text:
May 19, 2010
Another Very Bad Night for Obama, Democrats, and the Media
The U.S. dollar and good news for Democrats have a lot in common these days. No matter how much of either liberals print, the absolute value keeps declining.
To be fair, the Jurassic media is actually half-right in their groupthink analysis that yesterday's elections were more evidence that the prevailing mood in the country is simply anti-Washington. But the half they get wrong is very wrong indeed. As such, they were losers yesterday.
The biggest winners were Rand Paul's campaign and the Tea Party movement/philosophy. The biggest losers were Barack Obama and the current far-left Democrat Congress and their notion of a large and intrusive government. Other losers include the political thinking of George W. Bush, Karl Rove, John McCain, and Bill Clinton.
As for the major parties, consider that the continued rebuke of "reach across the aisle" and "new tone" Republicanism is good news for a GOP that is rather rapidly finding its way.
Conversely, the rebuke of a sitting president and Congress -- not to mention the entire governing philosophy of the Democrats -- is potentially catastrophic for them. It was an awful night for liberals.
Anti-Washington, you say?
It is true that there is fierce anti-Washington fervor. But pundits are dead wrong in claiming that this means both parties are affected equally. Washington is a liberal Democrat city -- and not only by the standards of the current makeup of the administration and the Congress, though that is very true.
It goes deeper. The very notion of Washington as a control center and hub of intellectual power and great solutions is by definition a liberal ideal. Washington is Mecca to the Democrat liberal base. By contrast, the city and all it represents are anathema to progress and prosperity for the Republican base voters...you know, the tea party types. Yesterday was another sound rebuke of Washington as defined by liberals and thus another big day for the mindset of the tea party movement.
Best Name of 2010: Rand's a Winner in Kentucky
Liberal pundits like Mort Kondracke and David Goodstein have said that Rand Paul's primary win is more evidence that the Republican Party is imploding. They could not be more wrong. Paul -- armed with perhaps the perfect first name for a politician in 2010 -- is the quintessential Tea Party candidate. A fierce defender of limited government, the younger Paul and many of his supporters seem unburdened by some of his dad's most unconventional thoughts, yet he was able to tap into some of the Ron Paul cult support system.
More importantly, opponent Trey Grayson was a McCain-type candidate. He seems to have borrowed the worn-out phrases from Kay Bailey Hutchinson's tired campaign in Texas. Grayson's ads touted his ability to "get things done" in Washington by "working with people." I think Grayson would have lost to a blank space with such a tone-deaf campaign.
No, Mr. Kondracke, the party is not imploding. It is healing, and this means getting rid of cancers like Grayson (and Bennett and Crist). Rand Paul will win the general election, as will Marco Rubio in Florida and a Republican in Utah.
Specter's Spectacular Loss
Arlen Specter's final chapters as a senator are object lessons in what is wrong with Washington generally and what is wrong with moderate Republicans as a concept. The most devastating turn in this campaign was the release of an ad featuring kind words from Bush 41 from days when Specter was a Republican.
Ironically, this would have been as devastating in a GOP primary as it was in this one. Bush's endorsement of Specter was a centerpiece in Rove's philosophically vacant "permanent majority" strategy. The era of Arlen Specter -- and of the "new tone" -- is over.
Now Pennsylvania will get a choice. Liberal Joe Sestak will run against Conservative Republican Pat Toomey in November. And yes, there is indeed more "than a dime's worth of difference" between those two.
Rush Limbaugh Democrat Wins Murtha Seat
You know it's bad night when a win is actually a loss. Perhaps the worst news of the night for Team Obama was the Democrat win in the special election in Pennsylvania for Jack Murtha's seat.
Huh? Yep, Mark Critz is a "Rush Limbaugh Democrat" who campaigned against almost everything Obama and Murtha support. Frankly, he was more conservative than the McCain campaign of 2008 and more apt to criticize Obama than is, say, Lindsay Graham. Republican Tim Burns had no one to run against, and the district is heavily Democrat by registration. This was hardly a race that can be celebrated by the Democrat leadership today. Critz is the type of Democrat that Nancy Pelosi was hoping to lose in November.
Lincoln Troubles Symbolic
There is no clearer symbol of the trouble Obama is in than Blanche Lincoln. She is a sitting U.S. senator and has the strong endorsement of the two most popular Democrats in a century -- Obama and Bill Clinton -- and she is barely hanging on in her struggle to win a primary.
Lincoln is about 1% ahead of Bill Halter (as of this writing) and will face a runoff challenge. For an incumbent to be rejected by 60 percent of her party's voters is startling. This is a net loss for Obama and for the Clintons as well, not to mention an entire party that would readily admit that those are the biggest names in their arsenal.
The Takeaway
If it was embarrassing -- and instructive -- for George W. Bush's machine in Texas to get wiped out in their campaign for Hutchinson, it is even more so for Teams Obama-Clinton yesterday in Arkansas. Once-powerful national machines are now losing intramural contests on their home fields.
So what does this mean? Does it mean that people are simply fed up with Washington and all elected officials? Not exactly, though there is an element of truth in that analysis.
The real meaning is that people are fed up with this president, this Congress, their party, and the attempt to destroy a country and an economic system that have done more for freedom and good than any other country or economic system in world history.
Moreover, people are also fed up with any kind of namby-pamby opposition party that is little more than a low-calorie version of the statist Democrats. And this is not new. This wave has been building since Rick Santelli had his tea party rant over mortgages in February of 2009. It built through the tea party rallies in the spring of 2009 and into the town hall meetings of the summer of 2009.
The wave rolled in the fall through stunning elections of '09 in Virginia and New Jersey, and then later in Massachusetts with Scott Brown. It rolled after the health care debacle, and it rolls today, fueled by brave conservative leaders like Chris Christie and Jan Brewer.
A lot can happen between now and November's general elections, but make no mistake: Yesterday's elections were definitely an extension of the conservative ascendancy that is taking hold in this country. As such, it was yet another bad day for liberal America and a good day for tea party-supporters.
And it matters not that the pundits do not understand it. The truth does not require validation on the "Morning Joe" program or in the New York Times.


text:
to: "firstname.lastname@example.com"
date: Sat, Aug 10, 2013 at 9:27 PM
My mom has this tattooed on her back. The guy that did it said that it meant Mom in Chinese. I have googled and googled and cannot find a meaning for this ... Can you help? Please.
This is based on a different set of gibberish font we documented in 2009, where "m" is represented with 来 and "o" is 联.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Military Chaplains Given Go Ahead to Conduct Same-Sex Marriages
Military chaplains have been given the go-ahead to perform same-sex marriage ceremonies.
"A military chaplain may participate in or officiate any private ceremony," a memo on Friday states. However, the ceremony must be in line with "applicable state and local law."
The memo also noted that a chaplain's beliefs may determine whether he or she participates in same-sex marriage ceremonies.
On Sept. 20, the military changed its policy on gay and lesbian people serving in the military, so that for the first time in U.S. history, they may serve openly.
"Don't ask, don't tell" mandated that gays and lesbians could only serve in the military if they kept their sexual orientation private. Its repeal was passed in 2010 and went into effect this month.
Family Research Council, a conservative group in Washington, D.C., warned that with the repeal of "don't ask, don't tell," the country would be headed down a "slippery slope toward other anti-family policies that would undermine national security."
Friday's memo is evidence of that, the group lamented.
"The federal Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is very clear that the federal government defines marriage as the union of one man and one woman. How is DOD (Department of Defense) skirting the law?" FRC posed.
"In true, White House fashion they're playing word games – calling them same-sex ceremonies in their stated policies but letting the chaplains call these charades 'marriages.' Words have meaning, and laws have purposes. This administration has shown that it has little regard for either."
The new military rules on marriage must agree with DOMA as well as local laws.
But following the official repeal of DADT, gay rights activists and lawmakers have been turning their attention to striking down DOMA.
Sen. Chris Coons (D-Del.) had tweeted, "Now that DADT is behind us, it's time to go get DOMA, don't you think?"
Since DADT was originally enacted, more than 14,000 gay and lesbian troops have been discharged. Soldiers discharged under DADT will now be allowed to reapply for military service.
The Family Research Council, which urged the Pentagon to postpone the repeal, said it has not received responses to questions regarding how the repeal will affect religious freedom and conscience exemptions.
"Today it's marriage. Tomorrow, it could be civil liberties or religious freedom that's redefined or ignored," FRC stated Friday.


text:
Ayrton Senna and Graham Hill not only won the world championship on more than one occasion, they were also runner-up several times too.
Senna won the title three times and was runner-up twice, whereas Hill won the championship twice and placed second in three consecutive years, from 1963 to 1965.
But while Hill set a record for competing in 18 seasons – a record equalled last year by Rubens Barrichello – Senna's was tragically curtailed when he was killed at Imola.
However the final years of Hill's career came after he was badly injured in a crash at Watkins Glen in 1969. It clearly impaired his later performances and his days of driving for top teams like BRM and Lotus were soon over.
Both Senna and Hill also shared a team with another of the great drivers of their day.
Senna was partnered with Alain Prost at McLaren in 1988 and 1989, winning a title apiece. Hill joined Jim Clark at Lotus in 1967. That partnership was brought to an end by Clark's untimely death in 1968.
In 1969 Hill won the Monaco Grand Prix for the fifth time – a record, until Senna scored his sixth Monaco victory in 1993.
Coincidentally, Senna's final team mate was Graham's son Damon – his opponent in the first round of Champion of Champions.
But which of these drivers should go through to the quarter-finals? Vote for which you think was best below and explain who you voted for and why in the comments.
|Ayrton Senna
|Graham Hill
|1988, 1990, 1991
|1962, 1968
|Second in title year/s
|Alain Prost, Alain Prost, Nigel Mansell
|Jim Clark, Jackie Stewart
|Toleman, Lotus, McLaren, Williams
|Lotus, BRM, Brabham, Embassy
|Notable team mates
|Alain Prost, Gerhard Berger, Mika Hakkinen
|Richie Ginther, Jackie Stewart, Jim Clark
|41 (25.47%)
|14 (8.00%)
|65 (40.37%)
|13 (7.43%)
|Modern points per start1
|% car failures2
|Modern points per finish3
|Won three titles in four years with McLaren
|Narrowly lost 1964 title to John Surtees after being hit by Lorenzo Bandini
|Controversial clash with Prost sealed second title
|Won second title in 1968 following team mate Jim Clark's death
|Killed in third race for Williams in 1994
|Died in a light aircraft accident shortly after concluding then-record 176-race career
|Ayrton Senna
|Graham Hill
1 How many points they scored in their career, adjusted to the 2010 points system, divided by the number of races they started
2 The percentage of races in which they were not classified due to a mechanical failure
3 How many points they scored in their career, adjusted to the 2010 points system, divided by the number of starts in which they did not suffer a race-ending mechanical failure
Round one
Which was the better world champion driver?
- Graham Hill (11%)
- Ayrton Senna (89%)
Total Voters: 538
You need an F1 Fanatic account to vote. Register an account here or read more about registering here.
Read the F1 Fanatic Champion of Champions introduction for more information and remember to check back tomorrow for the next round.
Have you voted in the previous rounds of Champion of Champions yet? Find them all here:
Champion of Champions
- Ayrton Senna voted Champion of Champions by F1 Fanatic readers
- Champion of Champions in stats
- Champion of Champions Final: Senna vs Schumacher
- Ayrton Senna vs Juan Manuel Fangio
- Michael Schumacher vs Alain Prost
- Ayrton Senna vs Jack Brabham
- Juan Manuel Fangio vs Jackie Stewart
- Alain Prost vs Niki Lauda
- Jim Clark vs Michael Schumacher
- Jack Brabham vs Lewis Hamilton
Images ?�?� Williams/Sutton (Senna), Brian Waddell (Hill)


text:
libgnatprj5-dev-dbgsym 5.4.0-6ubuntu1~16.04.12 (amd64 binary) in ubuntu xenial
GNAT is a compiler for the Ada programming language. It produces optimized
code on platforms supported by the GNU Compiler Collection (GCC).
GNAT uses project files to organise source and object files in large-scale
development efforts. The libgnatprj library exports GNAT project files
management for use in other packages, most notably ASIS tools (package
asis-programs) and GNAT Programming Studio (package gnat-gps). It is
licensed under the pure GPL; all programs that use it must also be
distributed under the GPL, or not distributed at all.
This package contains the development files and static library.
- Package version:
- 5.4.0-6ubuntu1~16.04.12
- Status:
- Published
- Component:
- universe
- Priority:
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Downloadable files
amd64 build of gcc-5 5.4.0-6ubuntu1~16.04.12 in ubuntu xenial RELEASE produced these files:
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text:
Vanity Fair
by William Makepeace Thackeray
Chapter 51: In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May Not Puzzle the Reader
Additional Information
- Year Published: 1917
- Language: English
- Country of Origin: England
- Source: Thackeray, W. M. (1917). Vanity Fair. New York. NY: P.F. Collier and Son.
- Flesch–Kincaid Level: 10.0
- Word Count: 7,992
- Genre: Satire
- Keywords: 19th century literature, british literature, satire
- ✎ Cite This
Share |
Thackeray, W. (1917). Chapter 51: In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May Not Puzzle the Reader. Vanity Fair (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved October 02, 2023, from https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/97/vanity-fair/1855/chapter-51-in-which-a-charade-is-acted-which-may-or-may-not-puzzle-the-reader/
Thackeray, William Makepeace. "Chapter 51: In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May Not Puzzle the Reader." Vanity Fair. Lit2Go Edition. 1917. Web. <https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/97/vanity-fair/1855/chapter-51-in-which-a-charade-is-acted-which-may-or-may-not-puzzle-the-reader/>. October 02, 2023.
William Makepeace Thackeray, "Chapter 51: In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May Not Puzzle the Reader," Vanity Fair, Lit2Go Edition, (1917), accessed October 02, 2023, https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/97/vanity-fair/1855/chapter-51-in-which-a-charade-is-acted-which-may-or-may-not-puzzle-the-reader/.
After Becky's appearance at my Lord Steyne's private and select parties, the claims of that estimable woman as regards fashion were settled, and some of the very greatest and tallest doors in the metropolis were speedily opened to her—doors so great and tall that the beloved reader and writer hereof may hope in vain to enter at them. Dear brethren, let us tremble before those august portals. I fancy them guarded by grooms of the chamber with flaming silver forks with which they prong all those who have not the right of the entree. They say the honest newspaper-fellow who sits in the hall and takes down the names of the great ones who are admitted to the feasts dies after a little time. He can't survive the glare of fashion long. It scorches him up, as the presence of Jupiter in full dress wasted that poor imprudent Semele—a giddy moth of a creature who ruined herself by venturing out of her natural atmosphere. Her myth ought to be taken to heart amongst the Tyburnians, the Belgravians—her story, and perhaps Becky's too. Ah, ladies!—ask the Reverend Mr. Thurifer if Belgravia is not a sounding brass and Tyburnia a tinkling cymbal. These are vanities. Even these will pass away. And some day or other (but it will be after our time, thank goodness) Hyde Park Gardens will be no better known than the celebrated horticultural outskirts of Babylon, and Belgrave Square will be as desolate as Baker Street, or Tadmor in the wilderness.
Ladies, are you aware that the great Pitt lived in Baker Street? What would not your grandmothers have given to be asked to Lady Hester's parties in that now decayed mansion? I have dined in it— moi qui vous parle, I peopled the chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead. As we sat soberly drinking claret there with men of to-day, the spirits of the departed came in and took their places round the darksome board. The pilot who weathered the storm tossed off great bumpers of spiritual port; the shade of Dundas did not leave the ghost of a heeltap. Addington sat bowing and smirking in a ghastly manner, and would not be behindhand when the noiseless bottle went round; Scott, from under bushy eyebrows, winked at the apparition of a beeswing; Wilberforce's eyes went up to the ceiling, so that he did not seem to know how his glass went up full to his mouth and came down empty; up to the ceiling which was above us only yesterday, and which the great of the past days have all looked at. They let the house as a furnished lodging now. Yes, Lady Hester once lived in Baker Street, and lies asleep in the wilderness. Eothen saw her there—not in Baker Street, but in the other solitude.
It is all vanity to be sure, but who will not own to liking a little of it? I should like to know what well-constituted mind, merely because it is transitory, dislikes roast beef? That is a vanity, but may every man who reads this have a wholesome portion of it through life, I beg: aye, though my readers were five hundred thousand. Sit down, gentlemen, and fall to, with a good hearty appetite; the fat, the lean, the gravy, the horse-radish as you like it—don't spare it. Another glass of wine, Jones, my boy—a little bit of the Sunday side. Yes, let us eat our fill of the vain thing and be thankful therefor. And let us make the best of Becky's aristocratic pleasures likewise—for these too, like all other mortal delights, were but transitory.
The upshot of her visit to Lord Steyne was that His Highness the Prince of Peterwaradin took occasion to renew his acquaintance with Colonel Crawley, when they met on the next day at the Club, and to compliment Mrs. Crawley in the Ring of Hyde Park with a profound salute of the hat. She and her husband were invited immediately to one of the Prince's small parties at Levant House, then occupied by His Highness during the temporary absence from England of its noble proprietor. She sang after dinner to a very little comite. The Marquis of Steyne was present, paternally superintending the progress of his pupil.
At Levant House Becky met one of the finest gentlemen and greatest ministers that Europe has produced—the Duc de la Jabotiere, then Ambassador from the Most Christian King, and subsequently Minister to that monarch. I declare I swell with pride as these august names are transcribed by my pen, and I think in what brilliant company my dear Becky is moving. She became a constant guest at the French Embassy, where no party was considered to be complete without the presence of the charming Madame Ravdonn Cravley. Messieurs de Truffigny (of the Perigord family) and Champignac, both attaches of the Embassy, were straightway smitten by the charms of the fair Colonel's wife, and both declared, according to the wont of their nation (for who ever yet met a Frenchman, come out of England, that has not left half a dozen families miserable, and brought away as many hearts in his pocket-book?), both, I say, declared that they were au mieux with the charming Madame Ravdonn.
But I doubt the correctness of the assertion. Champignac was very fond of ecarte, and made many parties with the Colonel of evenings, while Becky was singing to Lord Steyne in the other room; and as for Truffigny, it is a well-known fact that he dared not go to the Travellers', where he owed money to the waiters, and if he had not had the Embassy as a dining-place, the worthy young gentleman must have starved. I doubt, I say, that Becky would have selected either of these young men as a person on whom she would bestow her special regard. They ran of her messages, purchased her gloves and flowers, went in debt for opera-boxes for her, and made themselves amiable in a thousand ways. And they talked English with adorable simplicity, and to the constant amusement of Becky and my Lord Steyne, she would mimic one or other to his face, and compliment him on his advance in the English language with a gravity which never failed to tickle the Marquis, her sardonic old patron. Truffigny gave Briggs a shawl by way of winning over Becky's confidante, and asked her to take charge of a letter which the simple spinster handed over in public to the person to whom it was addressed, and the composition of which amused everybody who read it greatly. Lord Steyne read it, everybody but honest Rawdon, to whom it was not necessary to tell everything that passed in the little house in May Fair.
Here, before long, Becky received not only "the best" foreigners (as the phrase is in our noble and admirable society slang), but some of the best English people too. I don't mean the most virtuous, or indeed the least virtuous, or the cleverest, or the stupidest, or the richest, or the best born, but "the best,"—in a word, people about whom there is no question—such as the great Lady Fitz-Willis, that Patron Saint of Almack's, the great Lady Slowbore, the great Lady Grizzel Macbeth (she was Lady G. Glowry, daughter of Lord Grey of Glowry), and the like. When the Countess of Fitz-Willis (her Ladyship is of the Kingstreet family, see Debrett and Burke) takes up a person, he or she is safe. There is no question about them any more. Not that my Lady Fitz-Willis is any better than anybody else, being, on the contrary, a faded person, fifty-seven years of age, and neither handsome, nor wealthy, nor entertaining; but it is agreed on all sides that she is of the "best people." Those who go to her are of the best: and from an old grudge probably to Lady Steyne (for whose coronet her ladyship, then the youthful Georgina Frederica, daughter of the Prince of Wales's favourite, the Earl of Portansherry, had once tried), this great and famous leader of the fashion chose to acknowledge Mrs. Rawdon Crawley; made her a most marked curtsey at the assembly over which she presided; and not only encouraged her son, St. Kitts (his lordship got his place through Lord Steyne's interest), to frequent Mrs. Crawley's house, but asked her to her own mansion and spoke to her twice in the most public and condescending manner during dinner. The important fact was known all over London that night. People who had been crying fie about Mrs. Crawley were silent. Wenham, the wit and lawyer, Lord Steyne's right-hand man, went about everywhere praising her: some who had hesitated, came forward at once and welcomed her; little Tom Toady, who had warned Southdown about visiting such an abandoned woman, now besought to be introduced to her. In a word, she was admitted to be among the "best" people. Ah, my beloved readers and brethren, do not envy poor Becky prematurely—glory like this is said to be fugitive. It is currently reported that even in the very inmost circles, they are no happier than the poor wanderers outside the zone; and Becky, who penetrated into the very centre of fashion and saw the great George IV face to face, has owned since that there too was Vanity.
We must be brief in descanting upon this part of her career. As I cannot describe the mysteries of freemasonry, although I have a shrewd idea that it is a humbug, so an uninitiated man cannot take upon himself to portray the great world accurately, and had best keep his opinions to himself, whatever they are.
Becky has often spoken in subsequent years of this season of her life, when she moved among the very greatest circles of the London fashion. Her success excited, elated, and then bored her. At first no occupation was more pleasant than to invent and procure (the latter a work of no small trouble and ingenuity, by the way, in a person of Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's very narrow means)—to procure, we say, the prettiest new dresses and ornaments; to drive to fine dinner parties, where she was welcomed by great people; and from the fine dinner parties to fine assemblies, whither the same people came with whom she had been dining, whom she had met the night before, and would see on the morrow—the young men faultlessly appointed, handsomely cravatted, with the neatest glossy boots and white gloves—the elders portly, brass-buttoned, noble-looking, polite, and prosy—the young ladies blonde, timid, and in pink—the mothers grand, beautiful, sumptuous, solemn, and in diamonds. They talked in English, not in bad French, as they do in the novels. They talked about each others' houses, and characters, and families—just as the Joneses do about the Smiths. Becky's former acquaintances hated and envied her; the poor woman herself was yawning in spirit. "I wish I were out of it," she said to herself. "I would rather be a parson's wife and teach a Sunday school than this; or a sergeant's lady and ride in the regimental waggon; or, oh, how much gayer it would be to wear spangles and trousers and dance before a booth at a fair."
"You would do it very well," said Lord Steyne, laughing. She used to tell the great man her ennuis and perplexities in her artless way— they amused him.
"Rawdon would make a very good Ecuyer—Master of the Ceremonies— what do you call him—the man in the large boots and the uniform, who goes round the ring cracking the whip? He is large, heavy, and of a military figure. I recollect," Becky continued pensively, "my father took me to see a show at Brookgreen Fair when I was a child, and when we came home, I made myself a pair of stilts and danced in the studio to the wonder of all the pupils."
"I should have liked to see it," said Lord Steyne.
"I should like to do it now," Becky continued. "How Lady Blinkey would open her eyes, and Lady Grizzel Macbeth would stare! Hush! silence! there is Pasta beginning to sing." Becky always made a point of being conspicuously polite to the professional ladies and gentlemen who attended at these aristocratic parties—of following them into the corners where they sat in silence, and shaking hands with them, and smiling in the view of all persons. She was an artist herself, as she said very truly; there was a frankness and humility in the manner in which she acknowledged her origin, which provoked, or disarmed, or amused lookers-on, as the case might be. "How cool that woman is," said one; "what airs of independence she assumes, where she ought to sit still and be thankful if anybody speaks to her!" "What an honest and good-natured soul she is!" said another. "What an artful little minx" said a third. They were all right very likely, but Becky went her own way, and so fascinated the professional personages that they would leave off their sore throats in order to sing at her parties and give her lessons for nothing.
Yes, she gave parties in the little house in Curzon Street. Many scores of carriages, with blazing lamps, blocked up the street, to the disgust of No. 100, who could not rest for the thunder of the knocking, and of 102, who could not sleep for envy. The gigantic footmen who accompanied the vehicles were too big to be contained in Becky's little hall, and were billeted off in the neighbouring public-houses, whence, when they were wanted, call-boys summoned them from their beer. Scores of the great dandies of London squeezed and trod on each other on the little stairs, laughing to find themselves there; and many spotless and severe ladies of ton were seated in the little drawing-room, listening to the professional singers, who were singing according to their wont, and as if they wished to blow the windows down. And the day after, there appeared among the fashionable reunions in the Morning Post a paragraph to the following effect:
"Yesterday, Colonel and Mrs. Crawley entertained a select party at dinner at their house in May Fair. Their Excellencies the Prince and Princess of Peterwaradin, H. E. Papoosh Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador (attended by Kibob Bey, dragoman of the mission), the Marquess of Steyne, Earl of Southdown, Sir Pitt and Lady Jane Crawley, Mr. Wagg, &c. After dinner Mrs. Crawley had an assembly which was attended by the Duchess (Dowager) of Stilton, Duc de la Gruyere, Marchioness of Cheshire, Marchese Alessandro Strachino, Comte de Brie, Baron Schapzuger, Chevalier Tosti, Countess of Slingstone, and Lady F. Macadam, Major-General and Lady G. Macbeth, and (2) Miss Macbeths; Viscount Paddington, Sir Horace Fogey, Hon. Sands Bedwin, Bobachy Bahawder," and an &c., which the reader may fill at his pleasure through a dozen close lines of small type.
And in her commerce with the great our dear friend showed the same frankness which distinguished her transactions with the lowly in station. On one occasion, when out at a very fine house, Rebecca was (perhaps rather ostentatiously) holding a conversation in the French language with a celebrated tenor singer of that nation, while the Lady Grizzel Macbeth looked over her shoulder scowling at the pair.
"How very well you speak French," Lady Grizzel said, who herself spoke the tongue in an Edinburgh accent most remarkable to hear.
"I ought to know it," Becky modestly said, casting down her eyes. "I taught it in a school, and my mother was a Frenchwoman."
Lady Grizzel was won by her humility and was mollified towards the little woman. She deplored the fatal levelling tendencies of the age, which admitted persons of all classes into the society of their superiors, but her ladyship owned that this one at least was well behaved and never forgot her place in life. She was a very good woman: good to the poor; stupid, blameless, unsuspicious. It is not her ladyship's fault that she fancies herself better than you and me. The skirts of her ancestors' garments have been kissed for centuries; it is a thousand years, they say, since the tartans of the head of the family were embraced by the defunct Duncan's lords and councillors, when the great ancestor of the House became King of Scotland.
Lady Steyne, after the music scene, succumbed before Becky, and perhaps was not disinclined to her. The younger ladies of the house of Gaunt were also compelled into submission. Once or twice they set people at her, but they failed. The brilliant Lady Stunnington tried a passage of arms with her, but was routed with great slaughter by the intrepid little Becky. When attacked sometimes, Becky had a knack of adopting a demure ingenue air, under which she was most dangerous. She said the wickedest things with the most simple unaffected air when in this mood, and would take care artlessly to apologize for her blunders, so that all the world should know that she had made them.
Mr. Wagg, the celebrated wit, and a led captain and trencher-man of my Lord Steyne, was caused by the ladies to charge her; and the worthy fellow, leering at his patronesses and giving them a wink, as much as to say, "Now look out for sport," one evening began an assault upon Becky, who was unsuspiciously eating her dinner. The little woman, attacked on a sudden, but never without arms, lighted up in an instant, parried and riposted with a home-thrust, which made Wagg's face tingle with shame; then she returned to her soup with the most perfect calm and a quiet smile on her face. Wagg's great patron, who gave him dinners and lent him a little money sometimes, and whose election, newspaper, and other jobs Wagg did, gave the luckless fellow such a savage glance with the eyes as almost made him sink under the table and burst into tears. He looked piteously at my lord, who never spoke to him during dinner, and at the ladies, who disowned him. At last Becky herself took compassion upon him and tried to engage him in talk. He was not asked to dinner again for six weeks; and Fiche, my lord's confidential man, to whom Wagg naturally paid a good deal of court, was instructed to tell him that if he ever dared to say a rude thing to Mrs. Crawley again, or make her the butt of his stupid jokes, Milor would put every one of his notes of hand into his lawyer's hands and sell him up without mercy. Wagg wept before Fiche and implored his dear friend to intercede for him. He wrote a poem in favour of Mrs. R. C., which appeared in the very next number of the Harum-scarum Magazine, which he conducted. He implored her good- will at parties where he met her. He cringed and coaxed Rawdon at the club. He was allowed to come back to Gaunt House after a while. Becky was always good to him, always amused, never angry.
His lordship's vizier and chief confidential servant (with a seat in parliament and at the dinner table), Mr. Wenham, was much more prudent in his behaviour and opinions than Mr. Wagg. However much he might be disposed to hate all parvenus (Mr. Wenham himself was a staunch old True Blue Tory, and his father a small coal-merchant in the north of England), this aide-de-camp of the Marquis never showed any sort of hostility to the new favourite, but pursued her with stealthy kindnesses and a sly and deferential politeness which somehow made Becky more uneasy than other people's overt hostilities.
How the Crawleys got the money which was spent upon the entertainments with which they treated the polite world was a mystery which gave rise to some conversation at the time, and probably added zest to these little festivities. Some persons averred that Sir Pitt Crawley gave his brother a handsome allowance; if he did, Becky's power over the Baronet must have been extraordinary indeed, and his character greatly changed in his advanced age. Other parties hinted that it was Becky's habit to levy contributions on all her husband's friends: going to this one in tears with an account that there was an execution in the house; falling on her knees to that one and declaring that the whole family must go to gaol or commit suicide unless such and such a bill could be paid. Lord Southdown, it was said, had been induced to give many hundreds through these pathetic representations. Young Feltham, of the —th Dragoons (and son of the firm of Tiler and Feltham, hatters and army accoutrement makers), and whom the Crawleys introduced into fashionable life, was also cited as one of Becky's victims in the pecuniary way. People declared that she got money from various simply disposed persons, under pretence of getting them confidential appointments under Government. Who knows what stories were or were not told of our dear and innocent friend? Certain it is that if she had had all the money which she was said to have begged or borrowed or stolen, she might have capitalized and been honest for life, whereas,—but this is advancing matters.
The truth is, that by economy and good management—by a sparing use of ready money and by paying scarcely anybody—people can manage, for a time at least, to make a great show with very little means: and it is our belief that Becky's much-talked-of parties, which were not, after all was said, very numerous, cost this lady very little more than the wax candles which lighted the walls. Stillbrook and Queen's Crawley supplied her with game and fruit in abundance. Lord Steyne's cellars were at her disposal, and that excellent nobleman's famous cooks presided over her little kitchen, or sent by my lord's order the rarest delicacies from their own. I protest it is quite shameful in the world to abuse a simple creature, as people of her time abuse Becky, and I warn the public against believing one-tenth of the stories against her. If every person is to be banished from society who runs into debt and cannot pay—if we are to be peering into everybody's private life, speculating upon their income, and cutting them if we don't approve of their expenditure—why, what a howling wilderness and intolerable dwelling Vanity Fair would be! Every man's hand would be against his neighbour in this case, my dear sir, and the benefits of civilization would be done away with. We should be quarrelling, abusing, avoiding one another. Our houses would become caverns, and we should go in rags because we cared for nobody. Rents would go down. Parties wouldn't be given any more. All the tradesmen of the town would be bankrupt. Wine, wax-lights, comestibles, rouge, crinoline-petticoats, diamonds, wigs, Louis- Quatorze gimcracks, and old china, park hacks, and splendid high- stepping carriage horses—all the delights of life, I say,—would go to the deuce, if people did but act upon their silly principles and avoid those whom they dislike and abuse. Whereas, by a little charity and mutual forbearance, things are made to go on pleasantly enough: we may abuse a man as much as we like, and call him the greatest rascal unhanged—but do we wish to hang him therefore? No. We shake hands when we meet. If his cook is good we forgive him and go and dine with him, and we expect he will do the same by us. Thus trade flourishes—civilization advances; peace is kept; new dresses are wanted for new assemblies every week; and the last year's vintage of Lafitte will remunerate the honest proprietor who reared it.
At the time whereof we are writing, though the Great George was on the throne and ladies wore gigots and large combs like tortoise- shell shovels in their hair, instead of the simple sleeves and lovely wreaths which are actually in fashion, the manners of the very polite world were not, I take it, essentially different from those of the present day: and their amusements pretty similar. To us, from the outside, gazing over the policeman's shoulders at the bewildering beauties as they pass into Court or ball, they may seem beings of unearthly splendour and in the enjoyment of an exquisite happiness by us unattainable. It is to console some of these dissatisfied beings that we are narrating our dear Becky's struggles, and triumphs, and disappointments, of all of which, indeed, as is the case with all persons of merit, she had her share.
At this time the amiable amusement of acting charades had come among us from France, and was considerably in vogue in this country, enabling the many ladies amongst us who had beauty to display their charms, and the fewer number who had cleverness to exhibit their wit. My Lord Steyne was incited by Becky, who perhaps believed herself endowed with both the above qualifications, to give an entertainment at Gaunt House, which should include some of these little dramas—and we must take leave to introduce the reader to this brilliant reunion, and, with a melancholy welcome too, for it will be among the very last of the fashionable entertainments to which it will be our fortune to conduct him.
A portion of that splendid room, the picture gallery of Gaunt House, was arranged as the charade theatre. It had been so used when George III was king; and a picture of the Marquis of Gaunt is still extant, with his hair in powder and a pink ribbon, in a Roman shape, as it was called, enacting the part of Cato in Mr. Addison's tragedy of that name, performed before their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales, the Bishop of Osnaburgh, and Prince William Henry, then children like the actor. One or two of the old properties were drawn out of the garrets, where they had lain ever since, and furbished up anew for the present festivities.
Young Bedwin Sands, then an elegant dandy and Eastern traveller, was manager of the revels. An Eastern traveller was somebody in those days, and the adventurous Bedwin, who had published his quarto and passed some months under the tents in the desert, was a personage of no small importance. In his volume there were several pictures of Sands in various oriental costumes; and he travelled about with a black attendant of most unprepossessing appearance, just like another Brian de Bois Guilbert. Bedwin, his costumes, and black man, were hailed at Gaunt House as very valuable acquisitions.
He led off the first charade. A Turkish officer with an immense plume of feathers (the Janizaries were supposed to be still in existence, and the tarboosh had not as yet displaced the ancient and majestic head-dress of the true believers) was seen couched on a divan, and making believe to puff at a narghile, in which, however, for the sake of the ladies, only a fragrant pastille was allowed to smoke. The Turkish dignitary yawns and expresses signs of weariness and idleness. He claps his hands and Mesrour the Nubian appears, with bare arms, bangles, yataghans, and every Eastern ornament— gaunt, tall, and hideous. He makes a salaam before my lord the Aga.
A thrill of terror and delight runs through the assembly. The ladies whisper to one another. The black slave was given to Bedwin Sands by an Egyptian pasha in exchange for three dozen of Maraschino. He has sewn up ever so many odalisques in sacks and tilted them into the Nile.
"Bid the slave-merchant enter," says the Turkish voluptuary with a wave of his hand. Mesrour conducts the slave-merchant into my lord's presence; he brings a veiled female with him. He removes the veil. A thrill of applause bursts through the house. It is Mrs. Winkworth (she was a Miss Absolom) with the beautiful eyes and hair. She is in a gorgeous oriental costume; the black braided locks are twined with innumerable jewels; her dress is covered over with gold piastres. The odious Mahometan expresses himself charmed by her beauty. She falls down on her knees and entreats him to restore her to the mountains where she was born, and where her Circassian lover is still deploring the absence of his Zuleikah. No entreaties will move the obdurate Hassan. He laughs at the notion of the Circassian bridegroom. Zuleikah covers her face with her hands and drops down in an attitude of the most beautiful despair. There seems to be no hope for her, when—when the Kislar Aga appears.
The Kislar Aga brings a letter from the Sultan. Hassan receives and places on his head the dread firman. A ghastly terror seizes him, while on the Negro's face (it is Mesrour again in another costume) appears a ghastly joy. "Mercy! mercy!" cries the Pasha: while the Kislar Aga, grinning horribly, pulls out—a bow-string.
The curtain draws just as he is going to use that awful weapon. Hassan from within bawls out, "First two syllables"—and Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, who is going to act in the charade, comes forward and compliments Mrs. Winkworth on the admirable taste and beauty of her costume.
The second part of the charade takes place. It is still an Eastern scene. Hassan, in another dress, is in an attitude by Zuleikah, who is perfectly reconciled to him. The Kislar Aga has become a peaceful black slave. It is sunrise on the desert, and the Turks turn their heads eastwards and bow to the sand. As there are no dromedaries at hand, the band facetiously plays "The Camels are coming." An enormous Egyptian head figures in the scene. It is a musical one— and, to the surprise of the oriental travellers, sings a comic song, composed by Mr. Wagg. The Eastern voyagers go off dancing, like Papageno and the Moorish King in The Magic Flute. "Last two syllables," roars the head.
The last act opens. It is a Grecian tent this time. A tall and stalwart man reposes on a couch there. Above him hang his helmet and shield. There is no need for them now. Ilium is down. Iphigenia is slain. Cassandra is a prisoner in his outer halls. The king of men (it is Colonel Crawley, who, indeed, has no notion about the sack of Ilium or the conquest of Cassandra), the anax andron is asleep in his chamber at Argos. A lamp casts the broad shadow of the sleeping warrior flickering on the wall—the sword and shield of Troy glitter in its light. The band plays the awful music of Don Juan, before the statue enters.
Aegisthus steals in pale and on tiptoe. What is that ghastly face looking out balefully after him from behind the arras? He raises his dagger to strike the sleeper, who turns in his bed, and opens his broad chest as if for the blow. He cannot strike the noble slumbering chieftain. Clytemnestra glides swiftly into the room like an apparition—her arms are bare and white—her tawny hair floats down her shoulders—her face is deadly pale—and her eyes are lighted up with a smile so ghastly that people quake as they look at her.
A tremor ran through the room. "Good God!" somebody said, "it's Mrs. Rawdon Crawley."
Scornfully she snatches the dagger out of Aegisthus's hand and advances to the bed. You see it shining over her head in the glimmer of the lamp, and—and the lamp goes out, with a groan, and all is dark.
The darkness and the scene frightened people. Rebecca performed her part so well, and with such ghastly truth, that the spectators were all dumb, until, with a burst, all the lamps of the hall blazed out again, when everybody began to shout applause. "Brava! brava!" old Steyne's strident voice was heard roaring over all the rest. "By—, she'd do it too," he said between his teeth. The performers were called by the whole house, which sounded with cries of "Manager! Clytemnestra!" Agamemnon could not be got to show in his classical tunic, but stood in the background with Aegisthus and others of the performers of the little play. Mr. Bedwin Sands led on Zuleikah and Clytemnestra. A great personage insisted on being presented to the charming Clytemnestra. "Heigh ha? Run him through the body. Marry somebody else, hay?" was the apposite remark made by His Royal Highness.
"Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was quite killing in the part," said Lord Steyne. Becky laughed, gay and saucy looking, and swept the prettiest little curtsey ever seen.
Servants brought in salvers covered with numerous cool dainties, and the performers disappeared to get ready for the second charade- tableau.
The three syllables of this charade were to be depicted in pantomime, and the performance took place in the following wise:
First syllable. Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B., with a slouched hat and a staff, a great-coat, and a lantern borrowed from the stables, passed across the stage bawling out, as if warning the inhabitants of the hour. In the lower window are seen two bagmen playing apparently at the game of cribbage, over which they yawn much. To them enters one looking like Boots (the Honourable G. Ringwood), which character the young gentleman performed to perfection, and divests them of their lower coverings; and presently Chambermaid (the Right Honourable Lord Southdown) with two candlesticks, and a warming-pan. She ascends to the upper apartment and warms the bed. She uses the warming-pan as a weapon wherewith she wards off the attention of the bagmen. She exits. They put on their night-caps and pull down the blinds. Boots comes out and closes the shutters of the ground-floor chamber. You hear him bolting and chaining the door within. All the lights go out. The music plays Dormez, dormez, chers Amours. A voice from behind the curtain says, "First syllable."
Second syllable. The lamps are lighted up all of a sudden. The music plays the old air from John of Paris, Ah quel plaisir d'etre en voyage. It is the same scene. Between the first and second floors of the house represented, you behold a sign on which the Steyne arms are painted. All the bells are ringing all over the house. In the lower apartment you see a man with a long slip of paper presenting it to another, who shakes his fists, threatens and vows that it is monstrous. "Ostler, bring round my gig," cries another at the door. He chucks Chambermaid (the Right Honourable Lord Southdown) under the chin; she seems to deplore his absence, as Calypso did that of that other eminent traveller Ulysses. Boots (the Honourable G. Ringwood) passes with a wooden box, containing silver flagons, and cries "Pots" with such exquisite humour and naturalness that the whole house rings with applause, and a bouquet is thrown to him. Crack, crack, crack, go the whips. Landlord, chambermaid, waiter rush to the door, but just as some distinguished guest is arriving, the curtains close, and the invisible theatrical manager cries out "Second syllable."
"I think it must be 'Hotel,'" says Captain Grigg of the Life Guards; there is a general laugh at the Captain's cleverness. He is not very far from the mark.
While the third syllable is in preparation, the band begins a nautical medley—"All in the Downs," "Cease Rude Boreas," "Rule Britannia," "In the Bay of Biscay O!"—some maritime event is about to take place. A ben is heard ringing as the curtain draws aside. "Now, gents, for the shore!" a voice exclaims. People take leave of each other. They point anxiously as if towards the clouds, which are represented by a dark curtain, and they nod their heads in fear. Lady Squeams (the Right Honourable Lord Southdown), her lap-dog, her bags, reticules, and husband sit down, and cling hold of some ropes. It is evidently a ship.
The Captain (Colonel Crawley, C.B.), with a cocked hat and a telescope, comes in, holding his hat on his head, and looks out; his coat tails fly about as if in the wind. When he leaves go of his hat to use his telescope, his hat flies off, with immense applause. It is blowing fresh. The music rises and whistles louder and louder; the mariners go across the stage staggering, as if the ship was in severe motion. The Steward (the Honourable G. Ringwood) passes reeling by, holding six basins. He puts one rapidly by Lord Squeams—Lady Squeams, giving a pinch to her dog, which begins to howl piteously, puts her pocket-handkerchief to her face, and rushes away as for the cabin. The music rises up to the wildest pitch of stormy excitement, and the third syllable is concluded.
There was a little ballet, "Le Rossignol," in which Montessu and Noblet used to be famous in those days, and which Mr. Wagg transferred to the English stage as an opera, putting his verse, of which he was a skilful writer, to the pretty airs of the ballet. It was dressed in old French costume, and little Lord Southdown now appeared admirably attired in the disguise of an old woman hobbling about the stage with a faultless crooked stick.
Trills of melody were heard behind the scenes, and gurgling from a sweet pasteboard cottage covered with roses and trellis work. "Philomele, Philomele," cries the old woman, and Philomele comes out.
More applause—it is Mrs. Rawdon Crawley in powder and patches, the most ravissante little Marquise in the world.
She comes in laughing, humming, and frisks about the stage with all the innocence of theatrical youth—she makes a curtsey. Mamma says "Why, child, you are always laughing and singing," and away she goes, with—
The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring; You ask me why her breath is sweet and why her cheek is blooming, It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing.
The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen: And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green.
Thus each performs his part, Mamma, the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why.
During the intervals of the stanzas of this ditty, the good-natured personage addressed as Mamma by the singer, and whose large whiskers appeared under her cap, seemed very anxious to exhibit her maternal affection by embracing the innocent creature who performed the daughter's part. Every caress was received with loud acclamations of laughter by the sympathizing audience. At its conclusion (while the music was performing a symphony as if ever so many birds were warbling) the whole house was unanimous for an encore: and applause and bouquets without end were showered upon the Nightingale of the evening. Lord Steyne's voice of applause was loudest of all. Becky, the nightingale, took the flowers which he threw to her and pressed them to her heart with the air of a consummate comedian. Lord Steyne was frantic with delight. His guests' enthusiasm harmonized with his own. Where was the beautiful black-eyed Houri whose appearance in the first charade had caused such delight? She was twice as handsome as Becky, but the brilliancy of the latter had quite eclipsed her. All voices were for her. Stephens, Caradori, Ronzi de Begnis, people compared her to one or the other, and agreed with good reason, very likely, that had she been an actress none on the stage could have surpassed her. She had reached her culmination: her voice rose trilling and bright over the storm of applause, and soared as high and joyful as her triumph. There was a ball after the dramatic entertainments, and everybody pressed round Becky as the great point of attraction of the evening. The Royal Personage declared with an oath that she was perfection, and engaged her again and again in conversation. Little Becky's soul swelled with pride and delight at these honours; she saw fortune, fame, fashion before her. Lord Steyne was her slave, followed her everywhere, and scarcely spoke to any one in the room beside, and paid her the most marked compliments and attention. She still appeared in her Marquise costume and danced a minuet with Monsieur de Truffigny, Monsieur Le Duc de la Jabotiere's attache; and the Duke, who had all the traditions of the ancient court, pronounced that Madame Crawley was worthy to have been a pupil of Vestris, or to have figured at Versailles. Only a feeling of dignity, the gout, and the strongest sense of duty and personal sacrifice prevented his Excellency from dancing with her himself, and he declared in public that a lady who could talk and dance like Mrs. Rawdon was fit to be ambassadress at any court in Europe. He was only consoled when he heard that she was half a Frenchwoman by birth. "None but a compatriot," his Excellency declared, "could have performed that majestic dance in such a way."
Then she figured in a waltz with Monsieur de Klingenspohr, the Prince of Peterwaradin's cousin and attache. The delighted Prince, having less retenue than his French diplomatic colleague, insisted upon taking a turn with the charming creature, and twirled round the ball-room with her, scattering the diamonds out of his boot-tassels and hussar jacket until his Highness was fairly out of breath. Papoosh Pasha himself would have liked to dance with her if that amusement had been the custom of his country. The company made a circle round her and applauded as wildly as if she had been a Noblet or a Taglioni. Everybody was in ecstacy; and Becky too, you may be sure. She passed by Lady Stunnington with a look of scorn. She patronized Lady Gaunt and her astonished and mortified sister-in- law—she ecrased all rival charmers. As for poor Mrs. Winkworth, and her long hair and great eyes, which had made such an effect at the commencement of the evening—where was she now? Nowhere in the race. She might tear her long hair and cry her great eyes out, but there was not a person to heed or to deplore the discomfiture.
The greatest triumph of all was at supper time. She was placed at the grand exclusive table with his Royal Highness the exalted personage before mentioned, and the rest of the great guests. She was served on gold plate. She might have had pearls melted into her champagne if she liked—another Cleopatra—and the potentate of Peterwaradin would have given half the brilliants off his jacket for a kind glance from those dazzling eyes. Jabotiere wrote home about her to his government. The ladies at the other tables, who supped off mere silver and marked Lord Steyne's constant attention to her, vowed it was a monstrous infatuation, a gross insult to ladies of rank. If sarcasm could have killed, Lady Stunnington would have slain her on the spot.
Rawdon Crawley was scared at these triumphs. They seemed to separate his wife farther than ever from him somehow. He thought with a feeling very like pain how immeasurably she was his superior.
When the hour of departure came, a crowd of young men followed her to her carriage, for which the people without bawled, the cry being caught up by the link-men who were stationed outside the tall gates of Gaunt House, congratulating each person who issued from the gate and hoping his Lordship had enjoyed this noble party.
Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's carriage, coming up to the gate after due shouting, rattled into the illuminated court-yard and drove up to the covered way. Rawdon put his wife into the carriage, which drove off. Mr. Wenham had proposed to him to walk home, and offered the Colonel the refreshment of a cigar.
They lighted their cigars by the lamp of one of the many link-boys outside, and Rawdon walked on with his friend Wenham. Two persons separated from the crowd and followed the two gentlemen; and when they had walked down Gaunt Square a few score of paces, one of the men came up and, touching Rawdon on the shoulder, said, "Beg your pardon, Colonel, I vish to speak to you most particular." This gentleman's acquaintance gave a loud whistle as the latter spoke, at which signal a cab came clattering up from those stationed at the gate of Gaunt House—and the aide-de-camp ran round and placed himself in front of Colonel Crawley.
That gallant officer at once knew what had befallen him. He was in the hands of the bailiffs. He started back, falling against the man who had first touched him.
"We're three on us—it's no use bolting," the man behind said.
"It's you, Moss, is it?" said the Colonel, who appeared to know his interlocutor. "How much is it?"
"Only a small thing," whispered Mr. Moss, of Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and assistant officer to the Sheriff of Middlesex— "One hundred and sixty-six, six and eight-pence, at the suit of Mr. Nathan."
"Lend me a hundred, Wenham, for God's sake," poor Rawdon said—"I've got seventy at home."
"I've not got ten pounds in the world," said poor Mr. Wenham—"Good night, my dear fellow."
"Good night," said Rawdon ruefully. And Wenham walked away—and Rawdon Crawley finished his cigar as the cab drove under Temple Bar.


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Miami is the largest of many booming urban areas along the east coast of Florida. Above, the group is heading into an excellent Cuban restaurant in Miami. Below, they are posing for a group photo on a protected beach just south of Jacksonville. Most of the coast between these places is highly developed with many homes and businesses on fragile and relatively unstable coastal landforms such as spits and barrier islands.
The group was able to appreciate both the appeal of this area for development and the hazards posed by hurricanes in this area. This conflict between protection of habitat and development is typical of the issues Florida faces. In this case, it would appear that nature can take care of herself, and our concern is for coastal dwellers in the event of a hurricane. In other cases, it is clear that human intervention will be needed to protect Florida's magnificent ecosystems.
That's all! (Then we went home and got stuck overnight in a blizzard in Ohio).


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I was on Minnesota Public Radio's "The Daily Circuit" yesterday, to talk about the Obama campaign's tailored health care reform pitch to African Americans and Latinos. It's one of the few times I can recall the White House being as specific about the benefits of health care reform as it should have been all along. The basic message is that African Americans and Latinos, who are uninsured at rates much higher than whites, stand to gain a lot from access to preventative care, and other measures to reduce health disparities in both communities.
But while the White House is working to make African Americans and Latino voters aware of those benefits and how to access them, the president might add that those very benefits are now threatened by the newest "Death Panel" to enter the seemingly interminable health care reform debate.
Meet the newest "Death Panel" on the block.
They are the six Republican governors who have vowed refuse the Medicaid expansion that will happen most other states, under the Affordable Care Act — Rick Scott (FL), Rick Perry (TX), Phil Bryant (MS), Nikki Haley (SC), Terry Branstad (IA), and Bobby Jindal (LA). These Republican governors are opening the "trap door" that the Supreme Court installed in the Affordable Care Act, even at it upheld most of the law. But it's the poorest residents in these states, many of whom are African American and Latino, and who would have gained health coverage and access to care, that will fall through that trap door.
While the Court upheld the bulk of the Affordable Care Act, it weakened the Medicaid expansion written into the bill. Since Medicaid is a federally-funded, state-administered program, under the health care reform law, the federal government would pay 100% of the state governments' additional costs for the first three years of the Medicaid expansion, and 93% each year after that. As the law was written, the federal government could take away the existing Medicaid funding of states that refused the Medicaid expansion. However, the Supreme Court ruled that states could refuse to expand their Medicaid programs, and the federal government can't penalize them by taking away their existing Medicaid funding.
In other words, the Court left the "carrot" but took away the "stick," and in the process cut a hole in health care reform just big enough for millions of Americans who need its benefits the most to slip right through.
The Medicaid expansion as written would give coverage to 11.5 million uninsured Americans. Because, according to the CBO, that means about 3 million people who would have been covered will be left uninsured. Those 3 million are likely to be among the poorest residents in those states, who now stand to be left out of the benefits of health care reform.
That's also what qualifies these governors for membership in the newest "Death Panel." Medicaid expansion is a proven lifesaver.
A new study from Harvard School of Public Health (HSPH) finds that expanding Medicaid to low-income adults leads to widespread gains in coverage, access to care, and—most importantly—improved health and reduced mortality. It is the first published study to look specifically at the effect of recent state Medicaid expansions on mortality among low-income adults, and the findings suggest that expanding coverage to the uninsured may save lives.
…The HSPH researchers, including senior author Arnold Epstein, chair of the Department of Health Policy and Management, and Katherine Baicker, professor of health economics, analyzed data from three states—Arizona, Maine, and New York—that had expanded their Medicaid programs to childless adults (aged 20-64) between 2000 and 2005. They selected four neighboring states without major Medicaid expansions—New Hampshire (for Maine), Pennsylvania (for New York), and Nevada and New Mexico (for Arizona)—as controls. The researchers analyzed data from five years before and after each state's expansion.
The results showed that Medicaid expansions in three states were associated with a significant reduction in mortality of 6.1% compared with neighboring states that did not expand Medicaid, which corresponds to 2,840 deaths prevented per year for each 500,000 adults gaining Medicaid coverage. Mortality reductions were greatest among older adults, non-whites, and residents of poorer counties. Expansions also were associated with increased Medicaid coverage, decreased uninsurance, decreased rates of deferring care due to costs, and increased rates of "excellent" or "very good" self-reported health.
The study showed that the groups who benefitted from Medicaid expansion — older adults, minorities, and people living in low-income areas — have traditionally had higher mortality rates and barriers to care (because insurance companies became very adept at excluding those populations, in order to avoid greater "losses" from having to pay for health care).
For African Americans and Latinos, this has resulted in long-standing health disparities that health care reform was intended to eliminate. Now, the Supreme Court ruling threatens to lock those disparities in place.
Medicaid—funded jointly by the federal government and the states—is the nation's health care plan for the working poor, those in poverty and their children. Enlargement of Medicaid is the single most important provision of the Affordable Care Act for people of color. It's the way that almost all non-whites covered by the law would receive insurance.
…Protracted state-by-state fights over Medicaid expansion will prolong both uncertainty and suffering. It's what's happened since the war over Medicaid began in the mid-1990s, when the Clinton administration began encouraging states to expand the program. The Bush administration came to office and did the opposite, prodding states around the South and the Midwest to come up with inventive ways to kick people out of it.
Medicaid remains a bitterly fought over program today. The ruling yesterday will make it more so.
For people of color, the impact of the mess that the court just rolled down Pennsylvania Avenue and out into the country cannot be understated. Blacks, Latinos and Asians are up to three times less likely to have insurance than whites. Half of the nation's uninsured are people of color.
The Center for American Progress estimates that this racial gap in health care coverage costs the country $415 billion a year in lost productivity.
For black and brown America, affordable, quality healthcare is key to closing a wider economic gulf.
Medicaid is a lifeline for African Americans and Latinos with serious heath care needs, providing a significant portion of coverage for people with conditions ranging from cancer to heart disease and stroke. The Medicaid expansion was intended to extend that lifeline to millions more. The six Republican governors who've declared their intention to buck Medicaid expansion are essentially cutting that lifeline, and abandoning the poor, black and brown in their states. Because none of them have proposed an alternative that would extend coverage and offer equivalent benefits to their constituents who would otherwise have benefited from the Medicaid expansion, the decisions of these governors ensured that the uninsured in their states are likely to stay that way.
The sad irony is that many of the governors refusing the expansion are those whose states stand to gain the most from it, because some of them have the highest percentages of uninsured residents in the country. In many cases, the majority of those uninsured are African American or Latino.
Texas is a prime example, with the highest rate of uninsured residents in the country — nearly 25% of the state's population; 5.6 million children and adults. Of those, 71% belong to households with at least one full-time worker, and 63% of the uninsured in Texas are employed. The problem is that many jobs in Texas are low-paying jobs that don't offer health insurance. The percentage of employers offering health insurance in Texas is ten percent lower than the national average.
States like Florida, South Carolina, Louisiana and Mississippi are not far behind Texas.
Florida's Rick Scott is the big loser on this front, with 21 percent of his constituents uninsured. He's already rejected the expansion, even though more than a fifth of his state's population is without coverage. "We already have a Medicaid program that covers the most vulnerable people in our state," he says. So they take care of the "most" vulnerable but everybody else is on their own. If you're poor in Florida, your only hope for help is to get more poor.
South Carolina's Nikki Haley is right behind Scott, with the uninsured rate at 19 percent. As all teabaggie female Republican governors must, she posted her statement on Facebook, not even giving a reason beyond the political: "South Carolina will NOT expand Medicaid, or participate in any health exchanges. We will not support Pres. Obama's tax increase or job killing agenda."
Not far behind them is Bobby Jindahl. Louisiana's's uninsured are 17 percent of the population, but he says, "I think it makes more sense to do everything we can to elect Mitt Romney to repeal Obamacare."
"Poor mouthing" is typical of these GOP governors, all of whom claim that they can't afford a Medicaid expansion for which the federal government pays 100% of the costs for the first three years and 93% after that period. The absurdity of crying poverty while leaving federal money on the table is bad enough. At The Nation, Richard Kim pointed out that each of these states CAN afford a what amounts two a 2.8% increase in expenditures (three years from now). But they'd have to give up some regressive tax policies in the bargain.
- Texas could newly insure 1.8 million people, at a cost of $2.6 billion between 2014 and 2019, out of $42 billion in revenue from a modest state income tax.
- South Carolina could newly insure 344,000 people, at a cost of $470 million between 2014 and 2019, by recovering $690 million in lost revenue from the state's capital gains tax.
- Iowa could newly insure 115,000 people, at a cost of $147 million between 2014 and 2019, out of $3.9 billion in lost revenue from the state's federal income tax deduction.
- Louisiana could newly insure 366,000 people, at a cost of $337 million between 2014 and 2019, out of $3.9 billion in lost revenue from the state's federal income tax deduction.
- Florida could newly insure 942,000 people, at a cost of $1.2 billion between 2014 and 2019, out of $5.7 billion in lost revenue from the state's famous "Rent-A-Cow" tax loophole.
- Mississippi could newly insure 321,000 people, at a cost of $429 million between 2014 and 2019, out of $2 billion in revenue lost due to the state's failure to tax retirement income.
Not only is "We can't afford it!" the big lie about the Medicaid expansion, as Kim says, but the stimulative effect of Medicaid expansion might help states (not to mention citizens) afford much more. Accepting federal money to pay for health care costs can free up state money for other uses. Second, Medicaid spend ripples through local and state economies, mostly in the private sectors. Ultimately, some of that money finds its way to the coffers of state government.
Some already deny themselves any taste of Medicaid's existing stimulative impact by running Medicaid programs that are more restrictive than they need to be (again, Texas is the prime example), that don't go much further than the federally mandated bare minimum. But the real price for bucking the Medicaid expansion will be exacted from the very people the affordable care at was intended to help.
Refusing the Medicaid expansion also means taking needed money away from hospitals that end up serving the uninsured, while passing the cost on to the insured. Thus, health care providers support expanding Medicaid in their states.
Gov Rick Perry expressed his opposition to expanding Medicaid in his state to Fox News, explaining that "Every Texas has health care."
"Every Texan has health care in this state," Mr. Perry said on Fox News. "From the standpoint of being able to have access to health care, every Texan has that. How we pay for it and how we deliver it should be our decision, not some bureaucrat in Washington, D.C., that may have never been to Texas a day in their life or, for that matter, in any of the other 49 states, trying to mandate this one-size-fits-all health care."
For the uninsured in Texas, that means a 24-hour-or-more wait at the emergency room. Health care providers say it also means higher taxes for Texans.
In Texas, the burden of paying for the health care of the uninsured falls largely on county residents, whose property taxes help support so-called safety-net hospitals like Ben Taub General Hospital in Houston and University Medical Center of El Paso. Last fiscal year, taxpayers in Houston's Harris County supplied $504 million and those in El Paso County $54 million to maintain and operate the public hospital districts that treated uninsured Texans in the two counties.
Several local leaders, health policy analysts and officials at urban hospitals across the state said Mr. Perry's decision to reject billions of federal dollars that Texas would receive in a Medicaid expansion would hurt county taxpayers and the hospitals they support, forcing them to continue to pick up much of the tab for treatment of the uninsured.
Perry's rejection of federal funds to expand Medicaid was too much for at least one Texas lawmaker.
State Representative Garnet Coleman issued a statement and chimed in on Governor Perry's decision.
"The move isn't just mean, it's fiscally irresponsible," said Coleman. "What is now completely paid for by Texas will instead be completely paid for by the federal government for the first 3 years and then 90% for every year after that. The federal government is, in effect, offering to shoulder almost all the cost of care that is currently being financed through counties and hospital districts. The Medicaid expansion will also bring relief to those who already have insurance. Right now, hospitals pass the cost of uncompensated care onto those who can pay, and there is a lot of uncompensated care in Texas."
I'd flip Coleman''s statement around. This isn't just fiscally irresponsible, it's mean. Not only are these states saying "no" to federal money, they're saying "no" for a chance to improve the health and lives of residents who need help the most.
They are saying "no" to reducing the number of uninsured citizens in their state by half — and for purely ideological reasons.
So these Republican officials will be saying to their own citizens, "The federal government is offering to give you free health insurance, but we won't let you have it. Your health is less important than us making a statement about how much we hate the welfare state and how much we hate Barack Obama and everything he touches." They believe that it's better for a person to have no insurance at all than to get insurance from the government. That position is morally vile enough in the abstract, but when they're actually confronted with a choice to make about whether to allow their citizens to have health insurance, some of them are going to say no. I struggle to find words to describe how despicable and cruel that is.
It's not all that hard to find words to describe all this. When it comes to saving the lives of their poorest constituents, these Republic governors are effectively saying, "Let them die."


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BRIDGEWATER, N.J. (AP) — Former White House staffer Omarosa Manigault Newman claims in a new book that there are tapes of President Donald Trump using racial slurs and that she saw him behaving "like a dog off the leash" at numerous events he attended without his wife, first lady Melania Trump.
The accusations are among a long list of scandalous claims contained in her new book, "Unhinged," set to come out Aug. 14. The Associated Press purchased an early copy of the memoir, which the White House has already slammed as "riddled with lies and false accusations."
In the book, Manigault Newman, who was a contestant on Trump's "The Apprentice" reality show and later served as a senior adviser to the president, hurls a litany of allegations, painting the president as scattered, self-absorbed, misogynistic and insecure.
Trump, she said she'd concluded after years of defending him, was a bigot.
"I didn't want to believe it," she writes. "I rejected what other people said about him because they didn't know him like I did. I had to go through the pain of witnessing his racism with my own eyes, and hearing it with my own ears, many times, until I couldn't deny it any longer."
She also claims without evidence that tapes exist of the president using the N-word repeatedly on the reality show's set. She acknowledges she had never been able to obtain or hear the tapes but said three unnamed sources had described their contents.
Manigault Newman also alleges that allies of the president tried to buy her silence. When she left the White House, she says she was offered $15,000 a month to serve in a "senior position" on Trump's 2020 re-election campaign. But that offer came along with a stringent nondisclosure agreement that was as "harsh and restrictive" as she had seen while working in television.
After turning down the job, she said she received a "flurry" of letters from attorneys representing the president telling her to "stay silent about Trump, or else."
Throughout the book, Manigault Newman paints a deeply critical portrait of the president, describing him as a man who "loved conflict, chaos and confusion; he loved seeing people argue or fight." She says she had seen him acting inappropriately at numerous events he attended without his wife at his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida, including birthday parties, fundraisers and golf tournaments.
She also alleges that Trump has exhibited signs of a "mental decline that could not be denied" and says she went as far as printing out a study linking Diet Coke consumption to dementia and strokes and putting it in his briefing stack.
The White House responded by slamming the book and its author and chastising the press for writing about it.
"Instead of telling the truth about all the good President Trump and his administration are doing to make America safe and prosperous, this book is riddled with lies and false accusations," said White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders. "It's sad that a disgruntled former White House employee is trying to profit off these false attacks, and even worse that the media would now give her a platform."


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With all this news coverage of the "bombs" being sent to Democratic party members, there has been a lot of footage of where these folks live. The thing I have noticed is that they all live behind 8-foot-high security fences, with security guards and security cameras covering their property. They are important people, and are able to afford to be protected from those who would do them harm. Yet, they tell us that we should have open borders that allow anyone to come here; they live one way, and speak another. How many homeless people or illegals are living on the property owned by Hillary or George Sorros? Just makes me wonder, and it should make you wonder too, even if you're a liberal. Who's being played and why? Think for yourself...their actions broadcast their intentions.
---from David Granberry


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Source: Eurostat
Release: Harmonized Indices of Consumer Prices (HICP)
The Harmonized Index of Consumer Prices category "Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services(08.2/3)" is a classification of services that includes purchases of telephones, radio-telephones, telefax machines, telephone-answering machines, and telephone loudspeakers; repair of such equipment (08.2.0), installation and subscription costs of personal telephone equipment (08.3.0), telephone calls from a private line or from a public line (public telephone box, post office cabin, etc.), telephone calls from hotels, cafés, restaurants, and the like (08.3.0), telegraphy, telex and telefax services (08.3.0), information transmission services; internet connection services (08.3.0), hire of telephones, telefax machines, telephone answering-machines, and telephone loudspeakers (08.3.0), and radiotelephony, radiotelegraphy, and radiotelex services.
Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services (08.2/3) excludes telefax and telephone answering facilities provided by personal computers (09.1.3).
Member States able to separate Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services (08.2/3.0) into goods or services, Telephone and Telefax Equipment (08.2.0) or Telephone and Telefax Services (08.3.0), shall produce Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Telephone and Telefax Services indices as well as the combined index, Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services (08.2/3.0).
The category, Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services (08.2/3), contains Telephone and Telefax Equipment (08.2) and Telephone and Telefax Services (08.3).
This category is a subcategory of Communications (08) category.
Information provided in the notes pertaining to HICP classifications can be found from the source at: http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/cache/metadata/en/prc_hicp_esms.htm.
Copyright, European Union, 1995-2016, http://ec.europa.eu/geninfo/legal_notices_en.htm#copyright.
Eurostat, Harmonized Index of Consumer Prices: Telephone and Telefax Equipment and Services for Cyprus [CP8283CYM086NEST], retrieved from FRED, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis; https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/CP8283CYM086NEST, September 30, 2023.


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At the core of SWAT 4 is as rigorously designed a gameloop as you'll ever come across. Enter a plausibly detailed, open layout environment (anywhere from a petrol station to a halfway house to someone's house) with your four AI squaddies. Find a door, check what's on the other side with the look-under-the-door / magic wand gizmo, choose an appropriate tactic and storm in. Kill/arrest baddies, secure civvies and weapons, report status, rinse repeat.
The game gets a few key things really right.
Sense of Place
I enter the dining room in the halfway house. It's a large, open hall designed to feed people en masse; I have good visibility compared to the segregated cubicles of the office building I've come from, but the size of the room means a single grenade won't cut it. I order Blue team to breach from the other entry point to cover more ground.
I love games that make me feel like I'm in a real place that affects the way I play, rather than just a series of room and corridors with different body paint to run through. Think Hitman, think Thief, think Project IGI. SWAT 4 gets half of this right - while an office block doesn't make gas grenades any less effective, we are at least encouraged to take the context onboard and appreciate the bubble narrative of each level. From mission briefings and 911 calls to believable level geometry and visual detail, Irrational did their utmost to bring you into the gameworld in a way far more effective (for me) than a Half-Life 2 or Deux Ex 3. These are all locations we're familiar with and - to a degree - predict; they feel like part of a larger world rather than a themed rollercoaster, and for SWAT that's all important.
Sense of Role
The team bursts into the dining room, the pointman reporting one armed suspect and one civilian. The suspect stares at us in shock, his weapon resting uneasily by his side. I scream at him to drop the weapon, knowing I'm the only one with an itchy enough trigger finger to pop him before he poses a threat. He drops the gun, goes to kneel down, then draws a sidearm. I shoot him in the face, which spooks the hostage, and I'm forced to have my team subdue her. Situation under control I have them both arrested and report the outcome to TOC.
SWAT 4 is, I can only assume, not very realistic in any sense but the aesthetic. This being said, it remains more realistic-feeling than just about any military shooter bar some of the older OpFlashes and Rainbow Sixes. The challenge in SWAT (at difficulties beyond normal) is not to kill all the baddies - that's easy - it's to follow procedure without letting procedure get in the way of killing the baddies. It's not quite the way it's presented, but effectively you start out with 100 points, and they're detracted for every red tape slip up.
Kill a guy when you could have arrested him: -2 points
Fail to secure a weapon or report a kill/arrest/casualty: -2 points
Shoot a guy who didn't point his gun at you: -5 points
Execute an arrested criminal: -10 points
Execute one of your teammates (even by accident): death by impromptu firing squad
It sounds petty, and it can be, particularly when the game's age (and that period's lesser focus on accessibility) sees your final objective being to rescour an empty level looking for the one handgun you forgot to collect. For the most part, though, it's a stern reminder that you're not a lawless one man army. You're a guy (a faceless, characterless guy, but a guy nonetheless) with a boss, and a job, and the expectations that come with. It feels like I'm part of a system rather than the one guy allowed to break it. That's a good thing, even if it means I have to arm my chaps with paintball guns to stop them killing dudes.
Sense of Tactical Play
SWAT 4's gameloop is, ultimately, about assessing your situation, selecting tactics, breaching a room and then making a series of quick-fire decisions. This is all supported by a remarkably intuitive order system that allows quick and (when the AI isn't getting all 2005 on your arse) effective coordination of your team that's further strengthened by the animation. It's indescribably satisfying to watch the fluid machine of your squad in motion.
Truth is, tactics are more limited than they appear. The differences between the flash, gas and pellet grenades is rarely vital (are the threats wearing gas masks? is there clear line of sight?), pincer moves are often more dangerous than single attacks, and additional flavours like pre-mission loadouts and entry points similarly cursory. The combination, though, is palpable. Just like the original, top down Rainbow Six, there's the sense of a well-ordered plan that could go wrong at any moment, and an excruciating tension. The latter is, if anything, only added to by the knowledge that hearing your guys yelling to "Get down!" means there's a 50:50 chance their overly steady trigger fingers will be slower than the suspects'; unless, that is, you can get there in time. In fact, unless grenades are wisely used in incapacitating your foes your four-strong team is easily matched by a single aggressive crim.
All Told
I stack my team up on the door and loop around to the connecting room; anyone in this second room could easily avoid a grenade blast and flank my chaps. I signal them to go, hear the bang, and make entry myself. I blast open the door and come face to face with a perp. In my panic I shoot him in the face, as I am prone to do. Oh spacial awareness, you've bitten me again: there's one fewer room between me and my guys than I figured. As the perp falls I consider how strangely well equipped he is. By the time he lands I realise it's Red One. I eyeball the rest of my team and hammer the 'F' key to report a man down, and then hammer it some more in the hope its contextual function can also handle "Guys, it was a mistake, I'm sorry!" Someone, that uppity bastard Blue Two, I think, yells, "We've got a traitor!" and everyone shoots me. As the screen fades I hear Blue Two report to TOC that the "Situation is under control."
SWAT 4 is a game that tells engaging stories without the schoolboy reliance on a grand overarching narrative. Who says games should be about a ten hour story and not ten one hour ones? It's a game that intelligently combines scripted narrative (in the mission briefings and level layouts) with procedural content (in the random enemy positions and emergent scenarios), and presents it all through gameplay that reflects the both.
SWAT 4 is my favourite Irrational game. I can think of few higher complements than that.