
3:3 But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden,
God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest
ye die.

3:4 And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: 3:5
For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall
be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

3:6 And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that
it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one
wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto
her husband with her; and he did eat.

3:7 And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they
were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves
aprons.

3:8 And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in
the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the
presence of the LORD God amongst the trees of the garden.

3:9 And the LORD God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art
thou? 3:10 And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was
afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.

3:11 And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten
of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?
3:12 And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she
gave me of the tree, and I did eat.

3:13 And the LORD God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast
done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.

3:14 And the LORD God said unto the serpent, Because thou hast done
this, thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the
field; upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the
days of thy life: 3:15 And I will put enmity between thee and the
woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head,
and thou shalt bruise his heel.

3:16 Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and
thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy
desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.

3:17 And unto Adam he said, Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice
of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee,
saying, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed is the ground for thy sake;
in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; 3:18 Thorns
also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the
herb of the field; 3:19 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,
till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for
dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

3:20 And Adam called his wife’s name Eve; because she was the mother
of all living.

3:21 Unto Adam also and to his wife did the LORD God make coats of
skins, and clothed them.

3:22 And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to
know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also
of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever: 3:23 Therefore the
LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground
from whence he was taken.

3:24 So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden
of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep
the way of the tree of life.

4:1 And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain, and
said, I have gotten a man from the LORD.

4:2 And she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel was a keeper of
sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.

4:3 And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the
fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD.

4:4 And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of
the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his
offering: 4:5 But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect.
And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.

4:6 And the LORD said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy
countenance fallen? 4:7 If thou doest well, shalt thou not be
accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto
thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.

4:8 And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when
they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother,
and slew him.

4:9 And the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he
said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper? 4:10 And he said, What
hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from
the ground.

4:11 And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her
mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand; 4:12 When thou
tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her
strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.

4:13 And Cain said unto the LORD, My punishment is greater than I can
bear.

4:14 Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the
earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and
a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one
that findeth me shall slay me.

4:15 And the LORD said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain,
vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the LORD set a mark
upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.

4:16 And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the
land of Nod, on the east of Eden.

4:17 And Cain knew his wife; and she conceived, and bare Enoch: and he
builded a city, and called the name of the city, after the name of his
son, Enoch.

4:18 And unto Enoch was born Irad: and Irad begat Mehujael: and
Mehujael begat Methusael: and Methusael begat Lamech.

4:19 And Lamech took unto him two wives: the name of the one was Adah,
and the name of the other Zillah.

4:20 And Adah bare Jabal: he was the father of such as dwell in tents,
and of such as have cattle.

4:21 And his brother’s name was Jubal: he was the father of all such
as handle the harp and organ.

4:22 And Zillah, she also bare Tubalcain, an instructer of every
artificer in brass and iron: and the sister of Tubalcain was Naamah.

4:23 And Lamech said unto his wives, Adah and Zillah, Hear my voice;
ye wives of Lamech, hearken unto my speech: for I have slain a man to
my wounding, and a young man to my hurt.

4:24 If Cain shall be avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy and
sevenfold.

4:25 And Adam knew his wife again; and she bare a son, and called his
name Seth: For God, said she, hath appointed me another seed instead
of Abel, whom Cain slew.

4:26 And to Seth, to him also there was born a son; and he called his
name Enos: then began men to call upon the name of the LORD.

5:1 This is the book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God
created man, in the likeness of God made he him; 5:2 Male and female
created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Adam, in the
day when they were created.

5:3 And Adam lived an hundred and thirty years, and begat a son in his
own likeness, and after his image; and called his name Seth: 5:4 And
the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years:
and he begat sons and daughters: 5:5 And all the days that Adam lived
were nine hundred and thirty years: and he died.

5:6 And Seth lived an hundred and five years, and begat Enos: 5:7 And
Seth lived after he begat Enos eight hundred and seven years, and
begat sons and daughters: 5:8 And all the days of Seth were nine
hundred and twelve years: and he died.

5:9 And Enos lived ninety years, and begat Cainan: 5:10 And Enos lived
after he begat Cainan eight hundred and fifteen years, and begat sons
and daughters: 5:11 And all the days of Enos were nine hundred and
five years: and he died.

5:12 And Cainan lived seventy years and begat Mahalaleel: 5:13 And
Cainan lived after he begat Mahalaleel eight hundred and forty years,
and begat sons and daughters: 5:14 And all the days of Cainan were
nine hundred and ten years: and he died.

5:15 And Mahalaleel lived sixty and five years, and begat Jared: 5:16
And Mahalaleel lived after he begat Jared eight hundred and thirty
years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:17 And all the days of
Mahalaleel were eight hundred ninety and five years: and he died.

5:18 And Jared lived an hundred sixty and two years, and he begat
Enoch: 5:19 And Jared lived after he begat Enoch eight hundred years,
and begat sons and daughters: 5:20 And all the days of Jared were nine
hundred sixty and two years: and he died.

5:21 And Enoch lived sixty and five years, and begat Methuselah: 5:22
And Enoch walked with God after he begat Methuselah three hundred
years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:23 And all the days of Enoch
were three hundred sixty and five years: 5:24 And Enoch walked with
God: and he was not; for God took him.

5:25 And Methuselah lived an hundred eighty and seven years, and begat
Lamech.

5:26 And Methuselah lived after he begat Lamech seven hundred eighty
and two years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:27 And all the days of
Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died.

5:28 And Lamech lived an hundred eighty and two years, and begat a
son: 5:29 And he called his name Noah, saying, This same shall comfort
us concerning our work and toil of our hands, because of the ground
which the LORD hath cursed.

5:30 And Lamech lived after he begat Noah five hundred ninety and five
years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:31 And all the days of Lamech
were seven hundred seventy and seven years: and he died.

5:32 And Noah was five hundred years old: and Noah begat Shem, Ham,
and Japheth.

6:1 And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the
earth, and daughters were born unto them, 6:2 That the sons of God saw
the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of
all which they chose.

6:3 And the LORD said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for
that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty
years.

6:4 There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that,
when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare
children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of
renown.

6:5 And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and
that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil
continually.

6:6 And it repented the LORD that he had made man on the earth, and it
grieved him at his heart.

6:7 And the LORD said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the
face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and
the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.

6:8 But Noah found grace in the eyes of the LORD.

6:9 These are the generations of Noah: Noah was a just man and perfect
in his generations, and Noah walked with God.

6:10 And Noah begat three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.

6:11 The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled
with violence.

6:12 And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for
all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.

6:13 And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me;
for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I
will destroy them with the earth.

6:14 Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the
ark, and shalt pitch it within and without with pitch.

6:15 And this is the fashion which thou shalt make it of: The length
of the ark shall be three hundred cubits, the breadth of it fifty
cubits, and the height of it thirty cubits.

6:16 A window shalt thou make to the ark, and in a cubit shalt thou
finish it above; and the door of the ark shalt thou set in the side
thereof; with lower, second, and third stories shalt thou make it.

6:17 And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the
earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under
heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die.

6:18 But with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come
into the ark, thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons’ wives
with thee.

6:19 And of every living thing of all flesh, two of every sort shalt
thou bring into the ark, to keep them alive with thee; they shall be
male and female.

6:20 Of fowls after their kind, and of cattle after their kind, of
every creeping thing of the earth after his kind, two of every sort
shall come unto thee, to keep them alive.

6:21 And take thou unto thee of all food that is eaten, and thou shalt
gather it to thee; and it shall be for food for thee, and for them.

6:22 Thus did Noah; according to all that God commanded him, so did
he.

7:1 And the LORD said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the
ark; for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation.

7:2 Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, the male
and his female: and of beasts that are not clean by two, the male and
his female.

7:3 Of fowls also of the air by sevens, the male and the female; to
keep seed alive upon the face of all the earth.

7:4 For yet seven days, and I will cause it to rain upon the earth
forty days and forty nights; and every living substance that I have
made will I destroy from off the face of the earth.

7:5 And Noah did according unto all that the LORD commanded him.

7:6 And Noah was six hundred years old when the flood of waters was
upon the earth.

7:7 And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives
with him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood.

7:8 Of clean beasts, and of beasts that are not clean, and of fowls,
and of every thing that creepeth upon the earth, 7:9 There went in two
and two unto Noah into the ark, the male and the female, as God had
commanded Noah.

7:10 And it came to pass after seven days, that the waters of the
flood were upon the earth.

7:11 In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month,
the seventeenth day of the month, the same day were all the fountains
of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened.

7:12 And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights.

7:13 In the selfsame day entered Noah, and Shem, and Ham, and Japheth,
the sons of Noah, and Noah’s wife, and the three wives of his sons
with them, into the ark; 7:14 They, and every beast after his kind,
and all the cattle after their kind, and every creeping thing that
creepeth upon the earth after his kind, and every fowl after his kind,
every bird of every sort.

7:15 And they went in unto Noah into the ark, two and two of all
flesh, wherein is the breath of life.

7:16 And they that went in, went in male and female of all flesh, as
God had commanded him: and the LORD shut him in.

7:17 And the flood was forty days upon the earth; and the waters
increased, and bare up the ark, and it was lift up above the earth.

7:18 And the waters prevailed, and were increased greatly upon the
earth; and the ark went upon the face of the waters.

7:19 And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the
high hills, that were under the whole heaven, were covered.

7:20 Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains
were covered.

7:21 And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and
of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth
upon the earth, and every man: 7:22 All in whose nostrils was the
breath of life, of all that was in the dry land, died.

7:23 And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face
of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the
fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah
only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark.

7:24 And the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty
days.

8:1 And God remembered Noah, and every living thing, and all the
cattle that was with him in the ark: and God made a wind to pass over
the earth, and the waters asswaged; 8:2 The fountains also of the deep
and the windows of heaven were stopped, and the rain from heaven was
restrained; 8:3 And the waters returned from off the earth
continually: and after the end of the hundred and fifty days the
waters were abated.

8:4 And the ark rested in the seventh month, on the seventeenth day of
the month, upon the mountains of Ararat.

8:5 And the waters decreased continually until the tenth month: in the
tenth month, on the first day of the month, were the tops of the
mountains seen.

8:6 And it came to pass at the end of forty days, that Noah opened the
window of the ark which he had made: 8:7 And he sent forth a raven,
which went forth to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off
the earth.

8:8 Also he sent forth a dove from him, to see if the waters were
abated from off the face of the ground; 8:9 But the dove found no rest
for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark, for
the waters were on the face of the whole earth: then he put forth his
hand, and took her, and pulled her in unto him into the ark.

8:10 And he stayed yet other seven days; and again he sent forth the
dove out of the ark; 8:11 And the dove came in to him in the evening;
and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that
the waters were abated from off the earth.

8:12 And he stayed yet other seven days; and sent forth the dove;
which returned not again unto him any more.

8:13 And it came to pass in the six hundredth and first year, in the
first month, the first day of the month, the waters were dried up from
off the earth: and Noah removed the covering of the ark, and looked,
and, behold, the face of the ground was dry.

8:14 And in the second month, on the seven and twentieth day of the
month, was the earth dried.

8:15 And God spake unto Noah, saying, 8:16 Go forth of the ark, thou,
and thy wife, and thy sons, and thy sons’ wives with thee.

8:17 Bring forth with thee every living thing that is with thee, of
all flesh, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of every creeping thing
that creepeth upon the earth; that they may breed abundantly in the
earth, and be fruitful, and multiply upon the earth.

8:18 And Noah went forth, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’
wives with him: 8:19 Every beast, every creeping thing, and every
fowl, and whatsoever creepeth upon the earth, after their kinds, went
forth out of the ark.

8:20 And Noah builded an altar unto the LORD; and took of every clean
beast, and of every clean fowl, and offered burnt offerings on the
altar.

8:21 And the LORD smelled a sweet savour; and the LORD said in his
heart, I will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake; for
the imagination of man’s heart is evil from his youth; neither will I
again smite any more every thing living, as I have done.

8:22 While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and
heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.

9:1 And God blessed Noah and his sons, and said unto them, Be
fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.

9:2 And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast
of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth
upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; into your hand are
they delivered.

9:3 Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the
green herb have I given you all things.

9:4 But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall
ye not eat.

9:5 And surely your blood of your lives will I require; at the hand of
every beast will I require it, and at the hand of man; at the hand of
every man’s brother will I require the life of man.

9:6 Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed: for in
the image of God made he man.

9:7 And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in
the earth, and multiply therein.

9:8 And God spake unto Noah, and to his sons with him, saying, 9:9 And
I, behold, I establish my covenant with you, and with your seed after
you; 9:10 And with every living creature that is with you, of the
fowl, of the cattle, and of every beast of the earth with you; from
all that go out of the ark, to every beast of the earth.

9:11 And I will establish my covenant with you, neither shall all
flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall
there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.

9:12 And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make
between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for
perpetual generations: 9:13 I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall
be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.

9:14 And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth,
that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: 9:15 And I will remember my
covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all
flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all
flesh.

9:16 And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that
I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living
creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.

9:17 And God said unto Noah, This is the token of the covenant, which
I have established between me and all flesh that is upon the earth.

9:18 And the sons of Noah, that went forth of the ark, were Shem, and
Ham, and Japheth: and Ham is the father of Canaan.

9:19 These are the three sons of Noah: and of them was the whole earth
overspread.

9:20 And Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard:
9:21 And he drank of the wine, and was drunken; and he was uncovered
within his tent.

9:22 And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father,
and told his two brethren without.

9:23 And Shem and Japheth took a garment, and laid it upon both their
shoulders, and went backward, and covered the nakedness of their
father; and their faces were backward, and they saw not their father’s
nakedness.

9:24 And Noah awoke from his wine, and knew what his younger son had
done unto him.

9:25 And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be
unto his brethren.

9:26 And he said, Blessed be the LORD God of Shem; and Canaan shall be
his servant.

9:27 God shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of
Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant.

9:28 And Noah lived after the flood three hundred and fifty years.

9:29 And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years: and
he died.

10:1 Now these are the generations of the sons of Noah, Shem, Ham, and
Japheth: and unto them were sons born after the flood.

10:2 The sons of Japheth; Gomer, and Magog, and Madai, and Javan, and
Tubal, and Meshech, and Tiras.

10:3 And the sons of Gomer; Ashkenaz, and Riphath, and Togarmah.

10:4 And the sons of Javan; Elishah, and Tarshish, Kittim, and
Dodanim.

10:5 By these were the isles of the Gentiles divided in their lands;
every one after his tongue, after their families, in their nations.

10:6 And the sons of Ham; Cush, and Mizraim, and Phut, and Canaan.

10:7 And the sons of Cush; Seba, and Havilah, and Sabtah, and Raamah,
and Sabtechah: and the sons of Raamah; Sheba, and Dedan.

10:8 And Cush begat Nimrod: he began to be a mighty one in the earth.

10:9 He was a mighty hunter before the LORD: wherefore it is said,
Even as Nimrod the mighty hunter before the LORD.

10:10 And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and
Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar.

10:11 Out of that land went forth Asshur, and builded Nineveh, and the
city Rehoboth, and Calah, 10:12 And Resen between Nineveh and Calah:
the same is a great city.

10:13 And Mizraim begat Ludim, and Anamim, and Lehabim, and Naphtuhim,
10:14 And Pathrusim, and Casluhim, (out of whom came Philistim,) and
Caphtorim.

10:15 And Canaan begat Sidon his first born, and Heth, 10:16 And the
Jebusite, and the Amorite, and the Girgasite, 10:17 And the Hivite,
and the Arkite, and the Sinite, 10:18 And the Arvadite, and the
Zemarite, and the Hamathite: and afterward were the families of the
Canaanites spread abroad.

10:19 And the border of the Canaanites was from Sidon, as thou comest
to Gerar, unto Gaza; as thou goest, unto Sodom, and Gomorrah, and
Admah, and Zeboim, even unto Lasha.

10:20 These are the sons of Ham, after their families, after their
tongues, in their countries, and in their nations.

10:21 Unto Shem also, the father of all the children of Eber, the
brother of Japheth the elder, even to him were children born.

10:22 The children of Shem; Elam, and Asshur, and Arphaxad, and Lud,
and Aram.

10:23 And the children of Aram; Uz, and Hul, and Gether, and Mash.

10:24 And Arphaxad begat Salah; and Salah begat Eber.

10:25 And unto Eber were born two sons: the name of one was Peleg; for
in his days was the earth divided; and his brother’s name was Joktan.

10:26 And Joktan begat Almodad, and Sheleph, and Hazarmaveth, and
Jerah, 10:27 And Hadoram, and Uzal, and Diklah, 10:28 And Obal, and
Abimael, and Sheba, 10:29 And Ophir, and Havilah, and Jobab: all these
were the sons of Joktan.

10:30 And their dwelling was from Mesha, as thou goest unto Sephar a
mount of the east.

10:31 These are the sons of Shem, after their families, after their
tongues, in their lands, after their nations.

10:32 These are the families of the sons of Noah, after their
generations, in their nations: and by these were the nations divided
in the earth after the flood.

11:1 And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.

11:2 And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they
found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there.

11:3 And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn
them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for
morter.

11:4 And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose
top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be
scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.

11:5 And the LORD came down to see the city and the tower, which the
children of men builded.

11:6 And the LORD said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all
one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be
restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.

11:7 Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that
they may not understand one another’s speech.

11:8 So the LORD scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of
all the earth: and they left off to build the city.

11:9 Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the LORD did
there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the
LORD scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.

11:10 These are the generations of Shem: Shem was an hundred years
old, and begat Arphaxad two years after the flood: 11:11 And Shem
lived after he begat Arphaxad five hundred years, and begat sons and
daughters.

11:12 And Arphaxad lived five and thirty years, and begat Salah: 11:13
And Arphaxad lived after he begat Salah four hundred and three years,
and begat sons and daughters.

11:14 And Salah lived thirty years, and begat Eber: 11:15 And Salah
lived after he begat Eber four hundred and three years, and begat sons
and daughters.

11:16 And Eber lived four and thirty years, and begat Peleg: 11:17 And
Eber lived after he begat Peleg four hundred and thirty years, and
begat sons and daughters.

11:18 And Peleg lived thirty years, and begat Reu: 11:19 And Peleg
lived after he begat Reu two hundred and nine years, and begat sons
and daughters.

11:20 And Reu lived two and thirty years, and begat Serug: 11:21 And
Reu lived after he begat Serug two hundred and seven years, and begat
sons and daughters.

11:22 And Serug lived thirty years, and begat Nahor: 11:23 And Serug
lived after he begat Nahor two hundred years, and begat sons and
daughters.

11:24 And Nahor lived nine and twenty years, and begat Terah: 11:25
And Nahor lived after he begat Terah an hundred and nineteen years,
and begat sons and daughters.

11:26 And Terah lived seventy years, and begat Abram, Nahor, and
Haran.

11:27 Now these are the generations of Terah: Terah begat Abram,
Nahor, and Haran; and Haran begat Lot.

11:28 And Haran died before his father Terah in the land of his
nativity, in Ur of the Chaldees.

11:29 And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram’s wife
was Sarai; and the name of Nahor’s wife, Milcah, the daughter of
Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah.

11:30 But Sarai was barren; she had no child.

11:31 And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son’s
son, and Sarai his daughter in law, his son Abram’s wife; and they
went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go into the land of
Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there.

11:32 And the days of Terah were two hundred and five years: and Terah
died in Haran.

12:1 Now the LORD had said unto Abram, Get thee out of thy country,
and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto a land that I
will shew thee: 12:2 And I will make of thee a great nation, and I
will bless thee, and make thy name great; and thou shalt be a
blessing: 12:3 And I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him
that curseth thee: and in thee shall all families of the earth be
blessed.

12:4 So Abram departed, as the LORD had spoken unto him; and Lot went
with him: and Abram was seventy and five years old when he departed
out of Haran.

12:5 And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother’s son, and all
their substance that they had gathered, and the souls that they had
gotten in Haran; and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan;
and into the land of Canaan they came.

12:6 And Abram passed through the land unto the place of Sichem, unto
the plain of Moreh. And the Canaanite was then in the land.

12:7 And the LORD appeared unto Abram, and said, Unto thy seed will I
give this land: and there builded he an altar unto the LORD, who
appeared unto him.

12:8 And he removed from thence unto a mountain on the east of Bethel,
and pitched his tent, having Bethel on the west, and Hai on the east:
and there he builded an altar unto the LORD, and called upon the name
of the LORD.

12:9 And Abram journeyed, going on still toward the south.

12:10 And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into
Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land.

12:11 And it came to pass, when he was come near to enter into Egypt,
that he said unto Sarai his wife, Behold now, I know that thou art a
fair woman to look upon: 12:12 Therefore it shall come to pass, when
the Egyptians shall see thee, that they shall say, This is his wife:
and they will kill me, but they will save thee alive.

12:13 Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with
me for thy sake; and my soul shall live because of thee.

12:14 And it came to pass, that, when Abram was come into Egypt, the
Egyptians beheld the woman that she was very fair.

12:15 The princes also of Pharaoh saw her, and commended her before
Pharaoh: and the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s house.

12:16 And he entreated Abram well for her sake: and he had sheep, and
oxen, and he asses, and menservants, and maidservants, and she asses,
and camels.

12:17 And the LORD plagued Pharaoh and his house with great plagues
because of Sarai Abram’s wife.

12:18 And Pharaoh called Abram and said, What is this that thou hast
done unto me? why didst thou not tell me that she was thy wife? 12:19
Why saidst thou, She is my sister? so I might have taken her to me to
wife: now therefore behold thy wife, take her, and go thy way.

12:20 And Pharaoh commanded his men concerning him: and they sent him
away, and his wife, and all that he had.

13:1 And Abram went up out of Egypt, he, and his wife, and all that he
had, and Lot with him, into the south.

13:2 And Abram was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold.

13:3 And he went on his journeys from the south even to Bethel, unto
the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and
Hai; 13:4 Unto the place of the altar, which he had made there at the
first: and there Abram called on the name of the LORD.

13:5 And Lot also, which went with Abram, had flocks, and herds, and
tents.

13:6 And the land was not able to bear them, that they might dwell
together: for their substance was great, so that they could not dwell
together.

13:7 And there was a strife between the herdmen of Abram’s cattle and
the herdmen of Lot’s cattle: and the Canaanite and the Perizzite
dwelled then in the land.

13:8 And Abram said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, I pray thee,
between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be
brethren.

13:9 Is not the whole land before thee? separate thyself, I pray thee,
from me: if thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right;
or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left.

13:10 And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan,
that it was well watered every where, before the LORD destroyed Sodom
and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the LORD, like the land of Egypt,
as thou comest unto Zoar.

13:11 Then Lot chose him all the plain of Jordan; and Lot journeyed
east: and they separated themselves the one from the other.

13:12 Abram dwelled in the land of Canaan, and Lot dwelled in the
cities of the plain, and pitched his tent toward Sodom.

13:13 But the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the LORD
exceedingly.

13:14 And the LORD said unto Abram, after that Lot was separated from
him, Lift up now thine eyes, and look from the place where thou art
northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: 13:15 For all
the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for
ever.

13:16 And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth: so that if a
man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be
numbered.

13:17 Arise, walk through the land in the length of it and in the
breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee.

13:18 Then Abram removed his tent, and came and dwelt in the plain of
Mamre, which is in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the LORD.

14:1 And it came to pass in the days of Amraphel king of Shinar,
Arioch king of Ellasar, Chedorlaomer king of Elam, and Tidal king of
nations; 14:2 That these made war with Bera king of Sodom, and with
Birsha king of Gomorrah, Shinab king of Admah, and Shemeber king of
Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, which is Zoar.

14:3 All these were joined together in the vale of Siddim, which is
the salt sea.

14:4 Twelve years they served Chedorlaomer, and in the thirteenth year
they rebelled.

14:5 And in the fourteenth year came Chedorlaomer, and the kings that
were with him, and smote the Rephaims in Ashteroth Karnaim, and the
Zuzims in Ham, and the Emins in Shaveh Kiriathaim, 14:6 And the
Horites in their mount Seir, unto Elparan, which is by the wilderness.

14:7 And they returned, and came to Enmishpat, which is Kadesh, and
smote all the country of the Amalekites, and also the Amorites, that
dwelt in Hazezontamar.

14:8 And there went out the king of Sodom, and the king of Gomorrah,
and the king of Admah, and the king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela
(the same is Zoar;) and they joined battle with them in the vale of
Siddim; 14:9 With Chedorlaomer the king of Elam, and with Tidal king
of nations, and Amraphel king of Shinar, and Arioch king of Ellasar;
four kings with five.

14:10 And the vale of Siddim was full of slimepits; and the kings of
Sodom and Gomorrah fled, and fell there; and they that remained fled
to the mountain.

14:11 And they took all the goods of Sodom and Gomorrah, and all their
victuals, and went their way.

14:12 And they took Lot, Abram’s brother’s son, who dwelt in Sodom,
and his goods, and departed.

14:13 And there came one that had escaped, and told Abram the Hebrew;
for he dwelt in the plain of Mamre the Amorite, brother of Eshcol, and
brother of Aner: and these were confederate with Abram.

14:14 And when Abram heard that his brother was taken captive, he
armed his trained servants, born in his own house, three hundred and
eighteen, and pursued them unto Dan.

14:15 And he divided himself against them, he and his servants, by
night, and smote them, and pursued them unto Hobah, which is on the
left hand of Damascus.

14:16 And he brought back all the goods, and also brought again his
brother Lot, and his goods, and the women also, and the people.

14:17 And the king of Sodom went out to meet him after his return from
the slaughter of Chedorlaomer, and of the kings that were with him, at
the valley of Shaveh, which is the king’s dale.

14:18 And Melchizedek king of Salem brought forth bread and wine: and
he was the priest of the most high God.

14:19 And he blessed him, and said, Blessed be Abram of the most high
God, possessor of heaven and earth: 14:20 And blessed be the most high
God, which hath delivered thine enemies into thy hand. And he gave him
tithes of all.

14:21 And the king of Sodom said unto Abram, Give me the persons, and
take the goods to thyself.

14:22 And Abram said to the king of Sodom, I have lift up mine hand
unto the LORD, the most high God, the possessor of heaven and earth,
14:23 That I will not take from a thread even to a shoelatchet, and
that I will not take any thing that is thine, lest thou shouldest say,
I have made Abram rich: 14:24 Save only that which the young men have
eaten, and the portion of the men which went with me, Aner, Eshcol,
and Mamre; let them take their portion.

15:1 After these things the word of the LORD came unto Abram in a
vision, saying, Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding
great reward.

15:2 And Abram said, LORD God, what wilt thou give me, seeing I go
childless, and the steward of my house is this Eliezer of Damascus?
15:3 And Abram said, Behold, to me thou hast given no seed: and, lo,
one born in my house is mine heir.

15:4 And, behold, the word of the LORD came unto him, saying, This
shall not be thine heir; but he that shall come forth out of thine own
bowels shall be thine heir.

15:5 And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward
heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he
said unto him, So shall thy seed be.

15:6 And he believed in the LORD; and he counted it to him for
righteousness.

15:7 And he said unto him, I am the LORD that brought thee out of Ur
of the Chaldees, to give thee this land to inherit it.

15:8 And he said, LORD God, whereby shall I know that I shall inherit
it? 15:9 And he said unto him, Take me an heifer of three years old,
and a she goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a
turtledove, and a young pigeon.

15:10 And he took unto him all these, and divided them in the midst,
and laid each piece one against another: but the birds divided he not.

15:11 And when the fowls came down upon the carcases, Abram drove them
away.

15:12 And when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram;
and, lo, an horror of great darkness fell upon him.

15:13 And he said unto Abram, Know of a surety that thy seed shall be
a stranger in a land that is not theirs, and shall serve them; and
they shall afflict them four hundred years; 15:14 And also that
nation, whom they shall serve, will I judge: and afterward shall they
come out with great substance.

15:15 And thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried
in a good old age.

15:16 But in the fourth generation they shall come hither again: for
the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full.

15:17 And it came to pass, that, when the sun went down, and it was
dark, behold a smoking furnace, and a burning lamp that passed between
those pieces.

15:18 In the same day the LORD made a covenant with Abram, saying,
Unto thy seed have I given this land, from the river of Egypt unto the
great river, the river Euphrates: 15:19 The Kenites, and the
Kenizzites, and the Kadmonites, 15:20 And the Hittites, and the
Perizzites, and the Rephaims, 15:21 And the Amorites, and the
Canaanites, and the Girgashites, and the Jebusites.

16:1 Now Sarai Abram’s wife bare him no children: and she had an
handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar.

16:2 And Sarai said unto Abram, Behold now, the LORD hath restrained
me from bearing: I pray thee, go in unto my maid; it may be that I may
obtain children by her. And Abram hearkened to the voice of Sarai.

16:3 And Sarai Abram’s wife took Hagar her maid the Egyptian, after
Abram had dwelt ten years in the land of Canaan, and gave her to her
husband Abram to be his wife.

16:4 And he went in unto Hagar, and she conceived: and when she saw
that she had conceived, her mistress was despised in her eyes.

16:5 And Sarai said unto Abram, My wrong be upon thee: I have given my
maid into thy bosom; and when she saw that she had conceived, I was
despised in her eyes: the LORD judge between me and thee.

16:6 But Abram said unto Sarai, Behold, thy maid is in thine hand; do
to her as it pleaseth thee. And when Sarai dealt hardly with her, she
fled from her face.

16:7 And the angel of the LORD found her by a fountain of water in the
wilderness, by the fountain in the way to Shur.

16:8 And he said, Hagar, Sarai’s maid, whence camest thou? and whither
wilt thou go? And she said, I flee from the face of my mistress Sarai.

16:9 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, Return to thy mistress,
and submit thyself under her hands.

16:10 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, I will multiply thy
seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude.

16:11 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, Behold, thou art with
child and shalt bear a son, and shalt call his name Ishmael; because
the LORD hath heard thy affliction.

16:12 And he will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man,
and every man’s hand against him; and he shall dwell in the presence
of all his brethren.

16:13 And she called the name of the LORD that spake unto her, Thou
God seest me: for she said, Have I also here looked after him that
seeth me? 16:14 Wherefore the well was called Beerlahairoi; behold,
it is between Kadesh and Bered.

16:15 And Hagar bare Abram a son: and Abram called his son’s name,
which Hagar bare, Ishmael.

16:16 And Abram was fourscore and six years old, when Hagar bare
Ishmael to Abram.

17:1 And when Abram was ninety years old and nine, the LORD appeared
to Abram, and said unto him, I am the Almighty God; walk before me,
and be thou perfect.

17:2 And I will make my covenant between me and thee, and will
multiply thee exceedingly.

17:3 And Abram fell on his face: and God talked with him, saying, 17:4
As for me, behold, my covenant is with thee, and thou shalt be a
father of many nations.

17:5 Neither shall thy name any more be called Abram, but thy name
shall be Abraham; for a father of many nations have I made thee.

17:6 And I will make thee exceeding fruitful, and I will make nations
of thee, and kings shall come out of thee.

17:7 And I will establish my covenant between me and thee and thy seed
after thee in their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be a
God unto thee, and to thy seed after thee.

17:8 And I will give unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land
wherein thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan, for an
everlasting possession; and I will be their God.

17:9 And God said unto Abraham, Thou shalt keep my covenant therefore,
thou, and thy seed after thee in their generations.

17:10 This is my covenant, which ye shall keep, between me and you and
thy seed after thee; Every man child among you shall be circumcised.

17:11 And ye shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin; and it shall
be a token of the covenant betwixt me and you.

17:12 And he that is eight days old shall be circumcised among you,
every man child in your generations, he that is born in the house, or
bought with money of any stranger, which is not of thy seed.

17:13 He that is born in thy house, and he that is bought with thy
money, must needs be circumcised: and my covenant shall be in your
flesh for an everlasting covenant.

17:14 And the uncircumcised man child whose flesh of his foreskin is
not circumcised, that soul shall be cut off from his people; he hath
broken my covenant.

17:15 And God said unto Abraham, As for Sarai thy wife, thou shalt not
call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall her name be.

17:16 And I will bless her, and give thee a son also of her: yea, I
will bless her, and she shall be a mother of nations; kings of people
shall be of her.

17:17 Then Abraham fell upon his face, and laughed, and said in his
heart, Shall a child be born unto him that is an hundred years old?
and shall Sarah, that is ninety years old, bear? 17:18 And Abraham
said unto God, O that Ishmael might live before thee! 17:19 And God
said, Sarah thy wife shall bear thee a son indeed; and thou shalt call
his name Isaac: and I will establish my covenant with him for an
everlasting covenant, and with his seed after him.

17:20 And as for Ishmael, I have heard thee: Behold, I have blessed
him, and will make him fruitful, and will multiply him exceedingly;
twelve princes shall he beget, and I will make him a great nation.

17:21 But my covenant will I establish with Isaac, which Sarah shall
bear unto thee at this set time in the next year.

17:22 And he left off talking with him, and God went up from Abraham.

17:23 And Abraham took Ishmael his son, and all that were born in his
house, and all that were bought with his money, every male among the
men of Abraham’s house; and circumcised the flesh of their foreskin in
the selfsame day, as God had said unto him.

17:24 And Abraham was ninety years old and nine, when he was
circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin.

17:25 And Ishmael his son was thirteen years old, when he was
circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin.

17:26 In the selfsame day was Abraham circumcised, and Ishmael his
son.

17:27 And all the men of his house, born in the house, and bought with
money of the stranger, were circumcised with him.

18:1 And the LORD appeared unto him in the plains of Mamre: and he sat
in the tent door in the heat of the day; 18:2 And he lift up his eyes
and looked, and, lo, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he
ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the
ground, 18:3 And said, My LORD, if now I have found favour in thy
sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from thy servant: 18:4 Let a little
water, I pray you, be fetched, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves
under the tree: 18:5 And I will fetch a morsel of bread, and comfort
ye your hearts; after that ye shall pass on: for therefore are ye come
to your servant. And they said, So do, as thou hast said.

18:6 And Abraham hastened into the tent unto Sarah, and said, Make
ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes
upon the hearth.

18:7 And Abraham ran unto the herd, and fetcht a calf tender and good,
and gave it unto a young man; and he hasted to dress it.

18:8 And he took butter, and milk, and the calf which he had dressed,
and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree, and they
did eat.

18:9 And they said unto him, Where is Sarah thy wife? And he said,
Behold, in the tent.

18:10 And he said, I will certainly return unto thee according to the
time of life; and, lo, Sarah thy wife shall have a son. And Sarah
heard it in the tent door, which was behind him.

18:11 Now Abraham and Sarah were old and well stricken in age; and it
ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women.

18:12 Therefore Sarah laughed within herself, saying, After I am waxed
old shall I have pleasure, my lord being old also? 18:13 And the LORD
said unto Abraham, Wherefore did Sarah laugh, saying, Shall I of a
surety bear a child, which am old? 18:14 Is any thing too hard for
the LORD? At the time appointed I will return unto thee, according to
the time of life, and Sarah shall have a son.

18:15 Then Sarah denied, saying, I laughed not; for she was afraid.
And he said, Nay; but thou didst laugh.

18:16 And the men rose up from thence, and looked toward Sodom: and
Abraham went with them to bring them on the way.

18:17 And the LORD said, Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I
do; 18:18 Seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty
nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him?
18:19 For I know him, that he will command his children and his
household after him, and they shall keep the way of the LORD, to do
justice and judgment; that the LORD may bring upon Abraham that which
he hath spoken of him.

18:20 And the LORD said, Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is
great, and because their sin is very grievous; 18:21 I will go down
now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of
it, which is come unto me; and if not, I will know.

18:22 And the men turned their faces from thence, and went toward
Sodom: but Abraham stood yet before the LORD.

18:23 And Abraham drew near, and said, Wilt thou also destroy the
righteous with the wicked? 18:24 Peradventure there be fifty
righteous within the city: wilt thou also destroy and not spare the
place for the fifty righteous that are therein? 18:25 That be far
from thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the
wicked: and that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far
from thee: Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? 18:26 And
the LORD said, If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city,
then I will spare all the place for their sakes.

18:27 And Abraham answered and said, Behold now, I have taken upon me
to speak unto the LORD, which am but dust and ashes: 18:28
Peradventure there shall lack five of the fifty righteous: wilt thou
destroy all the city for lack of five? And he said, If I find there
forty and five, I will not destroy it.

18:29 And he spake unto him yet again, and said, Peradventure there
shall be forty found there. And he said, I will not do it for forty’s
sake.

18:30 And he said unto him, Oh let not the LORD be angry, and I will
speak: Peradventure there shall thirty be found there. And he said, I
will not do it, if I find thirty there.

18:31 And he said, Behold now, I have taken upon me to speak unto the
LORD: Peradventure there shall be twenty found there. And he said, I
will not destroy it for twenty’s sake.

18:32 And he said, Oh let not the LORD be angry, and I will speak yet
but this once: Peradventure ten shall be found there. And he said, I
will not destroy it for ten’s sake.

18:33 And the LORD went his way, as soon as he had left communing with
Abraham: and Abraham returned unto his place.

19:1 And there came two angels to Sodom at even; and Lot sat in the
gate of Sodom: and Lot seeing them rose up to meet them; and he bowed
himself with his face toward the ground; 19:2 And he said, Behold now,
my lords, turn in, I pray you, into your servant’s house, and tarry
all night, and wash your feet, and ye shall rise up early, and go on
your ways. And they said, Nay; but we will abide in the street all
night.

19:3 And he pressed upon them greatly; and they turned in unto him,
and entered into his house; and he made them a feast, and did bake
unleavened bread, and they did eat.

19:4 But before they lay down, the men of the city, even the men of
Sodom, compassed the house round, both old and young, all the people
from every quarter: 19:5 And they called unto Lot, and said unto him,
Where are the men which came in to thee this night? bring them out
unto us, that we may know them.

19:6 And Lot went out at the door unto them, and shut the door after
him, 19:7 And said, I pray you, brethren, do not so wickedly.

19:8 Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let
me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good
in your eyes: only unto these men do nothing; for therefore came they
under the shadow of my roof.

19:9 And they said, Stand back. And they said again, This one fellow
came in to sojourn, and he will needs be a judge: now will we deal
worse with thee, than with them. And they pressed sore upon the man,
even Lot, and came near to break the door.

19:10 But the men put forth their hand, and pulled Lot into the house
to them, and shut to the door.

19:11 And they smote the men that were at the door of the house with
blindness, both small and great: so that they wearied themselves to
find the door.

19:12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides? son in
law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the
city, bring them out of this place: 19:13 For we will destroy this
place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the
LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.

19:14 And Lot went out, and spake unto his sons in law, which married
his daughters, and said, Up, get you out of this place; for the LORD
will destroy this city. But he seemed as one that mocked unto his sons
in law.

19:15 And when the morning arose, then the angels hastened Lot,
saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here;
lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city.

19:16 And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon
the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters; the LORD
being merciful unto him: and they brought him forth, and set him
without the city.

19:17 And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad,
that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay
thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed.

19:18 And Lot said unto them, Oh, not so, my LORD: 19:19 Behold now,
thy servant hath found grace in thy sight, and thou hast magnified thy
mercy, which thou hast shewed unto me in saving my life; and I cannot
escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die: 19:20
Behold now, this city is near to flee unto, and it is a little one:
Oh, let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall
live.

19:21 And he said unto him, See, I have accepted thee concerning this
thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for the which thou
hast spoken.

19:22 Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything till thou
be come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar.

19:23 The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar.

19:24 Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and
fire from the LORD out of heaven; 19:25 And he overthrew those cities,
and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that
which grew upon the ground.

19:26 But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a
pillar of salt.

19:27 And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he
stood before the LORD: 19:28 And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah,
and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and, lo, the smoke
of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.

19:29 And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain,
that God remembered Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the
overthrow, when he overthrew the cities in the which Lot dwelt.

19:30 And Lot went up out of Zoar, and dwelt in the mountain, and his
two daughters with him; for he feared to dwell in Zoar: and he dwelt
in a cave, he and his two daughters.

19:31 And the firstborn said unto the younger, Our father is old, and
there is not a man in the earth to come in unto us after the manner of
all the earth: 19:32 Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we
will lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.

19:33 And they made their father drink wine that night: and the
firstborn went in, and lay with her father; and he perceived not when
she lay down, nor when she arose.

19:34 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the firstborn said unto
the younger, Behold, I lay yesternight with my father: let us make him
drink wine this night also; and go thou in, and lie with him, that we
may preserve seed of our father.

19:35 And they made their father drink wine that night also: and the
younger arose, and lay with him; and he perceived not when she lay
down, nor when she arose.

19:36 Thus were both the daughters of Lot with child by their father.

19:37 And the first born bare a son, and called his name Moab: the
same is the father of the Moabites unto this day.

19:38 And the younger, she also bare a son, and called his name
Benammi: the same is the father of the children of Ammon unto this
day.

20:1 And Abraham journeyed from thence toward the south country, and
dwelled between Kadesh and Shur, and sojourned in Gerar.

20:2 And Abraham said of Sarah his wife, She is my sister: and
Abimelech king of Gerar sent, and took Sarah.

20:3 But God came to Abimelech in a dream by night, and said to him,
Behold, thou art but a dead man, for the woman which thou hast taken;
for she is a man’s wife.

20:4 But Abimelech had not come near her: and he said, LORD, wilt thou
slay also a righteous nation? 20:5 Said he not unto me, She is my
sister? and she, even she herself said, He is my brother: in the
integrity of my heart and innocency of my hands have I done this.

20:6 And God said unto him in a dream, Yea, I know that thou didst
this in the integrity of thy heart; for I also withheld thee from
sinning against me: therefore suffered I thee not to touch her.

20:7 Now therefore restore the man his wife; for he is a prophet, and
he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live: and if thou restore her
not, know thou that thou shalt surely die, thou, and all that are
thine.

20:8 Therefore Abimelech rose early in the morning, and called all his
servants, and told all these things in their ears: and the men were
sore afraid.

20:9 Then Abimelech called Abraham, and said unto him, What hast thou
done unto us? and what have I offended thee, that thou hast brought on
me and on my kingdom a great sin? thou hast done deeds unto me that
ought not to be done.

20:10 And Abimelech said unto Abraham, What sawest thou, that thou
hast done this thing? 20:11 And Abraham said, Because I thought,
Surely the fear of God is not in this place; and they will slay me for
my wife’s sake.

20:12 And yet indeed she is my sister; she is the daughter of my
father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife.

20:13 And it came to pass, when God caused me to wander from my
father’s house, that I said unto her, This is thy kindness which thou
shalt shew unto me; at every place whither we shall come, say of me,
He is my brother.

20:14 And Abimelech took sheep, and oxen, and menservants, and
womenservants, and gave them unto Abraham, and restored him Sarah his
wife.

20:15 And Abimelech said, Behold, my land is before thee: dwell where
it pleaseth thee.

20:16 And unto Sarah he said, Behold, I have given thy brother a
thousand pieces of silver: behold, he is to thee a covering of the
eyes, unto all that are with thee, and with all other: thus she was
reproved.

20:17 So Abraham prayed unto God: and God healed Abimelech, and his
wife, and his maidservants; and they bare children.

20:18 For the LORD had fast closed up all the wombs of the house of
Abimelech, because of Sarah Abraham’s wife.

21:1 And the LORD visited Sarah as he had said, and the LORD did unto
Sarah as he had spoken.

21:2 For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at
the set time of which God had spoken to him.

21:3 And Abraham called the name of his son that was born unto him,
whom Sarah bare to him, Isaac.

21:4 And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac being eight days old, as
God had commanded him.

21:5 And Abraham was an hundred years old, when his son Isaac was born
unto him.

21:6 And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear
will laugh with me.

21:7 And she said, Who would have said unto Abraham, that Sarah should
have given children suck? for I have born him a son in his old age.

21:8 And the child grew, and was weaned: and Abraham made a great
feast the same day that Isaac was weaned.

21:9 And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, which she had born
unto Abraham, mocking.

21:10 Wherefore she said unto Abraham, Cast out this bondwoman and her
son: for the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son, even
with Isaac.

21:11 And the thing was very grievous in Abraham’s sight because of
his son.

21:12 And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight
because of the lad, and because of thy bondwoman; in all that Sarah
hath said unto thee, hearken unto her voice; for in Isaac shall thy
seed be called.

21:13 And also of the son of the bondwoman will I make a nation,
because he is thy seed.

21:14 And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a
bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder,
and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in
the wilderness of Beersheba.

21:15 And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child
under one of the shrubs.

21:16 And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off,
as it were a bow shot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the
child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice, and wept.

21:17 And God heard the voice of the lad; and the angel of God called
to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar?
fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is.

21:18 Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will
make him a great nation.

21:19 And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she
went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink.

21:20 And God was with the lad; and he grew, and dwelt in the
wilderness, and became an archer.

21:21 And he dwelt in the wilderness of Paran: and his mother took him
a wife out of the land of Egypt.

21:22 And it came to pass at that time, that Abimelech and Phichol the
chief captain of his host spake unto Abraham, saying, God is with thee
in all that thou doest: 21:23 Now therefore swear unto me here by God
that thou wilt not deal falsely with me, nor with my son, nor with my
son’s son: but according to the kindness that I have done unto thee,
thou shalt do unto me, and to the land wherein thou hast sojourned.

21:24 And Abraham said, I will swear.

21:25 And Abraham reproved Abimelech because of a well of water, which
Abimelech’s servants had violently taken away.

21:26 And Abimelech said, I wot not who hath done this thing; neither
didst thou tell me, neither yet heard I of it, but to day.

21:27 And Abraham took sheep and oxen, and gave them unto Abimelech;
and both of them made a covenant.

21:28 And Abraham set seven ewe lambs of the flock by themselves.

21:29 And Abimelech said unto Abraham, What mean these seven ewe lambs
which thou hast set by themselves? 21:30 And he said, For these seven
ewe lambs shalt thou take of my hand, that they may be a witness unto
me, that I have digged this well.

21:31 Wherefore he called that place Beersheba; because there they
sware both of them.

21:32 Thus they made a covenant at Beersheba: then Abimelech rose up,
and Phichol the chief captain of his host, and they returned into the
land of the Philistines.

21:33 And Abraham planted a grove in Beersheba, and called there on
the name of the LORD, the everlasting God.

21:34 And Abraham sojourned in the Philistines’ land many days.

22:1 And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt
Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold, here I am.

22:2 And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou
lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for
a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.

22:3 And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and saddled his ass,
and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son, and clave
the wood for the burnt offering, and rose up, and went unto the place
of which God had told him.

22:4 Then on the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the
place afar off.

22:5 And Abraham said unto his young men, Abide ye here with the ass;
and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again to you.

22:6 And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering, and laid it upon
Isaac his son; and he took the fire in his hand, and a knife; and they
went both of them together.

22:7 And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and
he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood:
but where is the lamb for a burnt offering? 22:8 And Abraham said, My
son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they
went both of them together.

22:9 And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham
built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his
son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood.

22:10 And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay
his son.

22:11 And the angel of the LORD called unto him out of heaven, and
said, Abraham, Abraham: and he said, Here am I.

22:12 And he said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou
any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou
hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me.

22:13 And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind
him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took
the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his
son.

22:14 And Abraham called the name of that place Jehovahjireh: as it is
said to this day, In the mount of the LORD it shall be seen.

22:15 And the angel of the LORD called unto Abraham out of heaven the
second time, 22:16 And said, By myself have I sworn, saith the LORD,
for because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son,
thine only son: 22:17 That in blessing I will bless thee, and in
multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and
as the sand which is upon the sea shore; and thy seed shall possess
the gate of his enemies; 22:18 And in thy seed shall all the nations
of the earth be blessed; because thou hast obeyed my voice.

22:19 So Abraham returned unto his young men, and they rose up and
went together to Beersheba; and Abraham dwelt at Beersheba.

22:20 And it came to pass after these things, that it was told
Abraham, saying, Behold, Milcah, she hath also born children unto thy
brother Nahor; 22:21 Huz his firstborn, and Buz his brother, and
Kemuel the father of Aram, 22:22 And Chesed, and Hazo, and Pildash,
and Jidlaph, and Bethuel.

22:23 And Bethuel begat Rebekah: these eight Milcah did bear to Nahor,
Abraham’s brother.

22:24 And his concubine, whose name was Reumah, she bare also Tebah,
and Gaham, and Thahash, and Maachah.

23:1 And Sarah was an hundred and seven and twenty years old: these
were the years of the life of Sarah.

23:2 And Sarah died in Kirjatharba; the same is Hebron in the land of
Canaan: and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her.

23:3 And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spake unto the
sons of Heth, saying, 23:4 I am a stranger and a sojourner with you:
give me a possession of a buryingplace with you, that I may bury my
dead out of my sight.

23:5 And the children of Heth answered Abraham, saying unto him, 23:6
Hear us, my lord: thou art a mighty prince among us: in the choice of
our sepulchres bury thy dead; none of us shall withhold from thee his
sepulchre, but that thou mayest bury thy dead.

23:7 And Abraham stood up, and bowed himself to the people of the
land, even to the children of Heth.

23:8 And he communed with them, saying, If it be your mind that I
should bury my dead out of my sight; hear me, and intreat for me to
Ephron the son of Zohar, 23:9 That he may give me the cave of
Machpelah, which he hath, which is in the end of his field; for as
much money as it is worth he shall give it me for a possession of a
buryingplace amongst you.

23:10 And Ephron dwelt among the children of Heth: and Ephron the
Hittite answered Abraham in the audience of the children of Heth, even
of all that went in at the gate of his city, saying, 23:11 Nay, my
lord, hear me: the field give I thee, and the cave that is therein, I
give it thee; in the presence of the sons of my people give I it thee:
bury thy dead.

23:12 And Abraham bowed down himself before the people of the land.

23:13 And he spake unto Ephron in the audience of the people of the
land, saying, But if thou wilt give it, I pray thee, hear me: I will
give thee money for the field; take it of me, and I will bury my dead
there.

23:14 And Ephron answered Abraham, saying unto him, 23:15 My lord,
hearken unto me: the land is worth four hundred shekels of silver;
what is that betwixt me and thee? bury therefore thy dead.

23:16 And Abraham hearkened unto Ephron; and Abraham weighed to Ephron
the silver, which he had named in the audience of the sons of Heth,
four hundred shekels of silver, current money with the merchant.

23:17 And the field of Ephron which was in Machpelah, which was before
Mamre, the field, and the cave which was therein, and all the trees
that were in the field, that were in all the borders round about, were
made sure 23:18 Unto Abraham for a possession in the presence of the
children of Heth, before all that went in at the gate of his city.

23:19 And after this, Abraham buried Sarah his wife in the cave of the
field of Machpelah before Mamre: the same is Hebron in the land of
Canaan.

23:20 And the field, and the cave that is therein, were made sure unto
Abraham for a possession of a buryingplace by the sons of Heth.

24:1 And Abraham was old, and well stricken in age: and the LORD had
blessed Abraham in all things.

24:2 And Abraham said unto his eldest servant of his house, that ruled
over all that he had, Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh: 24:3
And I will make thee swear by the LORD, the God of heaven, and the God
of the earth, that thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the
daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell: 24:4 But thou shalt
go unto my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son
Isaac.

24:5 And the servant said unto him, Peradventure the woman will not be
willing to follow me unto this land: must I needs bring thy son again
unto the land from whence thou camest? 24:6 And Abraham said unto
him, Beware thou that thou bring not my son thither again.

24:7 The LORD God of heaven, which took me from my father’s house, and
from the land of my kindred, and which spake unto me, and that sware
unto me, saying, Unto thy seed will I give this land; he shall send
his angel before thee, and thou shalt take a wife unto my son from
thence.

24:8 And if the woman will not be willing to follow thee, then thou
shalt be clear from this my oath: only bring not my son thither again.

24:9 And the servant put his hand under the thigh of Abraham his
master, and sware to him concerning that matter.

24:10 And the servant took ten camels of the camels of his master, and
departed; for all the goods of his master were in his hand: and he
arose, and went to Mesopotamia, unto the city of Nahor.

24:11 And he made his camels to kneel down without the city by a well
of water at the time of the evening, even the time that women go out
to draw water.

24:12 And he said O LORD God of my master Abraham, I pray thee, send
me good speed this day, and shew kindness unto my master Abraham.

24:13 Behold, I stand here by the well of water; and the daughters of
the men of the city come out to draw water: 24:14 And let it come to
pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I
pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say, Drink, and I will give
thy camels drink also: let the same be she that thou hast appointed
for thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that thou hast shewed
kindness unto my master.

24:15 And it came to pass, before he had done speaking, that, behold,
Rebekah came out, who was born to Bethuel, son of Milcah, the wife of
Nahor, Abraham’s brother, with her pitcher upon her shoulder.

24:16 And the damsel was very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had
any man known her: and she went down to the well, and filled her
pitcher, and came up.

24:17 And the servant ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray thee,
drink a little water of thy pitcher.

24:18 And she said, Drink, my lord: and she hasted, and let down her
pitcher upon her hand, and gave him drink.

24:19 And when she had done giving him drink, she said, I will draw
water for thy camels also, until they have done drinking.

24:20 And she hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and ran
again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels.

24:21 And the man wondering at her held his peace, to wit whether the
LORD had made his journey prosperous or not.

24:22 And it came to pass, as the camels had done drinking, that the
man took a golden earring of half a shekel weight, and two bracelets
for her hands of ten shekels weight of gold; 24:23 And said, Whose
daughter art thou? tell me, I pray thee: is there room in thy father’s
house for us to lodge in? 24:24 And she said unto him, I am the
daughter of Bethuel the son of Milcah, which she bare unto Nahor.

24:25 She said moreover unto him, We have both straw and provender
enough, and room to lodge in.

24:26 And the man bowed down his head, and worshipped the LORD.

24:27 And he said, Blessed be the LORD God of my master Abraham, who
hath not left destitute my master of his mercy and his truth: I being
in the way, the LORD led me to the house of my master’s brethren.

24:28 And the damsel ran, and told them of her mother’s house these
things.

24:29 And Rebekah had a brother, and his name was Laban: and Laban ran
out unto the man, unto the well.

24:30 And it came to pass, when he saw the earring and bracelets upon
his sister’s hands, and when he heard the words of Rebekah his sister,
saying, Thus spake the man unto me; that he came unto the man; and,
behold, he stood by the camels at the well.

24:31 And he said, Come in, thou blessed of the LORD; wherefore
standest thou without? for I have prepared the house, and room for the
camels.

24:32 And the man came into the house: and he ungirded his camels, and
gave straw and provender for the camels, and water to wash his feet,
and the men’s feet that were with him.

24:33 And there was set meat before him to eat: but he said, I will
not eat, until I have told mine errand. And he said, Speak on.

24:34 And he said, I am Abraham’s servant.

24:35 And the LORD hath blessed my master greatly; and he is become
great: and he hath given him flocks, and herds, and silver, and gold,
and menservants, and maidservants, and camels, and asses.

24:36 And Sarah my master’s wife bare a son to my master when she was
old: and unto him hath he given all that he hath.

24:37 And my master made me swear, saying, Thou shalt not take a wife
to my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, in whose land I dwell:
24:38 But thou shalt go unto my father’s house, and to my kindred, and
take a wife unto my son.

24:39 And I said unto my master, Peradventure the woman will not
follow me.

24:40 And he said unto me, The LORD, before whom I walk, will send his
angel with thee, and prosper thy way; and thou shalt take a wife for
my son of my kindred, and of my father’s house: 24:41 Then shalt thou
be clear from this my oath, when thou comest to my kindred; and if
they give not thee one, thou shalt be clear from my oath.

24:42 And I came this day unto the well, and said, O LORD God of my
master Abraham, if now thou do prosper my way which I go: 24:43
Behold, I stand by the well of water; and it shall come to pass, that
when the virgin cometh forth to draw water, and I say to her, Give me,
I pray thee, a little water of thy pitcher to drink; 24:44 And she say
to me, Both drink thou, and I will also draw for thy camels: let the
same be the woman whom the LORD hath appointed out for my master’s
son.

24:45 And before I had done speaking in mine heart, behold, Rebekah
came forth with her pitcher on her shoulder; and she went down unto
the well, and drew water: and I said unto her, Let me drink, I pray
thee.

24:46 And she made haste, and let down her pitcher from her shoulder,
and said, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: so I drank,
and she made the camels drink also.

24:47 And I asked her, and said, Whose daughter art thou? And she
said, the daughter of Bethuel, Nahor’s son, whom Milcah bare unto him:
and I put the earring upon her face, and the bracelets upon her hands.

24:48 And I bowed down my head, and worshipped the LORD, and blessed
the LORD God of my master Abraham, which had led me in the right way
to take my master’s brother’s daughter unto his son.

24:49 And now if ye will deal kindly and truly with my master, tell
me: and if not, tell me; that I may turn to the right hand, or to the
left.

24:50 Then Laban and Bethuel answered and said, The thing proceedeth
from the LORD: we cannot speak unto thee bad or good.

24:51 Behold, Rebekah is before thee, take her, and go, and let her be
thy master’s son’s wife, as the LORD hath spoken.

24:52 And it came to pass, that, when Abraham’s servant heard their
words, he worshipped the LORD, bowing himself to the earth.

24:53 And the servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of
gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah: he gave also to her
brother and to her mother precious things.

24:54 And they did eat and drink, he and the men that were with him,
and tarried all night; and they rose up in the morning, and he said,
Send me away unto my master.

24:55 And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide with
us a few days, at the least ten; after that she shall go.

24:56 And he said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the LORD hath
prospered my way; send me away that I may go to my master.

24:57 And they said, We will call the damsel, and enquire at her
mouth.

24:58 And they called Rebekah, and said unto her, Wilt thou go with
this man? And she said, I will go.

24:59 And they sent away Rebekah their sister, and her nurse, and
Abraham’s servant, and his men.

24:60 And they blessed Rebekah, and said unto her, Thou art our
sister, be thou the mother of thousands of millions, and let thy seed
possess the gate of those which hate them.

24:61 And Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the
camels, and followed the man: and the servant took Rebekah, and went
his way.

24:62 And Isaac came from the way of the well Lahairoi; for he dwelt
in the south country.

24:63 And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the eventide: and
he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels were coming.

24:64 And Rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw Isaac, she
lighted off the camel.

24:65 For she had said unto the servant, What man is this that walketh
in the field to meet us? And the servant had said, It is my master:
therefore she took a vail, and covered herself.

24:66 And the servant told Isaac all things that he had done.

24:67 And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took
Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her: and Isaac was
comforted after his mother’s death.

25:1 Then again Abraham took a wife, and her name was Keturah.

25:2 And she bare him Zimran, and Jokshan, and Medan, and Midian, and
Ishbak, and Shuah.

25:3 And Jokshan begat Sheba, and Dedan. And the sons of Dedan were
Asshurim, and Letushim, and Leummim.

25:4 And the sons of Midian; Ephah, and Epher, and Hanoch, and Abidah,
and Eldaah. All these were the children of Keturah.

25:5 And Abraham gave all that he had unto Isaac.

25:6 But unto the sons of the concubines, which Abraham had, Abraham
gave gifts, and sent them away from Isaac his son, while he yet lived,
eastward, unto the east country.

25:7 And these are the days of the years of Abraham’s life which he
lived, an hundred threescore and fifteen years.

25:8 Then Abraham gave up the ghost, and died in a good old age, an
old man, and full of years; and was gathered to his people.

25:9 And his sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of
Machpelah, in the field of Ephron the son of Zohar the Hittite, which
is before Mamre; 25:10 The field which Abraham purchased of the sons
of Heth: there was Abraham buried, and Sarah his wife.

25:11 And it came to pass after the death of Abraham, that God blessed
his son Isaac; and Isaac dwelt by the well Lahairoi.

25:12 Now these are the generations of Ishmael, Abraham’s son, whom
Hagar the Egyptian, Sarah’s handmaid, bare unto Abraham: 25:13 And
these are the names of the sons of Ishmael, by their names, according
to their generations: the firstborn of Ishmael, Nebajoth; and Kedar,
and Adbeel, and Mibsam, 25:14 And Mishma, and Dumah, and Massa, 25:15
Hadar, and Tema, Jetur, Naphish, and Kedemah: 25:16 These are the sons
of Ishmael, and these are their names, by their towns, and by their
castles; twelve princes according to their nations.

25:17 And these are the years of the life of Ishmael, an hundred and
thirty and seven years: and he gave up the ghost and died; and was
gathered unto his people.

25:18 And they dwelt from Havilah unto Shur, that is before Egypt, as
thou goest toward Assyria: and he died in the presence of all his
brethren.

25:19 And these are the generations of Isaac, Abraham’s son: Abraham
begat Isaac: 25:20 And Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebekah
to wife, the daughter of Bethuel the Syrian of Padanaram, the sister
to Laban the Syrian.

25:21 And Isaac intreated the LORD for his wife, because she was
barren: and the LORD was intreated of him, and Rebekah his wife
conceived.

25:22 And the children struggled together within her; and she said, If
it be so, why am I thus? And she went to enquire of the LORD.

25:23 And the LORD said unto her, Two nations are in thy womb, and two
manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one
people shall be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall
serve the younger.

25:24 And when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold, there
were twins in her womb.

25:25 And the first came out red, all over like an hairy garment; and
they called his name Esau.

25:26 And after that came his brother out, and his hand took hold on
Esau’s heel; and his name was called Jacob: and Isaac was threescore
years old when she bare them.

25:27 And the boys grew: and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the
field; and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents.

25:28 And Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his venison: but
Rebekah loved Jacob.

25:29 And Jacob sod pottage: and Esau came from the field, and he was
faint: 25:30 And Esau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee, with that
same red pottage; for I am faint: therefore was his name called Edom.

25:31 And Jacob said, Sell me this day thy birthright.

25:32 And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit
shall this birthright do to me? 25:33 And Jacob said, Swear to me
this day; and he sware unto him: and he sold his birthright unto
Jacob.

25:34 Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles; and he did
eat and drink, and rose up, and went his way: thus Esau despised his
birthright.

26:1 And there was a famine in the land, beside the first famine that
was in the days of Abraham. And Isaac went unto Abimelech king of the
Philistines unto Gerar.

26:2 And the LORD appeared unto him, and said, Go not down into Egypt;
dwell in the land which I shall tell thee of: 26:3 Sojourn in this
land, and I will be with thee, and will bless thee; for unto thee, and
unto thy seed, I will give all these countries, and I will perform the
oath which I sware unto Abraham thy father; 26:4 And I will make thy
seed to multiply as the stars of heaven, and will give unto thy seed
all these countries; and in thy seed shall all the nations of the
earth be blessed; 26:5 Because that Abraham obeyed my voice, and kept
my charge, my commandments, my statutes, and my laws.

26:6 And Isaac dwelt in Gerar: 26:7 And the men of the place asked him
of his wife; and he said, She is my sister: for he feared to say, She
is my wife; lest, said he, the men of the place should kill me for
Rebekah; because she was fair to look upon.

26:8 And it came to pass, when he had been there a long time, that
Abimelech king of the Philistines looked out at a window, and saw,
and, behold, Isaac was sporting with Rebekah his wife.

26:9 And Abimelech called Isaac, and said, Behold, of a surety she is
thy wife; and how saidst thou, She is my sister? And Isaac said unto
him, Because I said, Lest I die for her.

26:10 And Abimelech said, What is this thou hast done unto us? one of
the people might lightly have lien with thy wife, and thou shouldest
have brought guiltiness upon us.

26:11 And Abimelech charged all his people, saying, He that toucheth
this man or his wife shall surely be put to death.

26:12 Then Isaac sowed in that land, and received in the same year an
hundredfold: and the LORD blessed him.

26:13 And the man waxed great, and went forward, and grew until he
became very great: 26:14 For he had possession of flocks, and
possession of herds, and great store of servants: and the Philistines
envied him.

26:15 For all the wells which his father’s servants had digged in the
days of Abraham his father, the Philistines had stopped them, and
filled them with earth.

26:16 And Abimelech said unto Isaac, Go from us; for thou art much
mightier than we.

26:17 And Isaac departed thence, and pitched his tent in the valley of
Gerar, and dwelt there.

26:18 And Isaac digged again the wells of water, which they had digged
in the days of Abraham his father; for the Philistines had stopped
them after the death of Abraham: and he called their names after the
names by which his father had called them.

26:19 And Isaac’s servants digged in the valley, and found there a
well of springing water.

26:20 And the herdmen of Gerar did strive with Isaac’s herdmen,
saying, The water is ours: and he called the name of the well Esek;
because they strove with him.

26:21 And they digged another well, and strove for that also: and he
called the name of it Sitnah.

26:22 And he removed from thence, and digged another well; and for
that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he
said, For now the LORD hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful
in the land.

26:23 And he went up from thence to Beersheba.

26:24 And the LORD appeared unto him the same night, and said, I am
the God of Abraham thy father: fear not, for I am with thee, and will
bless thee, and multiply thy seed for my servant Abraham’s sake.

26:25 And he builded an altar there, and called upon the name of the
LORD, and pitched his tent there: and there Isaac’s servants digged a
well.

26:26 Then Abimelech went to him from Gerar, and Ahuzzath one of his
friends, and Phichol the chief captain of his army.

26:27 And Isaac said unto them, Wherefore come ye to me, seeing ye
hate me, and have sent me away from you? 26:28 And they said, We saw
certainly that the LORD was with thee: and we said, Let there be now
an oath betwixt us, even betwixt us and thee, and let us make a
covenant with thee; 26:29 That thou wilt do us no hurt, as we have not
touched thee, and as we have done unto thee nothing but good, and have
sent thee away in peace: thou art now the blessed of the LORD.

26:30 And he made them a feast, and they did eat and drink.

26:31 And they rose up betimes in the morning, and sware one to
another: and Isaac sent them away, and they departed from him in
peace.

26:32 And it came to pass the same day, that Isaac’s servants came,
and told him concerning the well which they had digged, and said unto
him, We have found water.

26:33 And he called it Shebah: therefore the name of the city is
Beersheba unto this day.

26:34 And Esau was forty years old when he took to wife Judith the
daughter of Beeri the Hittite, and Bashemath the daughter of Elon the
Hittite: 26:35 Which were a grief of mind unto Isaac and to Rebekah.

27:1 And it came to pass, that when Isaac was old, and his eyes were
dim, so that he could not see, he called Esau his eldest son, and said
unto him, My son: and he said unto him, Behold, here am I.

27:2 And he said, Behold now, I am old, I know not the day of my
death: 27:3 Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver
and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison; 27:4
And make me savoury meat, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I
may eat; that my soul may bless thee before I die.

27:5 And Rebekah heard when Isaac spake to Esau his son. And Esau went
to the field to hunt for venison, and to bring it.

27:6 And Rebekah spake unto Jacob her son, saying, Behold, I heard thy
father speak unto Esau thy brother, saying, 27:7 Bring me venison, and
make me savoury meat, that I may eat, and bless thee before the LORD
before my death.

27:8 Now therefore, my son, obey my voice according to that which I
command thee.

27:9 Go now to the flock, and fetch me from thence two good kids of
the goats; and I will make them savoury meat for thy father, such as
he loveth: 27:10 And thou shalt bring it to thy father, that he may
eat, and that he may bless thee before his death.

27:11 And Jacob said to Rebekah his mother, Behold, Esau my brother is
a hairy man, and I am a smooth man: 27:12 My father peradventure will
feel me, and I shall seem to him as a deceiver; and I shall bring a
curse upon me, and not a blessing.

27:13 And his mother said unto him, Upon me be thy curse, my son: only
obey my voice, and go fetch me them.

27:14 And he went, and fetched, and brought them to his mother: and
his mother made savoury meat, such as his father loved.

27:15 And Rebekah took goodly raiment of her eldest son Esau, which
were with her in the house, and put them upon Jacob her younger son:
27:16 And she put the skins of the kids of the goats upon his hands,
and upon the smooth of his neck: 27:17 And she gave the savoury meat
and the bread, which she had prepared, into the hand of her son Jacob.

27:18 And he came unto his father, and said, My father: and he said,
Here am I; who art thou, my son? 27:19 And Jacob said unto his
father, I am Esau thy first born; I have done according as thou badest
me: arise, I pray thee, sit and eat of my venison, that thy soul may
bless me.

27:20 And Isaac said unto his son, How is it that thou hast found it
so quickly, my son? And he said, Because the LORD thy God brought it
to me.

27:21 And Isaac said unto Jacob, Come near, I pray thee, that I may
feel thee, my son, whether thou be my very son Esau or not.

27:22 And Jacob went near unto Isaac his father; and he felt him, and
said, The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.

27:23 And he discerned him not, because his hands were hairy, as his
brother Esau’s hands: so he blessed him.

27:24 And he said, Art thou my very son Esau? And he said, I am.

27:25 And he said, Bring it near to me, and I will eat of my son’s
venison, that my soul may bless thee. And he brought it near to him,
and he did eat: and he brought him wine and he drank.

27:26 And his father Isaac said unto him, Come near now, and kiss me,
my son.

27:27 And he came near, and kissed him: and he smelled the smell of
his raiment, and blessed him, and said, See, the smell of my son is as
the smell of a field which the LORD hath blessed: 27:28 Therefore God
give thee of the dew of heaven, and the fatness of the earth, and
plenty of corn and wine: 27:29 Let people serve thee, and nations bow
down to thee: be lord over thy brethren, and let thy mother’s sons bow
down to thee: cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed be he
that blesseth thee.

27:30 And it came to pass, as soon as Isaac had made an end of
blessing Jacob, and Jacob was yet scarce gone out from the presence of
Isaac his father, that Esau his brother came in from his hunting.

27:31 And he also had made savoury meat, and brought it unto his
father, and said unto his father, Let my father arise, and eat of his
son’s venison, that thy soul may bless me.

27:32 And Isaac his father said unto him, Who art thou? And he said, I
am thy son, thy firstborn Esau.

27:33 And Isaac trembled very exceedingly, and said, Who? where is he
that hath taken venison, and brought it me, and I have eaten of all
before thou camest, and have blessed him? yea, and he shall be
blessed.

27:34 And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a
great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me,
even me also, O my father.

27:35 And he said, Thy brother came with subtilty, and hath taken away
thy blessing.

27:36 And he said, Is not he rightly named Jacob? for he hath
supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright; and,
behold, now he hath taken away my blessing. And he said, Hast thou not
reserved a blessing for me? 27:37 And Isaac answered and said unto
Esau, Behold, I have made him thy lord, and all his brethren have I
given to him for servants; and with corn and wine have I sustained
him: and what shall I do now unto thee, my son? 27:38 And Esau said
unto his father, Hast thou but one blessing, my father? bless me, even
me also, O my father. And Esau lifted up his voice, and wept.

27:39 And Isaac his father answered and said unto him, Behold, thy
dwelling shall be the fatness of the earth, and of the dew of heaven
from above; 27:40 And by thy sword shalt thou live, and shalt serve
thy brother; and it shall come to pass when thou shalt have the
dominion, that thou shalt break his yoke from off thy neck.

27:41 And Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his
father blessed him: and Esau said in his heart, The days of mourning
for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother Jacob.

27:42 And these words of Esau her elder son were told to Rebekah: and
she sent and called Jacob her younger son, and said unto him, Behold,
thy brother Esau, as touching thee, doth comfort himself, purposing to
kill thee.

27:43 Now therefore, my son, obey my voice; arise, flee thou to Laban
my brother to Haran; 27:44 And tarry with him a few days, until thy
brother’s fury turn away; 27:45 Until thy brother’s anger turn away
from thee, and he forget that which thou hast done to him: then I will
send, and fetch thee from thence: why should I be deprived also of you
both in one day? 27:46 And Rebekah said to Isaac, I am weary of my
life because of the daughters of Heth: if Jacob take a wife of the
daughters of Heth, such as these which are of the daughters of the
land, what good shall my life do me? 28:1 And Isaac called Jacob, and
blessed him, and charged him, and said unto him, Thou shalt not take a
wife of the daughters of Canaan.

28:2 Arise, go to Padanaram, to the house of Bethuel thy mother’s
father; and take thee a wife from thence of the daughters of Laban thy
mother’s brother.

28:3 And God Almighty bless thee, and make thee fruitful, and multiply
thee, that thou mayest be a multitude of people; 28:4 And give thee
the blessing of Abraham, to thee, and to thy seed with thee; that thou
mayest inherit the land wherein thou art a stranger, which God gave
unto Abraham.

28:5 And Isaac sent away Jacob: and he went to Padanaram unto Laban,
son of Bethuel the Syrian, the brother of Rebekah, Jacob’s and Esau’s
mother.

28:6 When Esau saw that Isaac had blessed Jacob, and sent him away to
Padanaram, to take him a wife from thence; and that as he blessed him
he gave him a charge, saying, Thou shalt not take a wife of the
daughters of Canaan; 28:7 And that Jacob obeyed his father and his
mother, and was gone to Padanaram; 28:8 And Esau seeing that the
daughters of Canaan pleased not Isaac his father; 28:9 Then went Esau
unto Ishmael, and took unto the wives which he had Mahalath the
daughter of Ishmael Abraham’s son, the sister of Nebajoth, to be his
wife.

28:10 And Jacob went out from Beersheba, and went toward Haran.

28:11 And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all
night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that
place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to
sleep.

28:12 And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the
top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending
and descending on it.

28:13 And, behold, the LORD stood above it, and said, I am the LORD
God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac: the land whereon thou
liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed; 28:14 And thy seed
shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad to the
west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south: and in thee
and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed.

28:15 And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places
whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I
will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to
thee of.

28:16 And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the LORD
is in this place; and I knew it not.

28:17 And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is
none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.

28:18 And Jacob rose up early in the morning, and took the stone that
he had put for his pillows, and set it up for a pillar, and poured oil
upon the top of it.

28:19 And he called the name of that place Bethel: but the name of
that city was called Luz at the first.

28:20 And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will
keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and
raiment to put on, 28:21 So that I come again to my father’s house in
peace; then shall the LORD be my God: 28:22 And this stone, which I
have set for a pillar, shall be God’s house: and of all that thou
shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee.

29:1 Then Jacob went on his journey, and came into the land of the
people of the east.

29:2 And he looked, and behold a well in the field, and, lo, there
were three flocks of sheep lying by it; for out of that well they
watered the flocks: and a great stone was upon the well’s mouth.

29:3 And thither were all the flocks gathered: and they rolled the
stone from the well’s mouth, and watered the sheep, and put the stone
again upon the well’s mouth in his place.

29:4 And Jacob said unto them, My brethren, whence be ye? And they
said, Of Haran are we.

29:5 And he said unto them, Know ye Laban the son of Nahor? And they
said, We know him.

29:6 And he said unto them, Is he well? And they said, He is well:
and, behold, Rachel his daughter cometh with the sheep.

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.