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Bleak House is a novel by Charles Dickens, published in 20 monthly instalments between March 1852 and September 1853. It is held to be one of Dickens' finest novels, containing one of the most vast, complex and engaging arrays of minor characters and sub-plots in his entire canon. The story is told partly by the novel's heroine, Esther Summerson, and partly by a mostly omniscient narrator. Memorable characters include the menacing lawyer Tulkinghorn, the friendly but depressive John Jarndyce, and the childish and disingenuous Harold Skimpole, as well as the likeable but imprudent Richard Carstone.
Sir Leicester Dedlock and Honoria, Lady Dedlock (his junior by more than 20 years) live at his estate of Chesney Wold. Unknown to Sir Leicester, Lady Dedlock had a lover, Captain Hawdon, before she married Sir Leicester – and had a child by him, Esther Summerson. Lady Dedlock, believing her daughter is dead, has chosen to live out her days 'bored to death' as a fashionable lady of the world.
Esther is raised by Miss Barbary, Lady Dedlock's spartan sister, who instills a sense of worthlessness in her that Esther will battle throughout the novel. Esther doesn't know that Miss Barbary is her aunt, thinking of her only as her godmother. When Miss Barbary dies, the Chancery lawyer Conversation Kenge takes charge of Esther's future on the instruction of his client, John Jarndyce. Jarndyce becomes Esther's guardian, and after attending school in Reading for six years, Esther moves in with him at Bleak House, along with his wards, Richard Carstone and Ada Clare. Esther is to be Ada's companion.
Esther soon befriends both Ada and Richard, who are cousins. They are beneficiaries in one of the wills at issue in Jarndyce and Jarndyce; their guardian is a beneficiary under another will, and in some undefined way the two wills conflict. Richard and Ada soon fall in love, but though Mr. Jarndyce doesn't oppose the match, he stipulates that Richard (who is inconstant) must first choose a profession. Richard first tries the medical profession, and Esther first meets the newly-qualified Dr. Allan Woodcourt at the house of Richard's prospective tutor, Mr. Baynham Badger. When Richard mentions the prospect of gaining from the resolution of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, John Jarndyce beseeches him never to put faith in what he calls "the family curse".
Meanwhile, Lady Dedlock is also a beneficiary under one of the wills in Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Early in the book, while listening to her solicitor, the close-mouthed but shrewd Mr. Tulkinghorn, read an affidavit aloud, she recognises the handwriting on the copy. The sight affects her so much that she almost faints, which Tulkinghorn notes and thinks should be investigated. He traces the copyist who turns out to be a pauper known only as "Nemo" who has recently died. The only person to identify him is a street-sweeper, a poor homeless boy named Jo.
Lady Dedlock also investigates the matter disguised as her French maid, Mademoiselle Hortense. She pays Jo to take her to Nemo's grave. Meanwhile, Tulkinghorn is convinced that Lady Dedlock's secret might threaten the interests of his client, Sir Leicester Dedlock, and watches her constantly, even enlisting the maid, who detests her….
PHIZ) (39), F.O.C Darley (3), and John Gilbert (1)
Illustrations : IA/MSN/Robarts – University of Toronto and Brigham Young University/Harold B. Lee Library
CHAPTER I In Chancery
CHAPTER II In Fashion
CHAPTER III A Progress
CHAPTER IV Telescopic Philanthropy
CHAPTER V A Morning Adventure
CHAPTER VI Quite at Home
CHAPTER VII The Ghost's Walk
CHAPTER VIII Covering a Multitude of Sins
CHAPTER IX Signs and Tokens
CHAPTER X The Law-Writer
CHAPTER XI Our Dear Brother
CHAPTER XII On the Watch
CHAPTER XIII Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XIV Deportment
CHAPTER XV Bell Yard
CHAPTER XVI Tom-all-Alone's
CHAPTER XVII Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XVIII Lady Dedlock
CHAPTER XIX Moving On
CHAPTER XX A New Lodger
CHAPTER XXI The Smallweed Family
CHAPTER XXII Mr. Bucket
CHAPTER XXIII Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XXIX An Appeal Case
CHAPTER XXV Mrs. Snagsby Sees It All
CHAPTER XXVI Sharpshooters
CHAPTER XXVII More Old Soldiers Than One
CHAPTER XXVIII The Ironmaster
CHAPTER XXIX The Young Man
CHAPTER XXX Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XXXI Nurse and Patient
CHAPTER XXXII The Appointed Time
CHAPTER XXXIII Interlopers
CHAPTER XXXIV A Turn of the Screw
CHAPTER XXXV Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XXXVI Chesney Wold
CHAPTER XXXVII Jarndyce and Jarndyce
CHAPTER XXXVIII A Struggle
CHAPTER XXXIX Attorney and Client
CHAPTER XL National and Domestic
CHAPTER XLI In Mr. Tulkinghorn's Room
CHAPTER XLII In Mr. Tulkinghorn's Chambers
CHAPTER XLIII Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER XLIV The Letter and the Answer
CHAPTER XLV In Trust
CHAPTER XLVI Stop Him!
CHAPTER XLVII Jo's Will
CHAPTER XLVIII Closing In
CHAPTER XLIX Dutiful Friendship
CHAPTER L Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER LI Enlightened
CHAPTER LII Obstinacy
CHAPTER LIII The Track
CHAPTER LIV Springing a Mine
CHAPTER LV Flight
CHAPTER LVI Pursuit
CHAPTER LVII Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER LVIII A Wintry Day and Night
CHAPTER LIX Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER LX Perspective
CHAPTER LXI A Discovery
CHAPTER LXII Another Discovery
CHAPTER LXIII Steel and Iron
CHAPTER LXIV Esther's Narrative
CHAPTER LXV Beginning the World
CHAPTER LXVI Down in Lincolnshire
CHAPTER LXVII The Close of Esther's Narrative
'Bleak House' was first published as a volume in 1853, after having been issued in twenty shitting monthly parts from March 1852 to September 1853. This Edition contains all the copyright emendations made n the text as revised by the Author in 1867 and 1868.
As a remembrance of our friendly Union
A FEW months ago, on a public occasion, a Chancery Judge had the kindness to inform me, as one of a company of some hundred and fifty men and women not labouring under any suspicions of lunacy, that the Court of Chancery, though the shining subject of much popular prejudice (at which point I thought the Judge's eye had a cast in my direction), was almost immaculate. There had been, he admitted, a trivial blemish or so in its rate of progress, but this was exaggerated, and had been entirely owing to the 'parsimony of the public'; which guilty public, it appeared, had been until lately bent in the most determined manner on by no means enlarging the number of Chancery Judges appointed––I believe by Richard the Second, but any other King will do as well.
This seemed to me too profound a joke to be inserted in the body of this book, or I should have restored it to Conversation Kenge or to Mr. Vholes, with one or other of whom I think it must have originated. In such mouths I might have coupled it with an apt quotation from one of SHAKESPEARE'S Sonnets:
"My nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed!"
But as it is wholesome that the parsimonious public should know what has been doing, and still is doing, in this connexion, I mention here that everything set forth in these pages concerning the Court of Chancery is substantially true, and within the truth. The case of Gridley is in no essential altered from one of actual occurrence, made public by a disinterested person who was professionally acquainted with the whole of the monstrous wrong from beginning to end. At the present moment there is a suit before the Court which was commenced nearly twenty years ago; in which from thirty to forty counsel have been known to appear at one time; in which costs have been incurred to the amount of seventy thousand pounds; which is a friendly suit; and which is (I am assured) no nearer to its termination now than when it was begun. There is another well-known suit in Chancery, not yet decided, which was commenced before the close of the last century, and in which more than double the amount of seventy thousand pounds has been swallowed up in costs. If I wanted other authorities for JARNDYCE AND JARNDYCE, I could rain them on these pages, to the shame of––a parsimonious public.
There is only one other point on which I offer a word of remark. The possibility of what is called Spontaneous Combustion has been denied since the death of Mr. Krook; and my good friend MR. LEWES (quite mistaken, as he soon found, in supposing the thing to have been abandoned by all authorities) published some ingenious letters to me at the time when that event was chronicled, arguing that Spontaneous Combustion could not possibly be. I have no need to observe that I do not wilfully or negligently mislead my readers, and that before I wrote that description I took pains to investigate the subject. There are about thirty cases on record, of which the most famous, that of the Countess Cornelia de Baudi Cesenate, was minutely investigated and described by Giuseppe Bianchini, a prebendary of Verona, otherwise distinguished in letters, who published an account of it at Verona, in 1731, which he afterwards republished at Rome. The appearances beyond all rational doubt observed in that case, are the appearances observed in Mr. Krook's case. The next most famous instance happened at Rheims, six years earlier; and the historian in that case is LE CAT, one of the most renowned surgeons produced by France. The subject was a woman, whose husband was ignorantly convicted of having murdered her; but, on solemn appeal to a higher court, he was acquitted, because it was shown upon the evidence that she had died the death to which this name of Spontaneous Combustion is given. I do not think it necessary to add to these notable facts, and that general reference to the authorities which will be found at page 329, 1 the recorded opinions and experiences of distinguished medical professors, French, English, and Scotch, in more modern days; contenting myself with observing, that I shall not abandon the facts until there shall have been a considerable Spontaneous Combustion of the testimony on which human occurrences are usually received.
In Bleak House, I have purposely dwelt upon the romantic side of familiar things. I believe I have never had so many readers as in this book. May we meet again!
LONDON, August, 1853.
A CHANCERY judge once had the kindness to inform me, as one of a company of some hundred and fifty men and women not labouring under any suspicions of lunacy, that the Court of Chancery, though the shining subject of much popular prejudice (at which point I thought the judge's eye had a cast in my direction), was almost immaculate. There had been, he admitted, a trivial blemish or so in its rate of progress, but this was exaggerated and had been entirely owing to the
parsimony of the public, which guilty public, it appeared, had been until lately bent in the most determined manner on by no means enlarging the number of Chancery judges appointed—I believe by Richard the Second, but any other king will do as well.
This seemed to me too profound a joke to be inserted in the body of this book or I should have restored it to Conversation Kenge or to Mr. Vholes, with one or other of whom I think it must have originated. In such mouths I might have coupled it with an apt quotation from one of Shakespeare's sonnets:
"My nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed!"
But as it is wholesome that the parsimonious public should know what has been doing, and still is doing, in this connexion, I mention here that everything set forth in these pages concerning the Court of Chancery is substantially true, and within the truth. The case of Gridley is in no essential altered from one of actual occurrence, made public by a disinterested person who was professionally acquainted with the whole of the monstrous wrong from beginning to end. At the present moment{1} there is a suit before the court which was commenced nearly twenty years ago, in which from thirty to forty counsel have been known to appear at one time, in which costs have been incurred to the amount of seventy thousand pounds, which is a friendly suit, and which is (I am assured) no nearer to its termination now than when it was begun. There is another well-known suit in Chancery, not yet decided, which was commenced before the close of the last century and in which more than double the amount of seventy thousand pounds has been swallowed up in costs. If I wanted other authorities for JARNDYCE AND JARNDYCE, I could rain them on these pages, to the shame of—a parsimonious public.
There is only one other point on which I offer a word of remark. The possibility of what is called spontaneous combustion has been denied since the death of Mr. Krook; and my good friend MR. LEWES (quite mistaken, as he soon found, in supposing the thing to have been abandoned by all authorities) published some ingenious letters to me at the time when that event was chronicled, arguing that spontaneous combustion could not possibly be. I have no need to observe that I do not wilfully or negligently mislead my readers and that before I wrote that description I took pains to investigate the subject. There are about thirty cases on record, of which the most famous, that of the Countess Cornelia de Baudi Cesenate, was minutely investigated and described by Giuseppe Bianchini, a prebendary of Verona, otherwise distinguished in letters, who published an account of it at Verona in 1731, which he afterwards republished at Rome. The appearances, beyond all rational doubt, observed in that case are the appearances observed in Mr. Krook's case. The next most famous instance happened at Rheims six years earlier, and the historian in that case is LE CAT, one of the most renowned surgeons produced by France. The subject was a woman, whose husband was ignorantly convicted of having murdered her; but on solemn appeal to a higher court, he was acquitted because it was shown upon the evidence that she had died the death of which this name of spontaneous combustion is given. I do not think it necessary to add to these notable facts, and that general reference to the authorities which will be found at page 288, the recorded opinions and experiences of distinguished medical professors, French, English, and Scotch, in more modern days, contenting myself with observing that I shall not abandon the facts until there shall have been a considerable spontaneous combustion of the testimony on which human occurrences are usually received.**
In Bleak House I have purposely dwelt upon the romantic side of familiar things.
Another case, very clearly described by a dentist, occurred at the town of Columbus, in the United States of America, quite recently. The subject was a German who kept a liquor-shop and was an inveterate drunkard.
LONDON. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another's umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.
Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as the sun may, from the spongey fields, be seen to loom by husbandman and ploughboy. Most of the shops lighted two hours before their time—as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling look.
The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction, appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old corporation, Temple Bar. And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln's Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.
Never can there come fog too thick, never can there come mud and mire too deep, to assort with the groping and floundering condition which this High Court of Chancery, most pestilent of hoary sinners, holds this day in the sight of heaven and earth.
On such an afternoon, if ever, the Lord High Chancellor ought to be sitting here—as here he is—with a foggy glory round his head, softly fenced in with crimson cloth and curtains, addressed by a large advocate with great whiskers, a little voice, and an interminable brief, and outwardly directing his contemplation to the lantern in the roof, where he can see nothing but fog. On such an afternoon some score of members of the High Court of Chancery bar ought to be—as here they are—mistily engaged in one of the ten thousand stages of an endless cause, tripping one another up on slippery precedents, groping knee-deep in technicalities, running their goat-hair and horsehair warded heads against walls of words and making a pretence of equity with serious faces, as players might. On such an afternoon the various solicitors in the cause, some two or three of whom have inherited it from their fathers, who made a fortune by it, ought to be—as are they not?—ranged in a line, in a long matted well (but you might look in vain for truth at the bottom of it) between the registrar's red table and the silk gowns, with bills, cross-bills, answers, rejoinders, injunctions, affidavits, issues, references to masters, masters' reports, mountains of costly nonsense, piled before them. Well may the court be dim, with wasting candles here and there; well may the fog hang heavy in it, as if it would never get out; well may the stained-glass windows lose their colour and admit no light of day into the place; well may the uninitiated from the streets, who peep in through the glass panes in the door, be deterred from entrance by its owlish aspect and by the drawl, languidly echoing to the roof from the padded dais where the Lord High Chancellor looks into the lantern that has no light in it and where the attendant wigs are all stuck in a fog-bank! This is the Court of Chancery, which has its decaying houses and its blighted lands in every shire, which has its worn-out lunatic in every madhouse and its dead in every churchyard, which has its ruined suitor with his slipshod heels and threadbare dress borrowing and begging through the round of every man's acquaintance, which gives to monied might the means abundantly of wearying out the right, which so exhausts finances, patience, courage, hope, so overthrows the brain and breaks the heart, that there is not an honourable man among its practitioners who would not give—who does not often give—the warning,
Suffer any wrong that can be done you rather than come here!
Who happen to be in the Lord Chancellor's court this murky afternoon besides the Lord Chancellor, the counsel in the cause, two or three counsel who are never in any cause, and the well of solicitors before mentioned? There is the registrar below the judge, in wig and gown; and there are two or three maces, or petty-bags, or privy purses, or whatever they may be, in legal court suits. These are all yawning, for no crumb of amusement ever falls from Jarndyce and Jarndyce (the cause in hand), which was squeezed dry years upon years ago. The short-hand writers, the reporters of the court, and the reporters of the newspapers invariably decamp with the rest of the regulars when Jarndyce and Jarndyce comes on. Their places are a blank. Standing on a seat at the side of the hall, the better to peer into the curtained sanctuary, is a little mad old woman in a squeezed bonnet who is always in court, from its sitting to its rising, and always expecting some incomprehensible judgment to be given in her favour. Some say she really is, or was, a party to a suit, but no one knows for certain because no one cares. She carries some small litter in a reticule which she calls her documents, principally consisting of paper matches and dry lavender. A sallow prisoner has come up, in custody, for the half-dozenth time to make a personal application
to purge himself of his contempt, which, being a solitary surviving executor who has fallen into a state of conglomeration about accounts of which it is not pretended that he had ever any knowledge, he is not at all likely ever to do. In the meantime his prospects in life are ended. Another ruined suitor, who periodically appears from Shropshire and breaks out into efforts to address the Chancellor at the close of the day's business and who can by no means be made to understand that the Chancellor is legally ignorant of his existence after making it desolate for a quarter of a century, plants himself in a good place and keeps an eye on the judge, ready to call out
My Lord! in a voice of sonorous complaint on the instant of his rising. A few lawyers' clerks and others who know this suitor by sight linger on the chance of his furnishing some fun and enlivening the dismal weather a little.
Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. This scarecrow of a suit has, in course of time, become so complicated that no man alive knows what it means. The parties to it understand it least, but it has been observed that no two Chancery lawyers can talk about it for five minutes without coming to a total disagreement as to all the premises. Innumerable children have been born into the cause; innumerable young people have married into it; innumerable old people have died out of it. Scores of persons have deliriously found themselves made parties in Jarndyce and Jarndyce without knowing how or why; whole families have inherited legendary hatreds with the suit. The little plaintiff or defendant who was promised a new rocking-horse when Jarndyce and Jarndyce should be settled has grown up, possessed himself of a real horse, and trotted away into the other world. Fair wards of court have faded into mothers and grandmothers; a long procession of Chancellors has come in and gone out; the legion of bills in the suit have been transformed into mere bills of mortality; there are not three Jarndyces left upon the earth perhaps since old Tom Jarndyce in despair blew his brains out at a coffee-house in Chancery Lane; but Jarndyce and Jarndyce still drags its dreary length before the court, perennially hopeless.
Jarndyce and Jarndyce has passed into a joke. That is the only good that has ever come of it. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in the profession. Every master in Chancery has had a reference out of it. Every Chancellor was
in it, for somebody or other, when he was counsel at the bar. Good things have been said about it by blue-nosed, bulbous-shoed old benchers in select port-wine committee after dinner in hall. Articled clerks have been in the habit of fleshing their legal wit upon it. The last Lord Chancellor handled it neatly, when, correcting Mr. Blowers, the eminent silk gown who said that such a thing might happen when the sky rained potatoes, he observed,
or when we get through Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Mr. Blowers—a pleasantry that particularly tickled the maces, bags, and purses.
How many people out of the suit Jarndyce and Jarndyce has stretched forth its unwholesome hand to spoil and corrupt would be a very wide question. From the master upon whose impaling files reams of dusty warrants in Jarndyce and Jarndyce have grimly writhed into many shapes, down to the copying-clerk in the Six Clerks' Office who has copied his tens of thousands of Chancery folio-pages under that eternal heading, no man's nature has been made better by it. In trickery, evasion, procrastination, spoliation, botheration, under false pretences of all sorts, there are influences that can never come to good. The very solicitors' boys who have kept the wretched suitors at bay, by protesting time out of mind that Mr. Chizzle, Mizzle, or otherwise was particularly engaged and had appointments until dinner, may have got an extra moral twist and shuffle into themselves out of Jarndyce and Jarndyce. The receiver in the cause has acquired a goodly sum of money by it but has acquired too a distrust of his own mother and a contempt for his own kind. Chizzle, Mizzle, and otherwise have lapsed into a habit of vaguely promising themselves that they will look into that outstanding little matter and see what can be done for Drizzle—who was not well used—when Jarndyce and Jarndyce shall be got out of the office. Shirking and sharking in all their many varieties have been sown broadcast by the ill-fated cause; and even those who have contemplated its history from the outermost circle of such evil have been insensibly tempted into a loose way of letting bad things alone to take their own bad course, and a loose belief that if the world go wrong it was in some off-hand manner never meant to go right.
Thus, in the midst of the mud and at the heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.
Mr. Tangle, says the Lord High Chancellor, latterly something restless under the eloquence of that learned gentleman.
Mlud, says Mr. Tangle. Mr. Tangle knows more of Jarndyce and Jarndyce than anybody. He is famous for it—supposed never to have read anything else since he left school.
Have you nearly concluded your argument?
Mlud, no—variety of points—feel it my duty tsubmit—ludship, is the reply that slides out of Mr. Tangle.
Several members of the bar are still to be heard, I believe? says the Chancellor with a slight smile.
Eighteen of Mr. Tangle's learned friends, each armed with a little summary of eighteen hundred sheets, bob up like eighteen hammers in a pianoforte, make eighteen bows, and drop into their eighteen places of obscurity.
We will proceed with the hearing on Wednesday fortnight, says the Chancellor. For the question at issue is only a question of costs, a mere bud on the forest tree of the parent suit, and really will come to a settlement one of these days.
The Chancellor rises; the bar rises; the prisoner is brought forward in a hurry; the man from Shropshire cries,
My lord! Maces, bags, and purses indignantly proclaim silence and frown at the man from Shropshire.
In reference, proceeds the Chancellor, still on Jarndyce and Jarndyce,
to the young girl—
Begludship's pardon—boy, says Mr. Tangle prematurely.
In reference, proceeds the Chancellor with extra distinctness,
to the young girl and boy, the two young people—Mr. Tangle crushed—
whom I directed to be in attendance to-day and who are now in my private room, I will see them and satisfy myself as to the expediency of making the order for their residing with their uncle.
Mr. Tangle on his legs again.
Begludship's pardon—dead.
With their—Chancellor looking through his double eye-glass at the papers on his desk—
Begludship's pardon—victim of rash action—brains.
Suddenly a very little counsel with a terrific bass voice arises, fully inflated, in the back settlements of the fog, and says, "Will your lordship allow me? I appear for him. He is a cousin, several times removed. I am not at the moment prepared to inform the court in what exact remove he is a cousin, but he is a cousin."
Leaving this address (delivered like a sepulchral message) ringing in the rafters of the roof, the very little counsel drops, and the fog knows him no more. Everybody looks for him. Nobody can see him.
I will speak with both the young people, says the Chancellor anew,
and satisfy myself on the subject of their residing with their cousin. I will mention the matter to-morrow morning when I take my seat.
The Chancellor is about to bow to the bar when the prisoner is presented. Nothing can possibly come of the prisoner's conglomeration but his being sent back to prison, which is soon done. The man from Shropshire ventures another remonstrative
My lord! but the Chancellor, being aware of him, has dexterously vanished. Everybody else quickly vanishes too. A battery of blue bags is loaded with heavy charges of papers and carried off by clerks; the little mad old woman marches off with her documents; the empty court is locked up. If all the injustice it has committed and all the misery it has caused could only be locked up with it, and the whole burnt away in a great funeral pyre—why so much the better for other parties than the parties in Jarndyce and Jarndyce!
IT IS but a glimpse of the world of fashion that we want on this same miry afternoon. It is not so unlike the Court of Chancery but that we may pass from the one scene to the other, as the crow flies. Both the world of fashion and the Court of Chancery are things of precedent and usage: oversleeping Rip Van Winkles who have played at strange games through a deal of thundery weather; sleeping beauties whom the knight will wake one day, when all the stopped spits in the kitchen shall begin to turn prodigiously!
It is not a large world. Relatively even to this world of ours, which has its limits too (as your Highness shall find when you have made the tour of it and are come to the brink of the void beyond), it is a very little speck. There is much good in it; there are many good and true people in it; it has its appointed place. But the evil of it is that it is a world wrapped up in too much jeweller's cotton and fine wool, and cannot hear the rushing of the larger worlds, and cannot see them as they circle round the sun. It is a deadened world, and its growth is sometimes unhealthy for want of air.
My Lady Dedlock has returned to her house in town for a few days previous to her departure for Paris, where her ladyship intends to stay some weeks, after which her movements are uncertain. The fashionable intelligence says so for the comfort of the Parisians, and it knows all fashionable things. To know things otherwise were to be unfashionable. My Lady Dedlock has been down at what she calls, in familiar conversation, her
place in Lincolnshire. The waters are out in Lincolnshire. An arch of the bridge in the park has been sapped and sopped away. The adjacent low-lying ground for half a mile in breadth is a stagnant river with melancholy trees for islands in it and a surface punctured all over, all day long, with falling rain. My Lady Dedlock's place has been extremely dreary. The weather for many a day and night has been so wet that the trees seem wet through, and the soft loppings and prunings of the woodman's axe can make no crash or crackle as they fall. The deer, looking soaked, leave quagmires where they pass. The shot of a rifle loses its sharpness in the moist air, and its smoke moves in a tardy little cloud towards the green rise, coppice-topped, that makes a background for the falling rain. The view from my Lady Dedlock's own windows is alternately a lead-coloured view and a view in Indian ink. The vases on the stone terrace in the foreground catch the rain all day; and the heavy drops fall—drip, drip, drip—upon the broad flagged pavement, called from old time the Ghost's Walk, all night. On Sundays the little church in the park is mouldy; the oaken pulpit breaks out into a cold sweat; and there is a general smell and taste as of the ancient Dedlocks in their graves. My Lady Dedlock (who is childless), looking out in the early twilight from her boudoir at a keeper's lodge and seeing the light of a fire upon the latticed panes, and smoke rising from the chimney, and a child, chased by a woman, running out into the rain to meet the shining figure of a wrapped-up man coming through the gate, has been put quite out of temper. My Lady Dedlock says she has been
bored to death.
Therefore my Lady Dedlock has come away from the place in Lincolnshire and has left it to the rain, and the crows, and the rabbits, and the deer, and the partridges and pheasants. The pictures of the Dedlocks past and gone have seemed to vanish into the damp walls in mere lowness of spirits, as the housekeeper has passed along the old rooms shutting up the shutters. And when they will next come forth again, the fashionable intelligence—which, like the fiend, is omniscient of the past and present, but not the future—cannot yet undertake to say.
Sir Leicester Dedlock is only a baronet, but there is no mightier baronet than he. His family is as old as the hills, and infinitely more respectable. He has a general opinion that the world might get on without hills but would be done up without Dedlocks. He would on the whole admit nature to be a good idea (a little low, perhaps, when not enclosed with a park-fence), but an idea dependent for its execution on your great county families. He is a gentleman of strict conscience, disdainful of all littleness and meanness and ready on the shortest notice to die any death you may please to mention rather than give occasion for the least impeachment of his integrity. He is an honourable, obstinate, truthful, high-spirited, intensely prejudiced, perfectly unreasonable man.
Sir Leicester is twenty years, full measure, older than my Lady. He will never see sixty-five again, nor perhaps sixty-six, nor yet sixty-seven. He has a twist of the gout now and then and walks a little stiffly. He is of a worthy presence, with his light-grey hair and whiskers, his fine shirt-frill, his pure-white waistcoat, and his blue coat with bright buttons always buttoned. He is ceremonious, stately, most polite on every occasion to my Lady, and holds her personal attractions in the highest estimation. His gallantry to my Lady, which has never changed since he courted her, is the one little touch of romantic fancy in him.
Indeed, he married her for love. A whisper still goes about that she had not even family; howbeit, Sir Leicester had so much family that perhaps he had enough and could dispense with any more. But she had beauty, pride, ambition, insolent resolve, and sense enough to portion out a legion of fine ladies. Wealth and station, added to these, soon floated her upward, and for years now my Lady Dedlock has been at the centre of the fashionable intelligence and at the top of the fashionable tree.
How Alexander wept when he had no more worlds to conquer, everybody knows—or has some reason to know by this time, the matter having been rather frequently mentioned. My Lady Dedlock, having conquered her world, fell not into the melting, but rather into the freezing, mood. An exhausted composure, a worn-out placidity, an equanimity of fatigue not to be ruffled by interest or satisfaction, are the trophies of her victory. She is perfectly well-bred. If she could be translated to heaven to-morrow, she might be expected to ascend without any rapture.
She has beauty still, and if it be not in its heyday, it is not yet in its autumn. She has a fine face—originally of a character that would be rather called very pretty than handsome, but improved into classicality by the acquired expression of her fashionable state. Her figure is elegant and has the effect of being tall. Not that she is so, but that
the most is made, as the Honourable Bob Stables has frequently asserted upon oath,
of all her points. The same authority observes that she is perfectly got up and remarks in commendation of her hair especially that she is the best-groomed woman in the whole stud.
With all her perfections on her head, my Lady Dedlock has come up from her place in Lincolnshire (hotly pursued by the fashionable intelligence) to pass a few days at her house in town previous to her departure for Paris, where her ladyship intends to stay some weeks, after which her movements are uncertain. And at her house in town, upon this muddy, murky afternoon, presents himself an old-fashioned old gentleman, attorney-at-law and eke solicitor of the High Court of Chancery, who has the honour of acting as legal adviser of the Dedlocks and has as many cast-iron boxes in his office with that name outside as if the present baronet were the coin of the conjuror's trick and were constantly being juggled through the whole set. Across the hall, and up the stairs, and along the passages, and through the rooms, which are very brilliant in the season and very dismal out of it—fairy-land to visit, but a desert to live in—the old gentleman is conducted by a Mercury in powder to my Lady's presence.
The old gentleman is rusty to look at, but is reputed to have made good thrift out of aristocratic marriage settlements and aristocratic wills, and to be very rich. He is surrounded by a mysterious halo of family confidences, of which he is known to be the silent depository. There are noble mausoleums rooted for centuries in retired glades of parks among the growing timber and the fern, which perhaps hold fewer noble secrets than walk abroad among men, shut up in the breast of Mr. Tulkinghorn. He is of what is called the old school—a phrase generally meaning any school that seems never to have been young—and wears knee-breeches tied with ribbons, and gaiters or stockings. One peculiarity of his black clothes and of his black stockings, be they silk or worsted, is that they never shine. Mute, close, irresponsive to any glancing light, his dress is like himself. He never converses when not professionally consulted. He is found sometimes, speechless but quite at home, at corners of dinner-tables in great country houses and near doors of drawing-rooms, concerning which the fashionable intelligence is eloquent, where everybody knows him and where half the Peerage stops to say
How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn? He receives these salutations with gravity and buries them along with the rest of his knowledge.
Sir Leicester Dedlock is with my Lady and is happy to see Mr. Tulkinghorn. There is an air of prescription about him which is always agreeable to Sir Leicester; he receives it as a kind of tribute. He likes Mr. Tulkinghorn's dress; there is a kind of tribute in that too. It is eminently respectable, and likewise, in a general way, retainer-like. It expresses, as it were, the steward of the legal mysteries, the butler of the legal cellar, of the Dedlocks.
Has Mr. Tulkinghorn any idea of this himself? It may be so, or it may not, but there is this remarkable circumstance to be noted in everything associated with my Lady Dedlock as one of a class—as one of the leaders and representatives of her little world. She supposes herself to be an inscrutable Being, quite out of the reach and ken of ordinary mortals—seeing herself in her glass, where indeed she looks so. Yet every dim little star revolving about her, from her maid to the manager of the Italian Opera, knows her weaknesses, prejudices, follies, haughtinesses, and caprices and lives upon as accurate a calculation and as nice a measure of her moral nature as her dressmaker takes of her physical proportions. Is a new dress, a new custom, a new singer, a new dancer, a new form of jewellery, a new dwarf or giant, a new chapel, a new anything, to be set up? There are deferential people in a dozen callings whom my Lady Dedlock suspects of nothing but prostration before her, who can tell you how to manage her as if she were a baby, who do nothing but nurse her all their lives, who, humbly affecting to follow with profound subservience, lead her and her whole troop after them; who, in hooking one, hook all and bear them off as Lemuel Gulliver bore away the stately fleet of the majestic Lilliput.
If you want to address our people, sir, say Blaze and Sparkle, the jewellers—meaning by our people Lady Dedlock and the rest—
you must remember that you are not dealing with the general public; you must hit our people in their weakest place, and their weakest place is such a place.
To make this article go down, gentlemen, say Sheen and Gloss, the mercers, to their friends the manufacturers,
you must come to us, because we know where to have the fashionable people, and we can make it fashionable.
If you want to get this print upon the tables of my high connexion, sir, says Mr. Sladdery, the librarian,
or if you want to get this dwarf or giant into the houses of my high connexion, sir, or if you want to secure to this entertainment the patronage of my high connexion, sir, you must leave it, if you please, to me, for I have been accustomed to study the leaders of my high connexion, sir, and I may tell you without vanity that I can turn them round my finger—in which Mr. Sladdery, who is an honest man, does not exaggerate at all.
Therefore, while Mr. Tulkinghorn may not know what is passing in the Dedlock mind at present, it is very possible that he may.
My Lady's cause has been again before the Chancellor, has it, Mr. Tulkinghorn? says Sir Leicester, giving him his hand.
Yes. It has been on again to-day, Mr. Tulkinghorn replies, making one of his quiet bows to my Lady, who is on a sofa near the fire, shading her face with a hand-screen.
It would be useless to ask, says my Lady with the dreariness of the place in Lincolnshire still upon her,
whether anything has been done.
"Nothing that you would call anything has been done to-day," replies Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Nor ever will be, says my Lady.
Sir Leicester has no objection to an interminable Chancery suit. It is a slow, expensive, British, constitutional kind of thing. To be sure, he has not a vital interest in the suit in question, her part in which was the only property my Lady brought him; and he has a shadowy impression that for his name—the name of Dedlock—to be in a cause, and not in the title of that cause, is a most ridiculous accident. But he regards the Court of Chancery, even if it should involve an occasional delay of justice and a trifling amount of confusion, as a something devised in conjunction with a variety of other somethings by the perfection of human wisdom for the eternal settlement (humanly speaking) of everything. And he is upon the whole of a fixed opinion that to give the sanction of his countenance to any complaints respecting it would be to encourage some person in the lower classes to rise up somewhere—like Wat Tyler.
As a few fresh affidavits have been put upon the file, says Mr. Tulkinghorn,
and as they are short, and as I proceed upon the troublesome principle of begging leave to possess my clients with any new proceedings in a cause—cautious man Mr. Tulkinghorn, taking no more responsibility than necessary—
and further, as I see you are going to Paris, I have brought them in my pocket.
(Sir Leicester was going to Paris too, by the by, but the delight of the fashionable intelligence was in his Lady.)
Mr. Tulkinghorn takes out his papers, asks permission to place them on a golden talisman of a table at my Lady's elbow, puts on his spectacles, and begins to read by the light of a shaded lamp.
'In Chancery. Between John Jarndyce—'
My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as many of the formal horrors as he can.
Mr. Tulkinghorn glances over his spectacles and begins again lower down. My Lady carelessly and scornfully abstracts her attention. Sir Leicester in a great chair looks at the file and appears to have a stately liking for the legal repetitions and prolixities as ranging among the national bulwarks. It happens that the fire is hot where my Lady sits and that the hand-screen is more beautiful than useful, being priceless but small. My Lady, changing her position, sees the papers on the table—looks at them nearer—looks at them nearer still—asks impulsively,
Who copied that?
Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised by my Lady's animation and her unusual tone.
Is it what you people call law-hand? she asks, looking full at him in her careless way again and toying with her screen.
Not quite. Probably—Mr. Tulkinghorn examines it as he speaks—
the legal character which it has was acquired after the original hand was formed. Why do you ask?
Anything to vary this detestable monotony. Oh, go on, do!
Mr. Tulkinghorn reads again. The heat is greater; my Lady screens her face. Sir Leicester dozes, starts up suddenly, and cries,
Eh? What do you say?
I say I am afraid, says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who had risen hastily,
that Lady Dedlock is ill.
Faint, my Lady murmurs with white lips,
only that; but it is like the faintness of death. Don't speak to me. Ring, and take me to my room!
Mr. Tulkinghorn retires into another chamber; bells ring, feet shuffle and patter, silence ensues. Mercury at last begs Mr. Tulkinghorn to return.
Better now, quoth Sir Leicester, motioning the lawyer to sit down and read to him alone.
I have been quite alarmed. I never knew my Lady swoon before. But the weather is extremely trying, and she really has been bored to death down at our place in Lincolnshire.
I HAVE a great deal of difficulty in beginning to write my portion of these pages, for I know I am not clever. I always knew that. I can remember, when I was a very little girl indeed, I used to say to my doll when we were alone together,
Now, Dolly, I am not clever, you know very well, and you must be patient with me, like a dear! And so she used to sit propped up in a great arm-chair, with her beautiful complexion and rosy lips, staring at me—or not so much at me, I think, as at nothing—while I busily stitched away and told her every one of my secrets.
My dear old doll! I was such a shy little thing that I seldom dared to open my lips, and never dared to open my heart, to anybody else. It almost makes me cry to think what a relief it used to be to me when I came home from school of a day to run upstairs to my room and say,
Oh, you dear faithful Dolly, I knew you would be expecting me! and then to sit down on the floor, leaning on the elbow of her great chair, and tell her all I had noticed since we parted. I had always rather a noticing way—not a quick way, oh, no!—a silent way of noticing what passed before me and thinking I should like to understand it better. I have not by any means a quick understanding. When I love a person very tenderly indeed, it seems to brighten. But even that may be my vanity.
I was brought up, from my earliest remembrance—like some of the princesses in the fairy stories, only I was not charming—by my godmother. At least, I only knew her as such. She was a good, good woman! She went to church three times every Sunday, and to morning prayers on Wednesdays and Fridays, and to lectures whenever there were lectures; and never missed. She was handsome; and if she had ever smiled, would have been (I used to think) like an angel—but she never smiled. She was always grave and strict. She was so very good herself, I thought, that the badness of other people made her frown all her life. I felt so different from her, even making every allowance for the differences between a child and a woman; I felt so poor, so trifling, and so far off that I never could be unrestrained with her—no, could never even love her as I wished. It made me very sorry to consider how good she was and how unworthy of her I was, and I used ardently to hope that I might have a better heart; and I talked it over very often with the dear old doll, but I never loved my godmother as I ought to have loved her and as I felt I must have loved her if I had been a better girl.
This made me, I dare say, more timid and retiring than I naturally was and cast me upon Dolly as the only friend with whom I felt at ease. But something happened when I was still quite a little thing that helped it very much.
I had never heard my mama spoken of. I had never heard of my papa either, but I felt more interested about my mama. I had never worn a black frock, that I could recollect. I had never been shown my mama's grave. I had never been told where it was. Yet I had never been taught to pray for any relation but my godmother. I had more than once approached this subject of my thoughts with Mrs. Rachael, our only servant, who took my light away when I was in bed (another very good woman, but austere to me), and she had only said,
Esther, good night! and gone away and left me.
Although there were seven girls at the neighbouring school where I was a day boarder, and although they called me little Esther Summerson, I knew none of them at home. All of them were older than I, to be sure (I was the youngest there by a good deal), but there seemed to be some other separation between us besides that, and besides their being far more clever than I was and knowing much more than I did. One of them in the first week of my going to the school (I remember it very well) invited me home to a little party, to my great joy. But my godmother wrote a stiff letter declining for me, and I never went. I never went out at all.
It was my birthday. There were holidays at school on other birthdays—none on mine. There were rejoicings at home on other birthdays, as I knew from what I heard the girls relate to one another—there were none on mine. My birthday was the most melancholy day at home in the whole year.
I have mentioned that unless my vanity should deceive me (as I know it may, for I may be very vain without suspecting it, though indeed I don't), my comprehension is quickened when my affection is. My disposition is very affectionate, and perhaps I might still feel such a wound if such a wound could be received more than once with the quickness of that birthday.
Dinner was over, and my godmother and I were sitting at the table before the fire. The clock ticked, the fire clicked; not another sound had been heard in the room or in the house for I don't know how long. I happened to look timidly up from my stitching, across the table at my godmother, and I saw in her face, looking gloomily at me,
It would have been far better, little Esther, that you had had no birthday, that you had never been born!
I broke out crying and sobbing, and I said,
Oh, dear godmother, tell me, pray do tell me, did Mama die on my birthday?
No, she returned.
Ask me no more, child!
Oh, do pray tell me something of her. Do now, at last, dear godmother, if you please! What did I do to her? How did I lose her? Why am I so different from other children, and why is it my fault, dear godmother? No, no, no, don't go away. Oh, speak to me!
I was in a kind of fright beyond my grief, and I caught hold of her dress and was kneeling to her. She had been saying all the while,
Let me go! But now she stood still.
Her darkened face had such power over me that it stopped me in the midst of my vehemence. I put up my trembling little hand to clasp hers or to beg her pardon with what earnestness I might, but withdrew it as she looked at me, and laid it on my fluttering heart. She raised me, sat in her chair, and standing me before her, said slowly in a cold, low voice—I see her knitted brow and pointed finger—
Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come—and soon enough—when you will understand this better and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can. I have forgiven her—but her face did not relent—
the wrong she did to me, and I say no more of it, though it was greater than you will ever know—than any one will ever know but I, the sufferer. For yourself, unfortunate girl, orphaned and degraded from the first of these evil anniversaries, pray daily that the sins of others be not visited upon your head, according to what is written. Forget your mother and leave all other people to forget her who will do her unhappy child that greatest kindness. Now, go!
She checked me, however, as I was about to depart from her—so frozen as I was!—and added this,
Submission, self-denial, diligent work, are the preparations for a life begun with such a shadow on it. You are different from other children, Esther, because you were not born, like them, in common sinfulness and wrath. You are set apart.
I went up to my room, and crept to bed, and laid my doll's cheek against mine wet with tears, and holding that solitary friend upon my bosom, cried myself to sleep. Imperfect as my understanding of my sorrow was, I knew that I had brought no joy at any time to anybody's heart and that I was to no one upon earth what Dolly was to me.
Dear, dear, to think how much time we passed alone together afterwards, and how often I repeated to the doll the story of my birthday and confided to her that I would try as hard as ever I could to repair the fault I had been born with (of which I confessedly felt guilty and yet innocent) and would strive as I grew up to be industrious, contented, and kind-hearted and to do some good to some one, and win some love to myself if I could. I hope it is not self-indulgent to shed these tears as I think of it. I am very thankful, I am very cheerful, but I cannot quite help their coming to my eyes.
There! I have wiped them away now and can go on again properly.
I felt the distance between my godmother and myself so much more after the birthday, and felt so sensible of filling a place in her house which ought to have been empty, that I found her more difficult of approach, though I was fervently grateful to her in my heart, than ever. I felt in the same way towards my school companions; I felt in the same way towards Mrs. Rachael, who was a widow; and oh, towards her daughter, of whom she was proud, who came to see her once a fortnight! I was very retired and quiet, and tried to be very diligent.
One sunny afternoon when I had come home from school with my books and portfolio, watching my long shadow at my side, and as I was gliding upstairs to my room as usual, my godmother looked out of the parlour-door and called me back. Sitting with her, I found—which was very unusual indeed—a stranger. A portly, important-looking gentleman, dressed all in black, with a white cravat, large gold watch seals, a pair of gold eye-glasses, and a large seal-ring upon his little finger.
This, said my godmother in an undertone,
is the child. Then she said in her naturally stern way of speaking,
This is Esther, sir.
The gentleman put up his eye-glasses to look at me and said,
Come here, my dear! He shook hands with me and asked me to take off my bonnet, looking at me all the while. When I had complied, he said,
Ah! and afterwards
Yes! And then, taking off his eye-glasses and folding them in a red case, and leaning back in his arm-chair, turning the case about in his two hands, he gave my godmother a nod. Upon that, my godmother said,
You may go upstairs, Esther! And I made him my curtsy and left him.
It must have been two years afterwards, and I was almost fourteen, when one dreadful night my godmother and I sat at the fireside. I was reading aloud, and she was listening. I had come down at nine o'clock as I always did to read the Bible to her, and was reading from St. John how our Saviour stooped down, writing with his finger in the dust, when they brought the sinful woman to him.
So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself and said unto them, 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her!'
I was stopped by my godmother's rising, putting her hand to her head, and crying out in an awful voice from quite another part of the book,
'Watch ye, therefore, lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch!'
In an instant, while she stood before me repeating these words, she fell down on the floor. I had no need to cry out; her voice had sounded through the house and been heard in the street.
She was laid upon her bed. For more than a week she lay there, little altered outwardly, with her old handsome resolute frown that I so well knew carved upon her face. Many and many a time, in the day and in the night, with my head upon the pillow by her that my whispers might be plainer to her, I kissed her, thanked her, prayed for her, asked her for her blessing and forgiveness, entreated her to give me the least sign that she knew or heard me. No, no, no. Her face was immovable. To the very last, and even afterwards, her frown remained unsoftened.
On the day after my poor good godmother was buried, the gentleman in black with the white neckcloth reappeared. I was sent for by Mrs. Rachael, and found him in the same place, as if he had never gone away.
My name is Kenge, he said;
you may remember it, my child; Kenge and Carboy, Lincoln's Inn.
I replied that I remembered to have seen him once before.
Pray be seated—here near me. Don't distress yourself; it's of no use. Mrs. Rachael, I needn't inform you who were acquainted with the late Miss Barbary's affairs, that her means die with her and that this young lady, now her aunt is dead—
My aunt, sir!
It is really of no use carrying on a deception when no object is to be gained by it, said Mr. Kenge smoothly,
Aunt in fact, though not in law. Don't distress yourself! Don't weep! Don't tremble! Mrs. Rachael, our young friend has no doubt heard of—the—a—Jarndyce and Jarndyce.
Never, said Mrs. Rachael.
Is it possible, pursued Mr. Kenge, putting up his eye-glasses, "that our young friend—I beg you won't distress yourself!—never heard of Jarndyce and Jarndyce!"
I shook my head, wondering even what it was.
Not of Jarndyce and Jarndyce? said Mr. Kenge, looking over his glasses at me and softly turning the case about and about as if he were petting something.
Not of one of the greatest Chancery suits known? Not of Jarndyce and Jarndyce—the—a—in itself a monument of Chancery practice. In which (I would say) every difficulty, every contingency, every masterly fiction, every form of procedure known in that court, is represented over and over again? It is a cause that could not exist out of this free and great country. I should say that the aggregate of costs in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Mrs. Rachael—I


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Reno Newswire
Comprehensive Real-Time News Feed for Reno, NV.
Results 1 - 20 of 119 for "u:mynews4.com" in Reno, NV
Interbike cancels 2019 Reno trade show w/Photo
Interbike owner, Emerald Expositions, announced that the Interbike trade show will not take place in September 2019 in Reno as previously scheduled. "The past four years have been difficult for the U.S. bicycle market," said Darrell Denny, Executive Vice President of Emerald Expositions' Sports Group. Comment?
7,000 working at Tesla gigafactory east of Reno w/Photo
Tesla's battery factory in northern Nevada has created more than 7,000 jobs - 40 percent more than promised - and an additional 8,200 jobs in other local businesses since it opened east of Reno in 2014. The Governor's Office of Economic Development said in a report Wednesday 7,059 employees were working in the Tesla/Panasonic gigafactory as of June 30 with average hourly wages of $25.78. Comment?
Lights Up at The Summit kicks off the 2018 holiday season w/Photo
The Summit Reno kicked-off the 2018 holiday season with a free concert and a laser light show on Saturday, November 17. The annual event featured holiday decorations and tree-lighting magic along with live music from Hunsberger Elementary School and Robin Street Band. Comment?
Reno 1868 FC General Manager Andy Smith to depart at end of 2018 w/Photo
Smith, who has severed as the general manager since 2016, will continue to serve the club until December 31, 2018. "I want to thank the entire Reno 1868 FC organization for the opportunity to be a part of an incredible launch and a special first two seasons both on and off the field," Smith said. Comment?
Decision 2018: Housing Crisis, Plans from Mayor Hillary Schieve, Eddie Lorton w/Photo
When Reno voters go to the polls, the housing crisis and who has the best plan to fix it, will be on the minds of many. Reno Mayor Hillary Schieve and her opponent, businessman Eddie Lorton sat down recently with News Four's Shelby Sheehan to talk about what they think is the best path to bring more affordable housing to Reno. Comment?
Nevada pot group projects billion-dollar industry by 2024 w/Photo
A marijuana trade group says pot production, processing and sales could be a billion-dollar industry in Nevada by 2024. It projects that pot-friendly policies in tourist-oriented Las Vegas and Reno could make Nevada one of the nation's largest marijuana marketplaces. Comment?
Alcohol compliance statistics for Reno Zombie Crawl 2018 w/Photo
Members of the Reno Police Regional Street Enforcement Team conducted an Underage Alcohol Compliance check during the Zombie Crawl event in Downtown Reno on Saturday, October 20. According to RPD, during the operation, four volunteers, 18-20 years old, were used to check 26 participating businesses. Of those 26 businesses checked, 5 businesses failed the compliance check and served alcohol to the volunteers. Comment?
Nevadafest 2018 held at Wingfield Park in Reno w/Photo
Nevadafest was created to showcase Nevada's craft beer industry. It featured several notable local and regional craft breweries including Under the Rose Brewing Company, Great Basin Brewing Company and The Depot Craft Brewery and Distillery. Comment?
Reno man sentenced to life for shooting a man in 2016 w/Photo
The Washoe County District Attorney's Office has announced that 35-year-old Anthony Roy Galbraith has been sentenced to life in prison for the death a Reno man in South Reno. Galbraith pled guilty in August to one count of First Degree Murder and based on the sentence, he must serve a minimum of 20 years in prison before parole eligibility begins. Comment?
Northern Nevada HOPES undergoes expansion, expects to serve 8,000 more patients by 2020 w/Photo
Northern Nevada HOPES , a community health and wellness center in Reno that serves low income patients, has wrapped up construction on a massive expansion that will afford more people the chance to receive health care. HOPES CEO, Sharon Chamberlain, told News 4-Fox 11 in an interview Thursday that said she expects the center to serve 18,000 clients by 2020. Comment?
New DMV center to open in south Reno in 2020 w/Photo
The Nevada Department of Motor Vehicles, in partnership with the Nevada Department of Administration, celebrated the ground breaking for the new Northern Nevada DMV Services Center Wednesday, September 26. The site for the new facility will be located near the corners of Sandhill Road and Double Diamond Parkway, off the South Meadows exit. The new building, once opened, will replace the two existing DMV offices currently in Reno; the main office on Galletti Way and a Commercial Driver's License location on Greg Street. Comment?
Reno man pleads guilty to possession of nearly $30,000 in counterfeit U.S. currency w/Photo
A Reno man pleaded guilty in federal court Monday to using his home computer and printers to produce nearly $30,000 in counterfeit U.S. currency, per U.S. Attorney Dayle Elieson for the District of Nevada. 54-year-old William Allen Griffin pleaded guilty to one count of possession of counterfeit obligations of the United States before U.S. District Judge Miranda Du. Comment?
Documentary honors victims and first responders from 2011 air race crash w/Photo
Renown Health hosted a private viewing for those involved in the making of a documentary called "Broken Propeller" on Thursday, September 13. In 2011 a plane crashed into spectators killing the pilot and 10 people on the ground and injuring 69 others. A public viewing of the documentary will be held Sunday, September 16, from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. at Joe Crowley Student Union on the University of Nevada, Reno campus. Comment?
Washoe County DA to hold conference on 1976 murder case
In 1976, 19-year-old University of Nevada nursing student Michelle Mitchell was viciously murdered inside a garage near Evans Avenue in Reno. In 1979, a former Reno topless bar manager named Cathy Woods confessed to killing Mitchell. Comment?
Nevada Football 2018: What to know before you go
As the 2018 Nevada football season kicks off on Friday night with the Wolf Pack taking on Portland State at 6 p.m. at Mackay Stadium, here are a number of helpful reminders for fans heading to campus for all of the exciting action at Mackay Stadium this season. Forecasts for Friday evening call for great conditions sunny and clear with temperatures in the low 80s at kickoff and light winds. Comment?
Reno 1868 FC falls to rival Sacramento Republic FC in the Donner Pass Derby
Reno 1868 FC hosted rival Sacramento Republic FC for the first time in USL play this season. The last time the two clubs met in Sacramento, Reno came back from a 2-0 deficit o score three goals in five minutes. Comment?
Reno 1868 FC returns to Greater Nevada Field to host Sacramento Republic FC
Reno 1868 FC returns to the pitch this weekend for a showdown against rival Sacramento Republic FC for the Donner Pass Derby. The last time the two clubs met, Reno lost 1-0 as it was a match part of the U.S. Open Cup. Comment?
McQueen High School football team raised over $6,500 for Carr Fire victims w/Photo
On Friday, August 24, the Robert McQueen High School football team will present a check in the amount of $6,500 to the Enterprise High School Hornets during the half-time break in the Varsity game. The McQueen Lancers recently held a donation drive for all of the Shasta County school students that have been displaced by the Carr Fire after head coach, Jim Snelling, talked to them about the issue. Comment?
Brian Brown scores twice as Reno 1868 FC earns point against Swope Park Rangers w/Photo
The goals and rain came in droves Sunday afternoon as Reno 1868 FC held on for a 3-3 draw against Swope Park Rangers. Swope Park struck first in the seventh minute as Tyler Blackwood put the hosts up 1-0 off a Hadji Barry assist. Comment?
Playoff contenders go head-to-head as Reno 1868 FC travels to take on Swope Park Rangers
Reno 1868 FC will look to get hot again with a win Sunday as the club faces Western Conference foe Swope Park Rangers for the second time this season. Kickoff for the match at Children's Mercy Victory Field in Kansas City is scheduled for 2 p.m. PT. Comment?
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Il Grano
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Uses ingredients that are sourced as locally as possible and part of the farm-to-table movement.
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Now before you go away and rummage through the nearest sale you need to know that many manufacturers generate quality tables, and most of them will have table tennis tables that you can buy at varying prices and specifications. If you are a first time person do not blow all of your income on the highest end desk you can find. Go for a lower end table until you know if you are going to stick to the game. It will provide just as much benefit as the most expensive table tennis table for sale that you can get. You will also want to make sure that you could have all of the relevant equipment, by paddles to balls. Most of these things, including a rule booklet focusing on good sportsmanship, would have been a great asset to getting your game off on the right foot. After all, you don't want to buy every thing, and go home only to find out that you are missing a vital machine and can't play.
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Thank you to everyone who entered our weekly giveaway, we love to see which products you can't get enough of! Let's find out which crafter has won this time…
The lucky winner this week is ColourCaroline! Congratulations, you're going to really enjoy your 8 x 8 Beyond The Shore Paper Pad!
Please email your address and phone number to [email protected] so we can send out your new goody!
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Congratulations! Great prize. Well done ColourCaroline. X
Biiig congrats to this weeks winner, what an awesome prize you won here.
Aww YAY I'm so happy to have won! Can't wait to get crafting with my new pad, thanks Trimcraft :D x
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I arranged a December/Christmas swap with a fellow crafty Youtuber, and used First Edition All...
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Do you find modern single bedroom designs. Squatwiki Homes is the best place when you want about images to give you imagination, whether these images are best pictures. Hopefully useful.
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Regulators to Toughen Cybersecurity Standards at Nation's Biggest Banks
Plan says potential for 'high-impact IT failures and cyberattacks' continues to grow
WASHINGTON—U.S. regulators on Wednesday unveiled an initial plan to bolster the ability of the country's largest banks to withstand a major cyberattack, a move aimed at protecting the U.S. financial system in the event of a technology failure.
The plan, released jointly by the Federal Reserve, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. and the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, would strengthen the way agencies oversee how large U.S. banks and foreign banks operating in the U.S. with $50 billion or more in assets manage and...
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Alabama gives police power to arrest illegal immigrants on sight in toughest law yet
- And it's even against the law to give one a ride
Alabama's governor has signed the nation's toughest new immigration law in a major crackdown on 'illegals'.
The new law affects education, housing and employment. It requires public schools to document students' immigration status and even makes it a crime to knowingly give an illegal immigrant a ride.
The bill also means police can arrest anyone suspected of being an illegal immigrant if they're stopped for any other reason.
Big clampdown: Alabama Gov. Robert Bentley after signing the bill on Thursday with Republican Sen. Scott Beason, one of the bill's sponsors to his side
- Police must detain someone they suspect of being in the country illegally if the person cannot produce proper documentation when stopped for any reason.
- It will be a crime to knowingly transport or harbour or provide housing for someone who is in the country illegally.
- Penalties will be imposed on businesses that knowingly employ someone without legal resident status. A company's business licence could be suspended or revoked.
- The law requires Alabama businesses to use a database called E-Verify to confirm the immigration status of all new employees.
- Public schools must determine, by review of birth certificates or sworn affidavits, the legal residency status of students. Schools in the state must publish figures on the numbers of immigrants who are enrolled in school.
Alabama employers also are now required to use a federal system called E-Verify to determine if new workers are in the country legally.
Gov. Robert Bentley said the law is America's toughest. Groups including the American Civil Liberties Union and the Montgomery-based Southern Poverty Law Center say they plan to challenge it.
Mary Bauer, the legal director for the Southern Poverty Law Center, said on Thursday that she expects a lawsuit to be filed before the provisions of the law are scheduled to take effect on September 1.
Mrs Bauer said: 'It is clearly unconstitutional. It's mean-spirited, racist and we think a court will enjoin it.'
Sam Brooks, of the SPLC's Immigrant Justice Project, said the new law will set back progress Alabama has made on civil rights and race relations.
He also said it would be costly for the state to enforce and defend the provisions of the law.
According to the 2010 U.S. census, 3.9 per cent — about 186,000 — of the state's nearly 4.8 million people were identified as Hispanic or Latino.
That's more than double the number reported in the 2000 census.
One of the sponsors, Republican Sen. Scott Beason of Gardendale said the new law would create jobs and put unemployed Alabama residents back to work.
He said: 'This will put thousands of Alabamians back in the workforce.'
Jared Shepherd, a lawyer for the ACLU, said the new law has nothing to do with jobs.
Undocumented: A migrant worker harvesting organic vegetables in Alabama
Controversial: Jan Brewer, governor of Arizona, is appealing against the legal challenges blocking parts of the immigration law she signed last year
'This is about trying to put anti-immigration sentiment into law,' Shepherd said, adding that the ACLU would join the SPLC and other groups in challenging the law in court.
He said he finds the provisions requiring schools to document the immigration status of students to be particularly troublesome.
He said he is concerned that immigrant parents will not send their children to school out of fear that they will be arrested because of their immigration status, the Associated Press reports.
Public schools will not be able to deny illegal immigrants an education, however.
Gov. Bentley said the bill was intended to get data about how many illegal immigrants attend public schools.
The governor, who campaigned on passing the toughest anti-illegal immigration bill possible, said he believes the measure can withstand legal challenges.
The House sponsor, Republican Rep. Micky Hammon of Decatur, said the bill was written so that if any part of it is determined to be unconstitutional or violate federal law, the rest will stand.
Alabama's law was modelled on a similar law passed in Arizona.
A federal judge blocked the most controversial parts of Arizona's law last year after the Justice Department sued.
A federal appeals court judge upheld the decision, and Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer has said she plans to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Neighboring Georgia also passed a law cracking down on immigration this year, and civil liberties groups have filed a lawsuit trying to block it.
Linton Joaquin, general counsel for the National Immigration Law Centre in Los Angeles, said the Alabama law stands out over other states because it covers all parts of an immigrant's life.
'It is a sweeping attack on immigrants and people of colour in general. It adds restrictions on education, housing and other areas.
'It is a very broad attack. The state does not have the right to create its own immigration regime,' Mr Joaquin said.
He said his organization plans to be involved in lawsuits challenging the new law, adding that it's already involved in challenges in Utah, Arizona, Indiana and Georgia.
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