Dear Mr. Danforth, As you know, there have been many accusations against people in the town, including many of my friends and family. My cousin, Sarah has been hanged just 3 days ago because of these accusations against her. My best friend Elizabeth has been hanged a week ago because of this. Both of them are the most God-loving women I have ever met. They have no bit of the devil in them and they have never told a lie. I truly do believe them, even if it gets me whipped. I am writing this to persuade you to put an end to these trials that have torn apart families and I pray that you take this into consideration. The first reason that you should put a stop to these accusations, is that there is no evidence. A simple birthmark cannot possibly be the devil’s touch. God made us the way he wanted us to be and how he saw was perfect, it says so in Ephesians 2:10, “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them”. There is also no proof that the girls can see demons. How do we know that they are not hurting themselves or setting others up? There is talk of jealousy in town and that could possibly be behind the accusations. Also, I believe that many of the girls may be accusing people because they want the attention or because they don’t like the person they are accusing. Just the other day I saw one of the girls that are accusing others, getting yelled at by her neighbor. The very next day she accused her neighbor of witchcraft. Sadly a few days later, she was hanged. This is not the first time I have noticed the same thing happen. Some nights I pray that the girls are telling the truth because the hanging of all more than 200 innocent people would be so awful. As you know, all of the good people accused have been strict members of the church for their whole life (except Tituba). It clearly states in the Bible at Proverbs 12:22, “The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy”. I have seen my cousin and best friend at church at least 3 times a week and I know neither go to bed without reading the bible and praying to the Lord. Why would the most God-loving people I know lie? If the devil wanted to make his way into our lives, why would he be so ashamed to show himself? It saddens me to say that I do think the girls may be lying to get what they want. Poor Sarah and Elizabeth were surely victims of being falsely accused. They could not possibly have been workers for the devil, for they loved the Lord so much. Many of the girls may have just been wanting attention which is common for that age. I really do believe that they were not lying. Please consider my letter and put an end to the dreadful trials. The peace in our town needs to be restored and God’s love will come back. My prayers with you , Alexia Barnes
Then one day tragedy struck, Billy fell ill. Amy, looking at Billy, whispered, “He looks so pale and sick.” She paused then continued, “Ugh I hope he doesn't… you know.” Dane responded softly, “He is such a fighter, but I don’t know if he is going to win this fight.” Dane’s voice started to tremble while saying, “Amy, I have to make a confession. The other day I wished that he would leave us alone because it’s kinda bothering me that he is always around. I felt like he was just being a pesky little brother.” Amy sighed. “Dane, he’s not sick because of you. You know lots of people get sick for other causes.” Dane realized to be careful about what you wish for; now Dane felt alone as Billy lay in one of the covered wagons. As best friends, Amy and Dane pulled a handcart together right behind the wagon so they could see him always. A couple of days later Billy died. Amy ran to Dane with tears running down her cheeks saying, “DANE. DANE. FINALLY DANE, I found you. I have so bad news. Billy has…has died.” Dane immediately hugged Amy, and with tears filling his eyes, said softly, “No. No. Amy, Amy it is going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.” It’s going to be alright, right? I don't know. Just don’t think about it. Breathe. Just breathe. It is going to be alright. Billy died in the year 1831 in the middle of the Mormon Tail. They had tears running down their faces and their breath shortened. Everything was a blur. The ignored everything and just cried. Amy and Dane hit a melancholy stage in their young lives because of BIlly’s death. This caused them to pull away from the Mormons. They could not understand why God had to take something so precious from them. Together they stopped practicing Mormonism and turned to explore during that period of grief. One day, during dinner, they went off into a nearby forest. They walked for about 30 minutes until they reached a small, 4-foot river with muddy sides and rocks in the river. Dane thought he could jump over the rivulet on to the other side. Amy begged him not to jump. Ignoring Amy’s cries, Dane leaped and made it to the other side. Dane had to get back on to the other side so he jumped once more. He made it, but due to slippery sides, he slipped back into the river. Landing in a backward plank, he hit his wrist weird causing it to break. Amy helped him out and gave him her jacket to wrap around his wrist. It was getting late and they forgot the way back. They worried as they walked. Dane said, “Amy. Amy, can we sit on this rock. My wrist hurts bad!” Getting up, Amy said, “Of course. Let me go get some of those berries for us.” Eating the berries, Dane said, “This might sound crazy, but can we pray? I can say it.” As Amy proceeded to bow her head, she said, “That is a great idea, go ahead.” Bowing his head Dane said, “Our dear Heavenly Father, please forgive us for we have sinned. We are so thankful for this beautiful earth and this trek. Please help us to get back to camp and help my wrist. And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” “Amen.” Upon opening their eyes they saw a flock of quails and proceeded to follow them. Normally by this time, it would be dark, but for some reason, it was still light and they could see. Dane thought he saw a light that was nearby. He thought it could be fire from camp. They walked towards it. Then, the fire went out, limiting their visibility. They had another feeling to sit on a nearby rock and pray once more. Amy said the prayer. Once finished, Dane leaned back on the rock and closed his eyes to quell the pain. Amy watched the quails walk away. Later, when Dane felt better, they started to hear sounds of talking and they saw the distant light, so they started walking. They thought that they might have been saved and that they were back with their friends and family. To their surprise, they found another group traveling west. They were immediately greeted with stares and whispers. Amy announced, “Hi, I’m Amy and he is Dane. We got lost in the forest and Dane slipped and broke his wrist. We just need some help. Please. Please. We just need so help.” One lady stood up and said, “Oh babies come here. I’m Eileen. Do you need anything? Let me get you some food or water. Dane, let me see that wrist. You can travel with our family.” Amy and Dane walked towards her. She created a splint for Dane and fed them. Later, Amy and Dane learned that she had lost her all of her four children so she had an extra tent and food that they could use. Amy and Eileen set up the spare tent for them to them to stay in. Sitting down next to Amy and Dane she said, “On this trek, I have lost all my four children so you guys can have their food and tent. I was going to Oregon to get away from their abusive father. But that's another story. Well, it's getting late let's go to bed.” She walked away before they could say anything. Finally, the sun set and they went into the tent for bed. Amy said, “How is your wrist feeling?” Dane said, “A lot better but it still hurts. We are so lucky we found them. I was so worried that we were going to get stuck out here in the middle of the trail. Also, I don’t think that these people are Mormon.” Amy said, “No, they don't seem like they are. Too bad we don't have a Book Of Mormon to teach them.” Amy rolled over on to her side, saying, “Ow, something is poking my leg,” she reached into her pocket, “Oh my gosh I… I have one Dane! I have a Book of Mormon!” Dane said, “That is amazing! We have to do missionary work tomorrow. However, today has been long, so let's go to sleep.” Amy agreed, so they went to sleep. The next morning they work up, ate, packed camp up and started to walk once more. Amy and Dane pulled a handcart together like they did in their old group. They did not talk to anyone, not even each other, till they ate dinner. Eileen said, “Honey you haven't said a word since last night. Why don't you do something that you did back with your old group.” Dane thought This is the perfect missionary moment. Then he said to Amy, “Hey Amy, can I see your book of Mormon?” Amy handed it to him. Then, together, they taught a lesson. The group was interested and amazed. They wanted to learn more. From then on, they made the scripture study something that would happen every day. Because Dane was of the age of 18 he was able to baptize all the people in the group who were at least. He was able to give to other men in the group the priesthood. With the new group, they traveled to Oregon. Eileen was there fake mother and they were fake siblings. Because of their good doing, they knew that God was truly proud of them. The learned to never pull away from the church.
I was especially bored. I knew it would happen yet, again. Addison was competing in a Glamour Girl pageant, but I had to go. I knew she would win and I was proud of her, but I had to practice the clarinet in my school band. Suddenly the announcer calls out my identical sister, Addison Hand onstage. She had won $500 plus a 6” tall trophy. Addison and I are exact opposites except for our faces, she is an extrovert, popular and I am an introvert and nerdy. She came off stage acting so surprised that she won.“Great job Addi!” I said running up to her. She ran right past me into the arms of her boyfriend, Brady Anderson. Brady is a cute high school stereotype boy, plays football, gets B’s and has the cutest girl in school, being his girlfriends. “ That was so amazing!!” yelled Brady kissing Addison on the cheek. I turned away and cringed. Any type of romance makes me squeamish. My mom, was balling his eyes out because apparently seeing your 14 year old daughter win a seventh national title is overwhelming. Even though when I got all-city band did she cry, guess we know who her favorite is. “Great job Petal!” My dad cheers, “let's celebrate with some Cold Stone?” “Any day!” Addison and I yell in unison. As we drove home it was absolute silence between me, my parents and Addison. In the middle of the night or very early in the morning two men come rushing into my room and one of them is holding is holding a small black object. They force the lights on and yell and bunch of code words.I sit up and I scream and I was honestly very scared. I see my dad holding a gun and I try to ask calmly, “what happened?” They looked at each other and just start crying. By this time I see people running around the house in blue yelling and screaming “CODE RED, CODE RED” I get out of bed and I run to my best friend's room and it looks like a murder scene. In fact, it was a murder scene. Yellow crime tape, a gurney, police officers, and a lifeless body of my twin. She didn’t even look like me anymore, she was pale and her hair was pink from all the blood. I could feel my knees collapsing and then, everything went dark. I woke up to the sound of slow beeping, then the beeping got faster and faster until I felt a cool rag over my head. It was an old lady fussing over me. She saw me wake up and nodded to the other side of the room. My mom rushed over and looked at me and whispered, “my only one, my only one…” I sat right up and I started to remember more and more. The tape, the blood and the gurney. Addison. Guns. Yelling. It all came back in a flood and then the tears started to fall. I was released from the hospital 2 days later and I had still not accepted the fact that I was an only child. I went home and Addison’s room was boarded off, so I went to my bed and just laid there. My parents brought me trays of food, but they just sat on my desk. 7 days after the incident, my mom comes into the family room where I am reading a book with my dogs and looks very sad and says in a serious tone, “Grace, we need to go to the police station headquarters (HQ). Captain McHenry needs to talk to you He believes he has evidence against you to convict you of murder” I could not believe what my ears just heard, thought, why would I kill her? Even of all the thoughts racing in my brain, I nod my head. Brady is coming with us and so is Sydney, Addi’s best friend. We picked Brady up at his house and when we were about to drive away, Mr. Anderson says, “Julia, Robert, I would love to come and help you at this hard time but I have a bunch of work to do at my work. I have to help find DNA and GMOs in food and bodies, Bye!” Those 25 minutes to the Police HQ might of been the worst moments in my life. We got to the HQ and we went in and they immediately started patting us and touching us. Of course I knew they were checking for weapons, but, please, next time a warning? They took the 4 of us to separate rooms (Sydney didn’t have to go yet) and I was the only one who had 6 investigators in their interrogation room. I walk in and I notice the objects on the table. A sticky note, razor and a diary that has a huge A on the front. I sit down at the table and wait for the questioning to begin. After about 15 minutes of waiting, Captain McHenry comes in the room. He looks very solemn and sits across from me. He says, “I am not the type of person who plays games, I tell you like I see it, OK?” “Yes sir,” I said very hesitantly. He reads the note which says, “I’ve had a best friend since I was in my Mommy, and a person who was always with me and who was always nice,” I could feel the tears starting to come but Captain McHenry kept on moving on have any of that and continued moving down the list. He picked up the razor and said, “this was the murder weapon, we sent it to Anderson Company, where they do DNA work on bodies. It came back with the fingerprints of you. That is why we thought that you had killed your sister, but then, we found your sister's diary. That gave us a lot of Intel, because she told herself, that she is dealing with stress and anxiety and has even had suicidal thoughts. That is the reason, you are off the hook. We are ruling it a suicide. Also, we interrogated Sydney Miller because your parents believed she could of done it but we don’t believe so. Does that all make sense to you?” I walked out of the room and as I did, I thought of a crazy idea and a crazy plan.. My parents, Brady and Sydney were waiting for me in the lounge and my dad had helped himself to a few snacks when I yelled “WE HAVE TO GO HOME!!!” My parents jumped into action and we were home in a flash. After I got home, and I started thinking everything out. DNA, Anderson, Razor, Flirty, Nervousness. The murderer had tampered with DNA evidence and the only person that could do that would be Brady Anderson and his dad! It all made sense! Brady had convinced his dad to change the DNA of Addi’s razor. I ran downstairs and I saw my mom shutting the front door,and I ran up to her and said, “I know who killed Addison, and it wasn’t herself!” I brought my mom down to the couch and explained my crazy idea to her. After the talk, she said, “Grace, I want to believe you, but Captain McHenry is certain that it was a suicide,” “I know that, but I have evidence so we have to go to the Police HQ” We drove to the HQ and I strutted inside feeling especially proud in my detective skills when I saw Captain McHenry.. After my big ramble he said, “thank you. We will get back to you very soon if you are correct.” I grinned and ran back out to the car. A month later, my family got a call from Captain McHenry saying that Brady had been convicted of 1st degree murder.. My family and I were so happy that the killer had been put behind bars and that we wouldn’t have to deal with him for 23 years. We held a funeral for Addison, with tons of family and friends celebrating the life that she once led. Finally, justice was repaired, but my heart was still damaged
The Bible as the Foundation and Context of Christian Curriculum I Corinthians 3:11 declares, “For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.” Since we know God’s word is truth, then as scripture holds, the foundation of all things is Jesus Christ. In education, one would then have to choose a curriculum that adheres to scripture and be built on principles of truth – God’s word. One can imagine this idea as a puzzle. Most individuals use the picture on the front of the box as a guide as to how the result should look. A good puzzle builder will start with the outside framework for a point of reference for all other parts. Once the framework is complete, a puzzle builder will then analyze each piece to determine its proper relationship to the others. If determined not to fit, the piece is placed elsewhere until it can be further analyzed to determine its worth for later use. After completing the outside frame and initially examining the other pieces, it becomes significantly easier to see the smaller sections within the picture in relationship to the whole. A curriculum that starts with a biblical framework has established careful parameters with which to judge all the other pieces. One can put pieces to the side if unsure and do more research. Sometimes other pieces of a different puzzle get mixed up with what one is currently working on and thus must be weeded out. The goal, of having a biblical foundation in a curriculum, is to be certain it is grounded in the truth. A weak foundation, as scripture points out in Matthew 7:26-27 speaking of foolish man who built his house on a sandy foundation, has a catastrophic outcome. As educators, it becomes a biblical mandate to ensure the foundations are being built on solid rock. Educators are entrusted with life’s most precious creation and should make it their highest goal to ensure children are taught a solid foundation of who their Creator is and wants them to be. John Gresham Machen, in his book, What is Christianity?: and other address, stated the following about the importance of a thoroughness of a scriptural focus in view of the content of a curriculum: A Christian boy or girl can learn mathematics, for example, from a teacher who is not a Christian; and truth is truth however learned. But while truth is truth, however learned, the bearing of truth, the meaning of truth, the purpose of truth, even in the sphere of mathematics, seem entirely different to the Christian from that which they seem to the non-Christian; and that is why a truly Christian education is possible only when Christian conviction underlies not a part, but all, of the curriculum of the school.1 Once the framework has been meticulously put together the supporting pieces can be scrutinized to determine how and if they fit. Each individual piece is important because it contributes to the beauty of the whole. If one has ever tried to put a child’s puzzle back together after finding the pieces all over their room along with some other pieces of bygone years, it can be extremely frustrating and usually does not create the desired outcome. Making a hodge-podge of curriculum decisions without verifying where the pieces are coming from will also manifest a less than desirable outcome. Biblical truths should be supported in every area, no matter the subject of the curriculum. Once the hard work of examining each piece has been completed, they can be put into place and the Christian school can begin to create a beautiful masterpiece. Machen addressed the importance of a truly Christian school when he said, “It is this profound Christian permeation of every human activity, no matter how secular the world may regard it as being, which is brought about by the Christian school and the Christian school alone."2 A curriculum that addresses the nature and needs of the learners is going to lead to the anticipated outcome of producing willing and ready hearts to serve God creating a vessel of honor that can be used by Him. References 1. J. Gresham Machen, Education, Christianity, and the State (Jefferson, Md.: Trinity Foundation, 1987). p. 81. 2. Ibid. p. 81.
A Christmas Carol Reflection And Revision I selected this particular writing sample for this project because it was created near the beginning of the year which just shows how much of a better writer I become over the past entire eighth grade. I like the point I strived to convey in this writing sample a lot and I agree strongly, my original claim still stands. I admire the book I did the sample about, it is a timeless classic. During writing this sample writing a truth learned was a quite new thing that I didn’t really expand upon during grade seven. This year I learned a lot about how to do the truth learned section. Also, in eighth grade I was learning new skills on how to use evidence and support a quote. This writing sample means a lot to me. It was one of the first samples that I did on an incredibly salient issue using new skills I acquired during eighth grade. My main goal in this piece was to explain my evidence better and to help support my claim. I specifically focused on this while rewriting my sample because I believed my claim needed to be supported with stronger evidence and better quotes. I needed more description in my passage and needed it to be much more clear than it initially was so my piece could be so much better. Originally, my writing didn’t flow fittingly and had some grammar errors that negatively impacted my writing. It wasn’t written to the best of my abilities. I wrote the piece under a time frame which certainly didn’t do the piece any good. There were some quite clear flaws. My piece also didn’t use the best evidence to support the claim. Revising the piece was clearly beneficial. After revision of this piece my writing sample is certainly more successful at conveying it’s point and getting the reader to clearly understand the point of the text. For example, I added in another quote, “Many can't go there; and many would rather die.” “If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.” I also explained this quote with even better evidence to support my claim. My better explanation of evidence is “This is how many people who happen to be wealthy in the modern day would react as well. Dickens added this part into his book to show how ignorant people can be and to shock the readers.” which explains my evidence clearly and shows exactly how it supports my claim. At the start of the year I wasn’t as good at supporting my claim with description of evidence but now, since I grown so incredibly much as a writer and made so many achievements, I have improved substantially on this aspect of writing. Because I have learned so much about writing this year, my skills in writing will only increase in the future and later in life it will help me become an even better writer.
In Antigone, the main struggle is between Antigone and Creon, which can also be seen as a struggle between the supremacy of legal and political institutions and the will of the Gods. The discourse of the play embodies the debate between the will of Creon and his faith in the laws and and the will of Antigone and her belief in the Gods. In this paper, I will defend Antigone’s burial of her brother and explain why she was correct in the context of Ancient Greece using other sources from the time. In the play, Antigone’s brother, Polynices, is killed in battle after attempting to forcefully retake the Theban throne, as was his given right. His brother, Eteocles, is also killed while defending his position on the throne and is given a proper burial. Their uncle, Creon is left to be the ruler of Thebes after the death of both Polynices and Eteocles in battle. He ends up acting like a tyrant with his devoted son even going as far as saying: “it’s no city at all, owned by one man alone”(Antigone, 825) to show the unreasonable amount of power he is exerting. Antigone describes Creon’s proclamation as leaving Polyneices “unwept, unburied, a lovely treasure for birds”(Antigone, 35) which is against the holy guidelines set forth by the gods. Antigone decides to go against this and bury the body anyways. When she is caught, Creon sentences her to death for burying the body. Antigone was justified in the burial of her brother’s body because she was following the believed will of the Gods. In the following sections, I will explain why Antigone was correct and that Creon’s wrongdoing and insult to the Gods was clearly visible in the play. I will show that in ancient Greece, the will of the Gods superseded even the legal institutions of humans and that Antigone was right in her assumption that the Gods wanted her to bury the body. In this section, I will show, using textual evidence why the will of the Gods is more important than that of humans. In ancient Greece, the Gods were paramount in society and revered for their wisdom and goodness. People were supposed to follow whatever the Gods said. An example of this can be seen in the Eumenides when Orestes commits matricide because he is commanded to do so by Apollo. When confronted about the origin of his actions, Orestes claims it was by “the orders of this god. He is my witness… and at this moment, I have no regrets” (Eumenides, 600). Apollo says later in the play:“I urge you now— obey the will of Zeus, our father. No oath has greater strength than Zeus” (Eumenides, 620) showing how even the Gods knew that they should obey Zeus. This supremacy of the Gods has seen again in Works and Days, a poem that talks about how the Greeks should live their lives, wherein it says: “nay, let us settle our dispute here with the true judgment which is of Zeus and is perfect” (Works and Days, 35). As evidenced by the above, any action that a human would engage in that goes against the Gods would be immediately superseded by the Gods in ancient Greek society. Since the rules of the Gods were put above the rules of the city, legal institutions and laws must be inferior. For example, if a small town in America makes a law that goes directly against the constitution, the law would be struck down. In a situation like this, something like the constitution would prevail because the rules of the constitution are put above those of a small town. This concept is also referenced in the play, with Antigone saying: “Nor did I think your edict had such force that you, a mere mortal, could override the gods, the great unwritten, unshakable traditions” (Antigone, 505). This shows that Antigone was right to put the laws of the Gods above the rules of the kingdom. It is obvious that Antigone by her actions and thoughts has no regard for the legal institutions and laws of Thebes. She seems to view Creon’s laws as illegitimate, as shown in her and Creon’s argument, when Creon asks “You, tell me briefly, no long speeches— were you aware a decree had forbidden this?” (Antigone, 495) and Antigone responds by saying: “Of course I did. It wasn’t Zeus, not in the least, who made this proclamation—” (Antigone, 500). In Antigone’s eyes, Creon’s laws were illegitimate because they went against what she thought the Gods told her to do. A more modern example of this would be similar to how to many fundamental Christians view gay marriage as illegitimate, even though it is legal in America. In this way too, people view laws and legal institutions as illegitimate because they directly contradict what they believe their god(s) are saying. Since Antigone had no regard for the legal institutions and laws of Thebes, she had no problem with breaking them when it came to burying her brother’s body. One objection to this could be that the Gods did not want Antigone to bury Polyneices. This could be seen in the fate that Antigone was forced to suffer. Antigone describes her fate by shouting: “ I am agony! No tears for the destiny that’s mine, no loved one mourns my death.” (Antigone, 965). It can also be seen in the fact that the Gods did nothing to stop or prevent her fate. Even Antigone herself says: “Very well: if this is the pleasure of the gods, once I suffer I will know that I was wrong.” (Antigone 1015). Her fate and even this quote show that Antigone might not have been completely right in her assertion that the Gods wanted her to bury her brother. If the Gods did not want her to bury her brother, then it can be seen that she was simply just going against the laws of the city, which would have warranted punishment. However, I will show that Antigone was correct in her assertion.While Antigone suffered a terrible fate, it could be argued that Creon suffered a worse fate. As it says in Works and Days: “But for those who practice violence and cruel deeds far-seeing Zeus, the son of Cronos, ordains a punishment. Often even a whole city suffers for a bad man who sins and devises presumptuous deeds” (Works and Days, 238). Antigone also calls on the Gods to punish Creon saying: “But if these men are wrong, let them suffer nothing worse than they mete out to me—these masters of injustice!” (Antigone, 1015). In this way, it could be easily seen that the Gods intended on punished Creon most of all, being as though both his son and wife commit suicide. Creon is left alive but has to live with the regret of knowing that he killed those who he loved the most. Creon even laments his fate in the final seconds of the play crying: “Whatever I touch goes wrong—once more a crushing fate’s come down upon my head!”(Antigone, 1465). It can even be interpreted that Creon was going to kill himself, based off of his remarks at the end of the play, with him saying “that best of fates for me that brings the final day, best fate of all… so I never have to see another sunrise.” (Antigone, 1450). Furthermore, the even citizens of Thebes found it strange that the body is left out to rot. Antigone references this saying: “These citizens here would all agree… they would praise me too if their lips weren’t locked in fear” (Antigone, 565). Likewise, when it is first discovered that Polyneices has been buried, the guard who was supposed to keep watch of him said: “My king, ever since he began I’ve been debating in my mind, could this possibly be the work of the gods?” (Antigone, 315). This shows that even the normal Theban people saw the burying of Polyneices as an act in accordance with what the Gods wanted, not against it. All of this evidence shows that it was most likely that the Gods wanted Antigone to bury her brother. As I have shown in my paper Antigone was correct in her significance of the political and legal institutions, because she followed the will of the Gods instead of following the laws of the city and Creon. I used textual evidence to show that in ancient Greece, the will of the Gods was above that of humans, and it was the will of the Gods to have Polyneices buried, therefore, Antigone was correct in her actions and assertions.
Break Up Letter Analyzing Heather’s break up letter we can see that her letter would be effective for the situation. The break up letter is effective due to the voice in the letter. The wording is a bit harsh but still works. Heather gives compliments to Thomas plus insults which we know as a compliment sandwich. Lastly Heather gives herself sympathy to make Thomas feel bad. I think the voice in the letter is great for the purpose Heather is going for. In the scenario it says “She worries that she might end up losing her nerve, especially if he starts crying.” So I think using the mellow voice helps Heather in her situation. I believe that she choose to use a mellow tone because she is already hurting his feelings by breaking up with him. The wording used in the break up letter can be harsh at times. For example in the third paragraph she writes, “For instance, you like computers and other technological things, but I think those things are lame.” Heather could have explained how she felt in a settle way. Instead of saying “lame” she could have said, technology is not what I enjoy doing. Another example of this can be found in the third paragraph when she says. “Anywhoo, I know there are lots of super nerdy girls you can find online who are into computers and running and watching the sunrise.” Instead of saying “nerdy girls” she could have said girls with the same interest as you. Using nerdy girls reflects Thomas’s personality. Thomas is already hurt because she is breaking up with him so using better words would help the situation. The way Heather wrote the letter she started off giving Thomas compliments. In the first paragraph she starts with “I want you to know that you are an awesome guy. Like super awesome.” At the end of the paragraph she then goes on to explain nicely the reasons why they should break up. By the second paragraph Heather starts to be negative. For example, she says “I just can’t see our relationship working out if we can’t go out in public together.” Therefore she is embarrassed by his personality when they go out. In the third paragraph Heather tells Thomas “if you’re lucky, she’ll be as hot as me.” Even though Heather seems to be joking Thomas can interpret this as you’ll never find someone as good as me. Through the letter Heather wants to make Thomas feel bad and sympathize with her. In the second paragraph she writes “Me on the other hand, I hate people even looking at me. I often wish to be invisible.” I believe the significance of saying this is to show how Thomas made her feel. It almost seems that Heather wants Thomas to feel bad for his actions in public. In the last paragraph we see this happening again when Heather says, “Emotionally, I’m like a six year old. I need to really work on my issues before I get into a relationship with someone else.” Here Heather is sulking about herself and trying to make Thomas realize that she has issues. The significance of putting this in the letter is so Thomas can feel bad for her Overall I believe this gets the point across for a break up but there are certain things that can be fixed. Heather has a mellow voice which I think is great for the situation. Next Heather uses harsh words in the letter towards Thomas. Then she also gives Thomas compliments and goes on to insult him at times. The last thing is that Heather gives herself sympathy to make Thomas feel bad for her. If Heather were to fix these things this would change the tone of the letter which would be more effective.
What do you know about styrofoam? How it’s used, produced, and it is affecting our environment. From this essay, you will learn all about the production and manufacturing of styrofoam. How it contributes to the surroundings, but also how it affects the environment in many ways. Based on what I have researched and learned about styrofoam. It is very convenient and made in the USA every year. Especially for food and packaging materials. For example plates, spoons, forks, cups, and containers. On top of all that it is very lightweight which prospers easy to transport and reproduce. The reason for me Writing this essay is to explain the real impact styrofoam is having on our earth. The environmental, climate and human impact. Because of everything that I have precisely stated those represent the essential points for why styrofoam is affecting our environment in a destructive way. Despite styrofoam being so easy and convenient, it is very bad for the environment. And with it becoming more common every year, the issue keeps on rising. A reason for why styrofoam is so bad for the environment is that it is non-biodegradable and can last forever. And to add to that, styrofoam can float, which means that it is found in land and water as the main pollutant. In areas like grasslands, waterways, and coastlines around the world. To add to my point about how styrofoam is bad for the biosphere. It requires massive amounts of energy for it to be broken down. A research done by the United States Health and Government Society states that it takes up to 500 years to forever for styrofoam to melt. Despite these frightening fact millions of dollars are still spent each year on companies trying to dissolve it.” (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. “HHS.gov.” HHS.gov, HHS.gov, www.hhs.Gov/.). Styrofoam is not just bad for the biosphere but also bad for the global climate. From a study done by the National Bureau of Standards Center for Human Research. Say. “60 chemical byproducts are released during the making of styrofoam. Including the crucial one’s Carbon dioxide, Methane, Nitrous oxide, and tropospheric ozone. These not only pollute the air but serve as a greenhouse gasses which leads to global warming.”Another study done by Stanford University states that “Over 14 million tons of styrofoam are produced every year all around the world.” Making it a more significant global epidemic, and heating up the atmosphere faster than ever ”. (National Institute of Standards and Technology.”NIST, 31 May 2018, www.nist.gov/). Even though styrofoam appears to have its benefits. The negatives are even worse. Because styrofoam is made of styrene, benzene. Which are its main building blocks. According to the US Environmental Protection Agency, “ People who work in either styrene or benzene product manufacturing are at a substantial risk of skin, eye and respiratory irritation". Even as significant as cancer, depression, a headache, and fatigue."Because of those reasons stated those are why styrofoam is bad for the body". ((n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.epa.Gov/). Styrofoam has become a huge problem for our environment, human bodies, and biosphere. But with all problems, there is always a more successful solution. And fortunately, many people have started to take action. For example, Scientists are in the process of making a replacement for styrofoam. Some have started taking fungi materials and combining them together to produce something similar to styrofoam, but that is much more eco-friendly and easy to dissolve. Another solution is that numerous of independent and food services have banned anything styrofoam to be used in their services. They have now begun to rely on compostable containers. Based on all my research and analysis we can conclude on the fact that despite how convenient, lightweight, and useful styrofoam is, it comes with a great cost. The reason for me writing this article was to inform on the forgotten subject. And I hope because I recorded this so more individuals will understand the potential harm that styrofoam can have.
What if a President ordered an all-out war against their own people? What if extraterrestrials pitted human against human in a battle to the death? Everyone likes to think they would rise up and fight against evil in some sort of heroic rebellion. But how realistic is that thought? Unfortunately, studies suggest that that is mostly wishful thinking, and that people are far less likely to resist a known evil than one might assume. In fact, most humans seem to be willing to maim and even murder others, as long as they’re instructed to do so by an established authority figure. So where is the line drawn? At what point do we begin to resist and fight back against the governing body? The most obvious answer is that a person will resist a power once their own livelihood is at stake – once the potential losses outweigh the risk of rebellion. But the true answer is much more complicated, and is based on a variety of factors specific to each situation. One of these factors is empathy – how heavily do individuals weigh the losses of others against our own, and does everyone value empathetic concerns equally? Another factor is the so-called “mob mentality” – are we more likely to resist if we have a group of like-minded people backing us up? And, similarly, are we less likely to rebel if we see others sit by passively? Fortunately, with over a century of psychological experimentation and study, these questions can begin to be answered and the mindset of a rebel can be better understood. Unfortunately, the results of these studies have begun to point at a depressing assertion – that the majority of human actions against authority are committed solely for an improvement of our own lives. When it comes to taking a stand, humans are selfish. Although that seems like a blindly pessimistic statement, it’s really a psychological fact backed up by decades of research and explored by centuries of literature. In 1961, Stanley Milgrim conducted a famous set of trials trying to determine how ordinary adults would act when asked by an authority to apply electric shocks to another innocent person in a separate room. As the subject shocked the target more and more, the voltage would increase, eventually reaching near-lethal levels (obviously nobody was actually hooked up to the electrodes, it was just another researcher who pretended to receive a shock and simulate pain over the intercom). Milgram’s basic conclusion was that far more people were willing to injure and even kill than originally predicted. His fellow scientists originally predicted that approximately 6% of the population would continue through all of the shocks, resisting the target’s pleas for relief. In a groundbreaking discovery, Milgram’s reported numbers were over 65% (Burger). Milgram’s experiment was the first testament to our internal selfishness, but countless psychologists followed suit and conducted their own trials that peered into a previously untested corner of human reaction – compliance. The most recent of these bandwagon experiments was conducted by Jerry Burger, a graduate student at Santa Clara University. As with most other near-identical studies, Burger’s results were distressingly similar to Milgram’s. He concluded, once again, that the average person is likely willing to perpetrate horrific actions, as long as they have an established authority instructing them to do so. In his baseline experiments, the subject was hooked up to an intercom with the “listener”, and was urged by the scientist to apply increasingly painful shocks. Before the experiment started, the listener explained to the subject that he has a mild heart condition which may cause issues, but is quickly silenced by the scientist in charge. The experimenter routinely provided the subject with verbal motivation (ex. “While the shocks may be painful, there is no permanent tissue damage.” or simply “I am responsible.”) if the subject showed any signs of resistance. However, after four of these “prods” by the subject, the experimenter would end the trial. Out of the 40 subjects, 28 of them (70%) continued up to the 150-volt mark, at which point the experimenter would explain the true nature of the experiment and the listener would assure the subject he was fine (Burger). Milgram’s findings were almost identical – 26 out of 40 of his participants were willing to administer the final shock (Blass). As one final check of integrity, Thomas Blass, a professor at the University of Maryland, performed an analysis on every similar experiment conducted in the last 2 decades, averaging out the collective results. He found that although the results varied extensively, the average percentage for US studies (61%) was close to the one for non-US studies (66%) (Blass). Finally, 40 years after, Milgram’s results were fully confirmed among the scientific community – the average American was willing to administer lethal damage on an unwilling participant as long as a confirmed authority figure told them to do so. However, Jerry Burger’s experiment was more than just a remake – he made a point of expanding the trials, manipulating and examining a multitude of additional factors that affect human compliance. As a result, the motivations driving resistance can be further analyzed, and more light can be shed on where we draw the line. Finding the point of opposition is a difficult process, mostly because resistance can’t be totally boiled down to a statistic – it’s a complicated internal process. Before every act of rebellion, our brain makes a split-second decision, weighing the benefits of resistance against the potential downsides of failure. So even if one knows that resisting is the right thing to do, they’ll often cease to act because that is the easy thing to do. This process is clear throughout Act I of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Hamlet, a young prince, has recently struggled with the death of his father, a man he revered like no other. His uncle Claudius has taken the throne from Hamlet by marrying Queen Gertrude, Claudius’s sister-in-law. So when the Old King’s ghost appears to Hamlet and tells him of Claudius’s treachery, the prince understands the need for revenge, but waits to act. Once he’s certain that his uncle is guilty, Hamlet vows to himself that he will resist the throne and kill the King by any means necessary. However, Hamlet himself is not in mortal danger, and thus his conviction to retaliate is frail. Once the prince discovers Claudius’s attempt on his life, he realizes the potential danger in leaving the King alive and marches back to Denmark to enact his revenge. This phenomenon of frail conviction is not exclusive to literature, though it’s often overlooked in psychological studies, since it’s so difficult to quantify. Matthew Hollander, a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, reevaluated Milgrim’s results using recordings of the patients’ reactions during the experiment. He disagrees with Milgrim’s claim that we’re all internally evil and are willing to sit idly by without thought while atrocities are committed. Instead, Hollander decided that “For virtually all subjects, irrespective of outcome, initial resistance performs ‘wait and see’ (silence and hesitation) as to whether the experimenter will remedy the learner’s complaints. It postpones continuation, rather than explicitly pursuing discontinuation,” (Hollander). Just like Hamlet, these subjects don’t agree with the authority, yet they only entertain the idea of resistance and wait for confirmation that they have no other option. However, unlike Hamlet, their entertainment of rebellion tended to lead to nothing, and they continued shocking their target until they were instructed to stop. Hollander concluded that although most of Milgram’s subjects complied with his commands, their words made it clear that “It wasn’t a blind kind of obedience,” (Hollander). However, obviously, a mere entertainment of disobedience is totally different from active resistance with intent to change. And the unfortunate truth is that the majority of people choose the path of least resistance. As long as they aren’t in any tangible danger, they tend to do what they’re told. The most obvious motivation behind resistance (outside of personal gain) is a strong sense of empathy, though it’s impact is far less substantial than one might assume. Jerry Burger wanted to explore this relationship in his study of human compliance, so he relied on a personality test that measured, among other things, a trait aptly named “Empathetic Concern”. Burger’s initial theory was that empathy was one of the few personality traits that would actually have a sizable impact on a subject’s likeliness to comply with an order that causes physical harm to others. However, once again, the morals and actions of the average human disappointed the clinical psychologist. Burger explains that in his study, he “compared the personality scores of those who continued with the procedure with the scores of those who stopped. No significant differences were found for the empathic concern score,” (Burger). He finally concluded that the shocking percentage of subjects who fully complied wasn’t due to a lack of empathy in general, but rather a lack of a connection between empathetic concern and resistance to a known evil. However, Burger does make an interesting point by mentioning that “participants who were high in empathic concern expressed a reluctance to continue the procedure earlier than did those who were low on this trait. But this early reluctance did not translate into a greater likelihood of refusing to continue” (Burger). So although empathy can inspire reluctance in perpetrators following orders, it’s not strong enough by itself to drive action, and often its effects can be overcome when the responsibility is put on the authority figure. In other words, empathetic individuals will comply with the same heinous acts, but they’ll feel slightly worse doing so than the average person. This exact psychological phenomenon takes place throughout literature as well. In 15 Million Merits, Bingham Madsen leads an extremely dull existence until he falls in love with the girl of his dreams. When he eventually loses her to the toxic culture of his society, Bing works tirelessly for months in an attempt to fight the oppressors and save his friend. Clearly, empathy for his first real friend is strong enough to drive him to work towards a rebellion. However, when his work finally comes to fruition, Bing is offered a nicer home and an easier job. In this moment, his empathetic concern is overpowered by a desire for a marginally better life, and the rebellion stops dead in its tracks. However, in the final scene, Bing looks out his massive window, seemingly contemplating his decision. Even if his own ambitions won out in the end, concerns brought about by empathy would never be forgotten. In Portrait of Dorian Grey, Dorian feels intense guilt after dumping his fiancé Sybil in an attempt to impress his compatriots. However, he quickly thinks of Lord Henry’s words, even though Dorian himself knows of Henry’s corruption. “When [women] took lovers, it was merely to have some one with whom they could have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should he trouble about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now. / But the picture?” (Wilde, 67). Within just over three lines, Dorian Grey trivializes his fiancé’s grief, trusts a man who he knows is evil, and forgets about the love of his life, instead choosing to worry about a portrait of himself. Although Dorian certainly feels regret for the sadness he brought into Sibyl’s life, he doesn’t even come close to acting on it. Instead, he trusts the poisonous words of an evil, and does exactly what Henry asked him to – forget about Sibyl Vane. The idea of a mob mentality is generally associated with massive national revolutions, but like-minded individuals almost always inspire more rebellion, no matter how many there are. Jerry Burger recognized this idea, and adjusted his experiment to see just how much the “mob mentality” affects our willingness to comply. He added another segment of his experiment that was much like the base condition, only there were two subjects doing the shocking – one was real and the other was hired. During the experiment, the hired subject would consistently refuse to give shocks. Eventually, the fake subject would tell off the experimenter, warn the true subject of the study’s evils, and storm out of the room. Burger found that with this “modeled refusal condition”, the percentage of subjects refusing to continue dropped from 70% to just 55% (Burger). Additionally, the subjects expressed far more reluctance far earlier in the tests than when they were alone in the room with the experimenter. This means two things – the concept of resistance is somewhat contagious, and so is the confidence and willpower to follow through with the concept of rebellion. Although a drop of 15% may seem insignificant, this condition was the only thing Burger found that actually affected subjects’ willingness to comply with the experimenter (Burger). Over 100 years ago, Gustave Le Bon wrote about the same phenomenon when he was exploring the factors that led up to the French Revolution. However, he took it one step forward, believing that one’s entire psychology could change around like-minded people, not just their resistance to an authority figure, specifying that “under the influence of environment, the old personality may therefore give place to one entirely new,” (Le Bon, 42). So not only does one’s decision-making change, but a person’s entire psychological identity can alter under the right circumstances. In Heart of Darkness, Marlow makes a transformation very similar to what Le Bon describes. When he arrives in Africa, he witnesses a group of native men canoeing off the coast. Although Marlow is proven to be racist throughout the entire book, his initial portrayal of the African men is by far the most positive description in the entire book; “they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement, that was an natural and true as the surf along their coast.” (Conrad, 11). He even recognizes that the African coast belongs to these men, even if he doesn’t respect their ownership. A mere 3 pages later, Marlow’s attitude suddenly shifts once he realizes that the men “were called criminals” by his crewmates (Conrad, 13). He watches as a group of natives march by in chains, mentioning that “All their meager breasts panted together, the violently dilated nostrils quivered, the eyes stared stonily uphill. They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that complete, deathlike indifference of unhappy savages,” (Conrad, 13). Once Marlow recalls that the indigenous people were thought of as lesser by the majority of those around him, his once mildly racist description suddenly turns far nastier. This is the first we’ve seen of this version of Marlow – the hateful and violently racist version, though it certainly isn’t the last. For the remainder of the novel, Marlow’s inner morals constantly clash with the beliefs surrounding him, often leading to disastrous results. A society made up of like-minded people causes Marlow’s internalized racism to succumb to the toxicity around him – enabling him to commit heinous acts such as running African slaves to death, and then leaving them where they fall. We can’t say for sure if his innermost moral code has changed, but the way he thinks about African conquest certainly changes to fit the environment around him. Resistance and compliance is an incredibly complex choice, and scientists are continuing to search for the motivations that drive that decision. For that reason, predicting one’s willingness to comply is an almost impossible feat. As of now, most of the reasoning seems to revolve around ourselves, though a few other notable factors are important to mention. Empathy can inspire the idea of resistance, as seen in the psychological study conducted by Jerry Burger, though it’s rarely strong enough to inspire real action. In Hamlet, the real action doesn’t take place until Hamlet’s well-being is truly put in danger. In Dorian Grey, Dorian dismisses his empathy for Sybil Vane when he’s offered a better life, making the same decision as Bingham from 15 Million Merits. A more impactful factor is the effect of mob mentality. Not only can a group of like-minded individuals inspire the idea of change, but they can sometimes even motivate others to act. But the one factor that matters the most – the one that holds true in both science and literature – is one’s potential personal gain. After all, we humans love to make things easier for ourselves.
AFTER the kings of Great Britain had assumed the right of appointing the colonial governors, the measures of the latter seldom met with the ready and generous approbation which had been paid to those of their predecessors, under the original charters. The people looked with most jealous scrutiny to the exercise of power which did not emanate from themselves, and they usually rewarded their rulers with slender gratitude for the compliances by which, in softening their instructions from beyond the sea, they had incurred the reprehension of those who gave them. The annals of Massachusetts Bay will inform us, that of six governors in the space of about forty years from the surrender of the old charter, under James II., two were imprisoned by a popular insurrection; a third, as Hutchinson inclines to believe, was driven from the province by the whizzing of a musket-ball; a fourth, in the opinion of the same historian, was hastened to his grave by continual bickerings with the House of Representatives; and the remaining two, as well as their successors, till the Revolution, were favored with few and brief intervals of peaceful sway. The inferior members of the court party, in times of high political excitement, led scarcely a more desirable life. These remarks may serve as a preface to the following adventures, which chanced upon a summer night, not far from a hundred years ago. The reader, in order to avoid a long and dry detail of colonial affairs, is requested to dispense with an account of the train of circumstances that had caused much temporary inflammation of the popular mind. It was near nine o’clock of a moonlight evening, when a boat crossed the ferry with a single passenger, who had obtained his conveyance at that unusual hour by the promise of an extra fare. While he stood on the landing-place, searching in either pocket for the means of fulfilling his agreement, the ferryman lifted a lantern, by the aid of which, and the newly risen moon, he took a very accurate survey of the stranger’s figure. He was a youth of barely eighteen years, evidently country-bred, and now, as it should seem, upon his first visit to town. He was clad in a coarse gray coat, well worn, but in excellent repair; his under garments were durably constructed of leather, and fitted tight to a pair of serviceable and well-shaped limbs; his stockings of blue yarn were the incontrovertible work of a mother or a sister; and on his head was a three-cornered hat, which in its better days had perhaps sheltered the graver brow of the lad’s father. Under his left arm was a heavy cudgel formed of an oak sapling, and retaining a part of the hardened root; and his equipment was completed by a wallet, not so abundantly stocked as to incommode the vigorous shoulders on which it hung. Brown, curly hair, well-shaped features, and bright, cheerful eyes were nature’s gifts, and worth all that art could have done for his adornment. The youth, one of whose names was Robin, finally drew from his pocket the half of a little province bill of five shillings, which, in the depreciation in that sort of currency, did but satisfy the ferryman’s demand, with the surplus of a sexangular piece of parchment, valued at three pence. He then walked forward into the town, with as light a step as if his day’s journey had not already exceeded thirty miles, and with as eager an eye as if he were entering London city, instead of the little metropolis of a New England colony. Before Robin had proceeded far, however, it occurred to him that he knew not whither to direct his steps; so he paused, and looked up and down the narrow street, scrutinizing the small and mean wooden buildings that were scattered on either side. “This low hovel cannot be my kinsman’s dwelling,” thought he, “nor yonder old house, where the moonlight enters at the broken casement; and truly I see none hereabouts that might be worthy of him. It would have been wise to inquire my way of the ferryman, and doubtless he would have gone with me, and earned a shilling from the Major for his pains. But the next man I meet will do as well.” He resumed his walk, and was glad to perceive that the street now became wider, and the houses more respectable in their appearance. He soon discerned a figure moving on moderately in advance, and hastened his steps to overtake it. As Robin drew nigh, he saw that the passenger was a man in years, with a full periwig of gray hair, a wide-skirted coat of dark cloth, and silk stockings rolled above his knees. He carried a long and polished cane, which he struck down perpendicularly before him at every step; and at regular intervals he uttered two successive hems, of a peculiarly solemn and sepulchral intonation. Having made these observations, Robin laid hold of the skirt of the old man’s coat just when the light from the open door and windows of a barber’s shop fell upon both their figures. “Good evening to you, honored sir,” said he, making a low bow, and still retaining his hold of the skirt. “I pray you tell me whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux.” The youth’s question was uttered very loudly; and one of the barbers, whose razor was descending on a well-soaped chin, and another who was dressing a Ramillies wig, left their occupations, and came to the door. The citizen, in the mean time, turned a long-favored countenance upon Robin, and answered him in a tone of excessive anger and annoyance. His two sepulchral hems, however, broke into the very centre of his rebuke, with most singular effect, like a thought of the cold grave obtruding among wrathful passions. “Let go my garment, fellow! I tell you, I know not the man you speak of. What! I have authority, I have — hem, hem — authority; and if this be the respect you show for your betters, your feet shall be brought acquainted with the stocks by daylight, tomorrow morning!” Robin released the old man’s skirt, and hastened away, pursued by an ill-mannered roar of laughter from the barber’s shop. He was at first considerably surprised by the result of his question, but, being a shrewd youth, soon thought himself able to account for the mystery. “This is some country representative,” was his conclusion, “who has never seen the inside of my kinsman’s door, and lacks the breeding to answer a stranger civilly. The man is old, or verily — I might be tempted to turn back and smite him on the nose. Ah, Robin, Robin! even the barber’s boys laugh at you for choosing such a guide! You will be wiser in time, friend Robin.” He now became entangled in a succession of crooked and narrow streets, which crossed each other, and meandered at no great distance from the water-side. The smell of tar was obvious to his nostrils, the masts of vessels pierced the moonlight above the tops of the buildings, and the numerous signs, which Robin paused to read, informed him that he was near the centre of business. But the streets were empty, the shops were closed, and lights were visible only in the second stories of a few dwelling-houses. At length, on the corner of a narrow lane, through which he was passing, he beheld the broad countenance of a British hero swinging before the door of an inn, whence proceeded the voices of many guests. The casement of one of the lower windows was thrown back, and a very thin curtain permitted Robin to distinguish a party at supper, round a well-furnished table. The fragrance of the good cheer steamed forth into the outer air, and the youth could not fail to recollect that the last remnant of his travelling stock of provision had yielded to his morning appetite, and that noon had found and left him dinnerless. "Oh, that a parchment three-penny might give me a right to sit down at yonder table!” said Robin, with a sigh. “But the Major will make me welcome to the best of his victuals; so I will even step boldly in, and inquire my way to his dwelling.” He entered the tavern, and was guided by the murmur of voices and the fumes of tobacco to the public-room. It was a long and low apartment, with oaken walls, grown dark in the continual smoke, and a floor which was thickly sanded, but of no immaculate purity. A number of persons — the larger part of whom appeared to be mariners, or in some way connected with the sea — occupied the wooden benches, or leather-bottomed chairs, conversing on various matters, and occasionally lending their attention to some topic of general interest. Three or four little groups were draining as many bowls of punch, which the West India trade had long since made a familiar drink in the colony. Others, who had the appearance of men who lived by regular and laborious handicraft, preferred the insulated bliss of an unshared potation, and became more taciturn under its influence. Nearly all, in short, evinced a predilection for the Good Creature in some of its various shapes, for this is a vice to which, as Fast Day sermons of a hundred years ago will testify, we have a long hereditary claim. The only guests to whom Robin’s sympathies inclined him were two or three sheepish countrymen, who were using the inn somewhat after the fashion of a Turkish caravansary; they had gotten themselves into the darkest corner of the room, and heedless of the Nicotian atmosphere, were supping on the bread of their own ovens, and the bacon cured in their own chimney-smoke. But though Robin felt a sort of brotherhood with these strangers, his eyes were attracted from them to a person who stood near the door, holding whispered conversation with a group of ill-dressed associates. His features were separately striking almost to grotesqueness, and the whole face left a deep impression on the memory. The forehead bulged out into a double prominence, with a vale between; the nose came boldly forth in an irregular curve, and its bridge was of more than a finger’s breadth; the eyebrows were deep and shaggy, and the eyes glowed beneath them like fire in a cave. While Robin deliberated of whom to inquire respecting his kinsman’s dwelling, he was accosted by the innkeeper, a little man in a stained white apron, who had come to pay his professional welcome to the stranger. Being in the second generation from a French Protestant, he seemed to have inherited the courtesy of his parent nation; but no variety of circumstances was ever known to change his voice from the one shrill note in which he now addressed Robin. “From the country, I presume, sir?” said he, with a profound bow. “Beg leave to congratulate you on your arrival, and trust you intend a long stay with us. Fine town here, sir, beautiful buildings, and much that may interest a stranger. May I hope for the honor of your commands in respect to supper?” “The man sees a family likeness! the rogue has guessed that I am related to the Major!” thought Robin, who had hitherto experienced little superfluous civility. All eyes were now turned on the country lad, standing at the door, in his worn three-cornered hat, gray coat, leather breeches, and blue yarn stockings, leaning on an oaken cudgel, and bearing a wallet on his back. Robin replied to the courteous innkeeper, with such an assumption of confidence as befitted the Major’s relative. “My honest friend,” he said, “I shall make it a point to patronize your house on some occasion, when” — here he could not help lowering his voice — “when I may have more than a parchment three-pence in my pocket. My present business,” continued he, speaking with lofty confidence, “is merely to inquire my way to the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux.” There was a sudden and general movement in the room, which Robin interpreted as expressing the eagerness of each individual to become his guide. But the innkeeper turned his eyes to a written paper on the wall, which he read, or seemed to read, with occasional recurrences to the young man’s figure. “What have we here?” said he, breaking his speech into little dry fragments. “ `Left the house of the subscriber, bounden servant, Hezekiah Mudge, — had on, when he went away, gray coat, leather breeches, master’s third-best hat. One pound currency reward to whosoever shall lodge him in any jail of the providence.’ Better trudge, boy; better trudge!” Robin had begun to draw his hand towards the lighter end of the oak cudgel, but a strange hostility in every countenance induced him to relinquish his purpose of breaking the courteous innkeeper’s head. As he turned to leave the room, he encountered a sneering glance from the bold-featured personage whom he had before noticed; and no sooner was he beyond the door, than he heard a general laugh, in which the innkeeper’s voice might be distinguished, like the dropping of small stones into a kettle. “Now, is it not strange,” thought Robin, with his usual shrewdness, — “is it not strange that the confession of an empty pocket should outweigh the name of my kinsman, Major Molineux? Oh, if I had one of those grinning rascals in the woods, where I and my oak sapling grew up together, I would teach him that my arm is heavy though my purse be light!” On turning the corner of the narrow lane, Robin found himself in a spacious street, with an unbroken line of lofty houses on each side, and a steepled building at the upper end, whence the ringing of a bell announced the hour of nine. The light of the moon, and the lamps from the numerous shop-windows, discovered people promenading on the pavement, and amongst them Robin had hoped to recognize his hitherto inscrutable relative. The result of his former inquiries made him unwilling to hazard another, in a scene of such publicity, and he determined to walk slowly and silently up the street, thrusting his face close to that of every elderly gentleman, in search of the Major’s lineaments. In his progress, Robin encountered many gay and gallant figures. Embroidered garments of showy colors, enormous periwigs, gold-laced hats, and silver-hilted swords glided past him and dazzled his optics. Travelled youths, imitators of the European fine gentlemen of the period, trod jauntily along, half dancing to the fashionable tunes which they hummed, and making poor Robin ashamed of his quiet and natural gait. At length, after many pauses to examine the gorgeous display of goods in the shop-windows, and after suffering some rebukes for the impertinence of his scrutiny into people’s faces, the Major’s kinsman found himself near the steepled building, still unsuccessful in his search. As yet, however, he had seen only one side of the thronged street; so Robin crossed, and continued the same sort of inquisition down the opposite pavement, with stronger hopes than the philosopher seeking an honest man, but with no better fortune. He had arrived about midway towards the lower end, from which his course began, when he overheard the approach of some one who struck down a cane on the flag-stones at every step, uttering at regular intervals, two sepulchral hems. “Mercy on us!” quoth Robin, recognizing the sound. Turning a corner, which chanced to be close at his right hand, he hastened to pursue his researches in some other part of the town. His patience now was wearing low, and he seemed to feel more fatigue from his rambles since he crossed the ferry, than from his journey of several days on the other side. Hunger also pleaded loudly within him, and Robin began to balance the propriety of demanding, violently, and with lifted cudgel, the necessary guidance from the first solitary passenger whom he should meet. While a resolution to this effect was gaining strength, he entered a street of mean appearance, on either side of which a row of ill-built houses was straggling towards the harbor. The moonlight fell upon no passenger along the whole extent, but in the third domicile which Robin passed there was a half-opened door, and his keen glance detected a woman’s garment within. “My luck may be better here,” said he to himself. Accordingly, he approached the doors and beheld it shut closer as he did so; yet an open space remained, sufficing for the fair occupant to observe the stranger, without a corresponding display on her part. All that Robin could discern was a strip of scarlet petticoat, and the occasional sparkle of an eye, as if the moonbeams were trembling on some bright thing. “Pretty mistress,” for I may call her so with a good conscience thought the shrewd youth, since I know nothing to the contrary, — “my sweet pretty mistress, will you be kind enough to tell me whereabouts I must seek the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux?” Robin’s voice was plaintive and winning, and the female, seeing nothing to be shunned in the handsome country youth, thrust open the door, and came forth into the moonlight. She was a dainty little figure with a white neck, round arms, and a slender waist, at the extremity of which her scarlet petticoat jutted out over a hoop, as if she were standing in a balloon. Moreover, her face was oval and pretty, her hair dark beneath the little cap, and her bright eyes possessed a sly freedom, which triumphed over those of Robin. “Major Molineux dwells here,” said this fair woman. Now, her voice was the sweetest Robin had heard that night, yet he could not help doubting whether that sweet voice spoke Gospel truth. He looked up and down the mean street, and then surveyed the house before which they stood. It was a small, dark edifice of two stories, the second of which projected over the lower floor, and the front apartment had the aspect of a shop for petty commodities. “Now, truly, I am in luck,” replied Robin, cunningly, “and so indeed is my kinsman, the Major, in having so pretty a housekeeper. But I prithee trouble him to step to the door; I will deliver him a message from his friends in the country, and then go back to my lodgings at the inn.” “Nay, the Major has been abed this hour or more,” said the lady of the scarlet petticoat; “and it would be to little purpose to disturb him to-night, seeing his evening draught was of the strongest. But he is a kind-hearted man, and it would be as much as my life’s worth to let a kinsman of his turn away from the door. You are the good old gentleman’s very picture, and I could swear that was his rainy-weather hat. Also he has garments very much resembling those leather small-clothes. But come in, I pray, for I bid you hearty welcome in his name. So saying, the fair and hospitable dame took our hero by the hand; and the touch was light, and the force was gentleness, and though Robin read in her eyes what he did not hear in her words, yet the slender-waisted woman in the scarlet petticoat proved stronger than the athletic country youth. She had drawn his half-willing footsteps nearly to the threshold, when the opening of a door in the neighborhood startled the Major’s housekeeper, and, leaving the Major’s kinsman, she vanished speedily into her own domicile. A heavy yawn preceded the appearance of a man, who, like the Moonshine of Pyramus and Thisbe, carried a lantern, needlessly aiding his sister luminary in the heavens. As he walked sleepily up the street, he turned his broad, dull face on Robin, and displayed a long staff, spiked at the end. “Home, vagabond, home!” said the watchman, in accents that seemed to fall asleep as soon as they were uttered. “Home, or we’ll set you in the stocks by peep of day!” “This is the second hint of the kind,” thought Robin. “I wish they would end my difficulties, by setting me there to-night.” Nevertheless, the youth felt an instinctive antipathy towards the guardian of midnight order, which at first prevented him from asking his usual question. But just when the man was about to vanish behind the corner, Robin resolved not to lose the opportunity, and shouted lustily after him, — “I say, friend! will you guide me to the house of my kinsman, Major Molineux?” The watchman made no reply, but turned the corner and was gone; yet Robin seemed to hear the sound of drowsy laughter stealing along the solitary street. At that moment, also, a pleasant titter saluted him from the open window above his head; he looked up, and caught the sparkle of a saucy eye; a round arm beckoned to him, and next he heard light footsteps descending the staircase within. But Robin, being of the household of a New England clergyman, was a good youth, as well as a shrewd one; so he resisted temptation, and fled away. He now roamed desperately, and at random, through the town, almost ready to believe that a spell was on him, like that by which a wizard of his country had once kept three pursuers wandering, a whole winter night, within twenty paces of the cottage which they sought. The streets lay before him, strange and desolate, and the lights were extinguished in almost every house. Twice, however, little parties of men, among whom Robin distinguished individuals in outlandish attire, came hurrying along; but, though on both occasions, they paused to address him such intercourse did not at all enlighten his perplexity. They did but utter a few words in some language of which Robin knew nothing, and perceiving his inability to answer, bestowed a curse upon him in plain English and hastened away. Finally, the lad determined to knock at the door of every mansion that might appear worthy to be occupied by his kinsman, trusting that perseverance would overcome the fatality that had hitherto thwarted him. Firm in this resolve, he was passing beneath the walls of a church, which formed the corner of two streets, when, as he turned into the shade of its steeple, he encountered a bulky stranger muffled in a cloak. The man was proceeding with the speed of earnest business, but Robin planted himself full before him, holding the oak cudgel with both hands across his body as a bar to further passage “Halt, honest man, and answer me a question,” said he, very resolutely, “Tell me, this instant, whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux!” “Keep your tongue between your teeth, fool, and let me pass!” said a deep, gruff voice, which Robin partly remembered. “Let me pass, or I’ll strike you to the earth!” “No, no, neighbor!” cried Robin, flourishing his cudgel, and then thrusting its larger end close to the man’s muffled face. “No, no, I’m not the fool you take me for, nor do you pass till I have an answer to my question. Whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux?” The stranger, instead of attempting to force his passage, stepped back into the moonlight, unmuffled his face, and stared full into that of Robin. “Watch here an hour, and Major Molineux will pass by,” said he. Robin gazed with dismay and astonishment on the unprecedented physiognomy of the speaker. The forehead with its double prominence the broad hooked nose, the shaggy eyebrows, and fiery eyes were those which he had noticed at the inn, but the man’s complexion had undergone a singular, or, more properly, a twofold change. One side of the face blazed an intense red, while the other was black as midnight, the division line being in the broad bridge of the nose; and a mouth which seemed to extend from ear to ear was black or red, in contrast to the color of the cheek. The effect was as if two individual devils, a fiend of fire and a fiend of darkness, had united themselves to form this infernal visage. The stranger grinned in Robin’s face, muffled his party-colored features, and was out of sight in a moment. “Strange things we travellers see!” ejaculated Robin. He seated himself, however, upon the steps of the church-door, resolving to wait the appointed time for his kinsman. A few moments were consumed in philosophical speculations upon the species of man who had just left him; but having settled this point shrewdly, rationally, and satisfactorily, he was compelled to look elsewhere for his amusement. And first he threw his eyes along the street. It was of more respectable appearance than most of those into which he had wandered, and the moon, creating, like the imaginative power, a beautiful strangeness in familiar objects, gave something of romance to a scene that might not have possessed it in the light of day. The irregular and often quaint architecture of the houses, some of whose roofs were broken into numerous little peaks, while others ascended, steep and narrow, into a single point, and others again were square; the pure snow-white of some of their complexions, the aged darkness of others, and the thousand sparklings, reflected from bright substances in the walls of many; these matters engaged Robin’s attention for a while, and then began to grow wearisome. Next he endeavored to define the forms of distant objects, starting away, with almost ghostly indistinctness, just as his eye appeared to grasp them, and finally he took a minute survey of an edifice which stood on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of the church-door, where he was stationed. It was a large, square mansion, distinguished from its neighbors by a balcony, which rested on tall pillars, and by an elaborate Gothic window, communicating therewith. “Perhaps this is the very house I have been seeking,” thought Robin. Then he strove to speed away the time, by listening to a murmur which swept continually along the street, yet was scarcely audible, except to an unaccustomed ear like his; it was a low, dull, dreamy sound, compounded of many noises, each of which was at too great a distance to be separately heard. Robin marvelled at this snore of a sleeping town, and marvelled more whenever its continuity was broken by now and then a distant shout, apparently loud where it originated. But altogether it was a sleep-inspiring sound, and, to shake off its drowsy influence, Robin arose, and climbed a window-frame, that he might view the interior of the church. There the moonbeams came trembling in, and fell down upon the deserted pews, and extended along the quiet aisles. A fainter yet more awful radiance was hovering around the pulpit, and one solitary ray had dared to rest upon the open page of the great Bible. Had nature, in that deep hour, become a worshipper in the house which man had builded? Or was that heavenly light the visible sanctity of the place, — visible because no earthly and impure feet were within the walls? The scene made Robin’s heart shiver with a sensation of loneliness stronger than he had ever felt in the remotest depths of his native woods; so he turned away and sat down again before the door. There were graves around the church, and now an uneasy thought obtruded into Robin’s breast. What if the object of his search, which had been so often and so strangely thwarted, were all the time mouldering in his shroud? What if his kinsman should glide through yonder gate, and nod and smile to him in dimly passing by? “Oh that any breathing thing were here with me!” said Robin. Recalling his thoughts from this uncomfortable track, he sent them over forest, hill, and stream, and attempted to imagine how that evening of ambiguity and weariness had been spent by his father’s household. He pictured them assembled at the door, beneath the tree, the great old tree, which had been spared for its huge twisted trunk and venerable shade, when a thousand leafy brethren fell. There, at the going down of the summer sun, it was his father’s custom to perform domestic worship that the neighbors might come and join with him like brothers of the family, and that the wayfaring man might pause to drink at that fountain, and keep his heart pure by freshening the memory of home. Robin distinguished the seat of every individual of the little audience; he saw the good man in the midst, holding the Scriptures in the golden light that fell from the western clouds; he beheld him close the book and all rise up to pray. He heard the old thanksgivings for daily mercies, the old supplications for their continuance to which he had so often listened in weariness, but which were now among his dear remembrances. He perceived the slight inequality of his father’s voice when he came to speak of the absent one; he noted how his mother turned her face to the broad and knotted trunk; how his elder brother scorned, because the beard was rough upon his upper lip; to permit his features to be moved; how the younger sister drew down a low hanging branch before her eyes; and how the little one of all, whose sports had hitherto broken the decorum of the scene, understood the prayer for her playmate, and burst into clamorous grief. Then he saw them go in at the door; and when Robin would have entered also, the latch tinkled into its place, and he was excluded from his home. “Am I here, or there?” cried Robin, starting; for all at once, when his thoughts had become visible and audible in a dream, the long, wide, solitary street shone out before him. He aroused himself, and endeavored to fix his attention steadily upon the large edifice which he had surveyed before. But still his mind kept vibrating between fancy and reality; by turns, the pillars of the balcony lengthened into the tall, bare stems of pines, dwindled down to human figures, settled again into their true shape and size, and then commenced a new succession of changes. For a single moment, when he deemed himself awake, he could have sworn that a visage — one which he seemed to remember, yet could not absolutely name as his kinsman’s — was looking towards him from the Gothic window. A deeper sleep wrestled with and nearly overcame him, but fled at the sound of footsteps along the opposite pavement. Robin rubbed his eyes, discerned a man passing at the foot of the balcony, and addressed him in a loud, peevish, and lamentable cry. “Hallo, friend! must I wait here all night for my kinsman, Major Molineux?” The sleeping echoes awoke, and answered the voice; and the passenger, barely able to discern a figure sitting in the oblique shade of the steeple, traversed the street to obtain a nearer view. He was himself a gentleman in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogether pre-possessing countenance. Perceiving a country youth, apparently homeless and without friends, he accosted him in a tone of real kindness, which had become strange to Robin’s ears. “Well, my good lad, why are you sitting here?” inquired he. “Can I be of service to you in any way?” “I am afraid not, sir,” replied Robin, despondingly; “yet I shall take it kindly, if you’ll answer me a single question. I’ve been searching, half the night, for one Major Molineux, now, sir, is there really such a person in these parts, or am I dreaming?” “Major Molineux! The name is not altogether strange to me,” said the gentleman, smiling. “Have you any objection to telling me the nature of your business with him?” Then Robin briefly related that his father was a clergyman, settled on a small salary, at a long distance back in the country, and that he and Major Molineux were brothers’ children. The Major, having inherited riches, and acquired civil and military rank, had visited his cousin, in great pomp, a year or two before; had manifested much interest in Robin and an elder brother, and, being childless himself, had thrown out hints respecting the future establishment of one of them in life. The elder brother was destined to succeed to the farm which his father cultivated in the interval of sacred duties; it was therefore determined that Robin should profit by his kinsman’s generous intentions, especially as he seemed to be rather the favorite, and was thought to possess other necessary endowments. “For I have the name of being a shrewd youth,” observed Robin, in this part of his story. “I doubt not you deserve it,” replied his new friend, good-naturedly; “but pray proceed.” “Well, sir, being nearly eighteen years old, and well grown, as you see,” continued Robin, drawing himself up to his full height, “I thought it high time to begin in the world. So my mother and sister put me in handsome trim, and my father gave me half the remnant of his last year’s salary, and five days ago I started for this place, to pay the Major a visit. But, would you believe it, sir! I crossed the ferry a little after dark, and have yet found nobody that would show me the way to his dwelling; only, an hour or two since, I was told to wait here, and Major Molineux would pass by.” “Can you describe the man who told you this?” inquired the gentleman. “Oh, he was a very ill-favored fellow, sir,” replied Robin, “with two great bumps on his forehead, a hook nose, fiery eyes; and, what struck me as the strangest, his face was of two different colors. Do you happen to know such a man, sir?” “Not intimately,” answered the stranger, “but I chanced to meet him a little time previous to your stopping me. I believe you may trust his word, and that the Major will very shortly pass through this street. In the mean time, as I have a singular curiosity to witness your meeting, I will sit down here upon the steps and bear you company.” He seated himself accordingly, and soon engaged his companion in animated discourse. It was but of brief continuance, however, for a noise of shouting, which had long been remotely audible, drew so much nearer that Robin inquired its cause. “What may be the meaning of this uproar?” asked he. “Truly, if your town be always as noisy, I shall find little sleep while I am an inhabitant.” “Why, indeed, friend Robin, there do appear to be three or four riotous fellows abroad to-night,” replied the gentleman. “You must not expect all the stillness of your native woods here in our streets. But the watch will shortly be at the heels of these lads and” — “Ay, and set them in the stocks by peep of day,” interrupted Robin recollecting his own encounter with the drowsy lantern-bearer. “But, dear sir, if I may trust my ears, an army of watchmen would never make head against such a multitude of rioters. There were at least a thousand voices went up to make that one shout.” “May not a man have several voices, Robin, as well as two complexions? said his friend. “Perhaps a man may; but Heaven forbid that a woman should!” responded the shrewd youth, thinking of the seductive tones of the Major’s housekeeper. The sounds of a trumpet in some neighboring street now became so evident and continual, that Robin’s curiosity was strongly excited. In addition to the shouts, he heard frequent bursts from many instruments of discord, and a wild and confused laughter filled up the intervals. Robin rose from the steps, and looked wistfully towards a point whither people seemed to be hastening “Surely some prodigious merry-making is going on,” exclaimed he “I have laughed very little since I left home, sir, and should be sorry to lose an opportunity. Shall we step round the corner by that darkish house and take our share of the fun?” “Sit down again, sit down, good Robin,” replied the gentleman, laying his hand on the skirt of the gray coat. “You forget that we must wait here for your kinsman; and there is reason to believe that he will pass by, in the course of a very few moments.” The near approach of the uproar had now disturbed the neighborhood; windows flew open on all sides; and many heads, in the attire of the pillow, and confused by sleep suddenly broken, were protruded to the gaze of whoever had leisure to observe them. Eager voices hailed each other from house to house, all demanding the explanation, which not a soul could give. Half-dressed men hurried towards the unknown commotion stumbling as they went over the stone steps that thrust themselves into the narrow foot-walk. The shouts, the laughter, and the tuneless bray the antipodes of music, came onwards with increasing din, till scattered individuals, and then denser bodies, began to appear round a corner at the distance of a hundred yards “Will you recognize your kinsman, if he passes in this crowd?” inquired the gentleman “Indeed, I can’t warrant it, sir; but I’ll take my stand here, and keep a bright lookout,” answered Robin, descending to the outer edge. A mighty stream of people now emptied into the street, and came rollmg slowly towards the church. A single horseman wheeled the corner in the midst of them, and close behind him came a band of fearful wind-instruments, sending forth a fresher discord now that no intervening buildings kept it from the ear. Then a redder light disturbed the moonbeams, and a dense multitude of torches shone along the street, concealing, by their glare, whatever object they illuminated. The single horseman, clad in a military dress, and bearing a drawn sword, rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce and variegated countenance, appeared like war personified; the red of one cheek was an emblem of fire and sword; the blackness of the other betokened the mourning that attends them. In his train were wild figures in the Indian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a model, giving the whole march a visionary air, as if a dream had broken forth from some feverish brain, and were sweeping visibly through the midnight streets. A mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spectators, hemmed the procession in; and several women ran along the sidewalk, piercing the confusion of heavier sounds with their shrill voices of mirth or terror. “The double-faced fellow has his eye upon me,” muttered Robin, with an indefinite but an uncomfortable idea that he was himself to bear a part in the pageantry. The leader turned himself in the saddle, and fixed his glance full upon the country youth, as the steed went slowly by. When Robin had freed his eyes from those fiery ones, the musicians were passing before him, and the torches were close at hand; but the unsteady brightness of the latter formed a veil which he could not penetrate. The rattling of wheels over the stones sometimes found its way to his ear, and confused traces of a human form appeared at intervals, and then melted into the vivid light. A moment more, and the leader thundered a command to halt: the trumpets vomited a horrid breath, and then held their peace; the shouts and laughter of the people died away, and there remained only a universal hum, allied to silence. Right before Robin’s eyes was an uncovered cart. There the torches blazed the brightest, there the moon shone out like day, and there, in tar-and-feathery dignity, sat his kinsman, Major Molineux! He was an elderly man, of large and majestic person, and strong, square features, betokening a steady soul; but steady as it was, his enemies had found means to shake it. His face was pale as death, and far more ghastly; the broad forehead was contracted in his agony, so that his eyebrows formed one grizzled line; his eyes were red and wild, and the foam hung white upon his quivering lip. His whole frame was agitated by a quick and continual tremor, which his pride strove to quell, even in those circumstances of overwhelming humiliation. But perhaps the bitterest pang of all was when his eyes met those of Robin; for he evidently knew him on the instant, as the youth stood witnessing the foul disgrace of a head grown gray in honor. They stared at each other in silence, and Robin’s knees shook, and his hair bristled, with a mixture of pity and terror. Soon, however, a bewildering excitement began to seize upon his mind; the preceding adventures of the night, the unexpected appearance of the crowd, the torches, the confused din and the hush that followed, the spectre of his kinsman reviled by that great multitude, — all this, and, more than all, a perception of tremendous ridicule in the whole scene, affected him with a sort of mental inebriety. At that moment a voice of sluggish merriment saluted Robin’s ears; he turned instinctively, and just behind the corner of the church stood the lantern-bearer, rubbing his eyes, and drowsily enjoying the lad’s amazement. Then he heard a peal of laughter like the ringing of silvery bells; a woman twitched his arm, a saucy eye met his, and he saw the lady of the scarlet petticoat. A sharp, dry cachinnation appealed to his memory, and, standing on tiptoe in the crowd, with his white apron over his head, he beheld the courteous little innkeeper. And lastly, there sailed over the heads of the multitude a great, broad laugh, broken in the midst by two sepulchral hems; thus, “Haw, haw, haw, — hem, hem, — haw, haw, haw, haw!” The sound proceeded from the balcony of the opposite edifice, and thither Robin turned his eyes. In front of the Gothic window stood the old citizen, wrapped in a wide gown, his gray periwig exchanged for a nightcap, which was thrust back from his forehead, and his silk stockings hanging about his legs. He supported himself on his polished cane in a fit of convulsive merriment, which manifested itself on his solemn old features like a funny inscription on a tombstone. Then Robin seemed to hear the voices of the barbers, of the guests of the inn, and of all who had made sport of him that night. The contagion was spreading among the multitude, when all at once, it seized upon Robin, and he sent forth a shout of laughter that echoed through the street, — every man shook his sides, every man emptied his lungs, but Robin’s shout was the loudest there. The cloud-spirits peeped from their silvery islands, as the congregated mirth went roaring up the sky! The Man in the Moon heard the far bellow. “Oho,” quoth he, “the old earth is frolicsome to-night!” When there was a momentary calm in that tempestuous sea of sound, the leader gave the sign, the procession resumed its march. On they went, like fiends that throng in mockery around some dead potentate, mighty no more, but majestic still in his agony. On they went, in counterfeited pomp, in senseless uproar, in frenzied merriment, trampling all on an old man’s heart. On swept the tumult, and left a silent street behind. . . . . . . . . . . . “Well, Robin, are you dreaming?” inquired the gentleman, laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder. Robin started, and withdrew his arm from the stone post to which he had instinctively clung, as the living stream rolled by him. His cheek was somewhat pale, and his eye not quite as lively as in the earlier part of the evening. “Will you be kind enough to show me the way to the ferry?” said he, after a moment’s pause. “You have, then, adopted a new subject of inquiry?” observed his companion, with a smile. “Why, yes, sir,” replied Robin, rather dryly. “Thanks to you, and to my other friends, I have at last met my kinsman, and he will scarce desire to see my face again. I begin to grow weary of a town life, sir. Will you show me the way to the ferry?” “No, my good friend Robin, — not to-night, at least,” said the gentleman. “Some few days hence, if you wish it, I will speed you on your journey. Or, if you prefer to remain with us, perhaps, as you are a shrewd youth, you may rise in the world without the help of your kinsman, Major Molineux.”