SPECIAL REPORT:
Billionaire Michael Platt launches his brand-new platform eQuantom-AI
Due to the financial crisis around the world, Platt has
launched a new project promising to help UK citizens become
wealthier.
«It is well known that families around the world are suffering
from financial crisis, businesses are shutting down and people
are losing their jobs due to the global crisis.»
Michael Edward Platt is a British billionaire hedge fund manager.
He is the co-founder and managing director of BlueCrest Capital
Management, Europe's third-largest hedge-fund firm which he
co-founded in 2000.
He is Britain's wealthiest hedge fund manager according to the
Forbes Real Time Billionaires List, with an estimated wealth of
US$15.2 billion.
"BlueCrest Capital Management" has decided to start building their
project
"eQuantom-AI "
Michael Platt, asked to keep the project secret while it is being
worked on.
Now BlueCrest Capital Management has finally revealed eQuantom-AI and
are happy to announce that citizens of the United Kingdom are
amongst the first to try out this new platform along with the US,
Australia and Canada.
eQuantom-AI
is an innovative cryptocurrency trading platform, that according
to BlueCrest Capital Management,
can transform anyone into a millionaire within 3-4
months!
The idea that stands behind the project was simple: allow the
average person the opportunity to profit from the digital currency
boom. Even if they have absolutely no investing or technology
experience.
But due to the influx of investors and increased demand for the
platform, Michael Platt decided to close access to the platform
for everyone. The platform is private these days. Investors are
selected randomly. To try your luck, you need to register on the
site and if you are lucky, the manager will contact you after a
while.
At
eQuantom-AI , a user would simply make an initial deposit into the
platform, usually of £250 or more, and the automated trading algorithm
would start working.
Interview with Michael Platt, about
eQuantom-AI .
What Exactly Is eQuantom-AI And How Does IT WORK? Exclusive
interview with Michael Platt
The idea behind
eQuantom-AI
is straightforward:
to allow the average person to cash in on the cryptocurrency boom
which is still the most lucrative investment of the 21st century,
despite what most people think.
Although Bitcoin price has dropped from its all time high of
$64,863 per Bitcoin, traders are still making a killing. Why?
Because there are thousands of other cryptocurrencies besides
Bitcoin that being traded for huge profits on a daily basis.
Some of these cryptocurrencies include Ripple, Ethereum, Monero,
Zcash and they are still making returns of over 10,000% and higher
for ordinary people in the United Kingdom.
eQuantom-AI
lets you profit from all of these cryptocurrencies, even in a bear
market. It uses artificial intelligence () to automatically handle
long and short selling for you so you can make money around the
clock, even while you sleep.
eQuantom-AI
is backed by some of the smartest tech minds to ever exist.
Richard Branson, Elon Musk and Bill Gates just to
name a few.
We figured out that the best way to answer that question was to
put the claims made by Michael Platt to the test. We set up an
account and deposited the initial sum of £250.
Then all we needed to do was hit the “Start” button. Apparently,
the software would do everything else for us.
Before we even had a chance to respond to everyone's questions,
Platt interrupted and said with a smile on his face: "I've gone up
to £298.42 after just 8 minutes".
pon the English lakes for the locality in which to make her home,
and, finding no suitable house vacant, she resolved to build one
for herself. She purchased two acres of land, within half-a-mile
of the village of Ambleside; borrowed some money on mortgage from
a well-to-do cousin; had the plans drawn out under her own
instructions, and watched the house being built so that it should
suit her own tastes. It is a pretty little gabled house, built of
gray stone, and stands upon a small, rocky eminence—whence its
name, “The Knoll.” There is enough rock to hold the house, and to
allow the formation of a terrace about twenty feet wide in front
of the windows, then there comes the descent of the face of the
rock. At the foot of the rock is the garden. Narrow flights of
steps at either end of the terrace lead down to the greensward and
the flower-beds; in the centre[Pg 41] of these is a gray granite
sun-dial, with the characteristic motto around it: “Come Light!
Visit me!” ... Within, “The Knoll” is just a nice little residence
for a maiden lady, with her small household, and room for an
occasional guest.... The drawing-room has two large windows, one
of which descends quite to the floor, and is provided with two or
three stone steps outside, so that the inmates may readily step
forth on to the terrace. Hunters of celebrities were wont, in the
tourist season, not merely to walk round her garden and terrace
without leave, but even to mount the steps and flatten the tips of
their noses against her window. Objectionable as the liability to
this friendly attention would be felt by most of us, it was doubly
so to Miss Martineau because of her deafness, which precluded her
from receiving warning of her admirers’ approaches by the
crunching of their footsteps on the gravel, so that the first
intimation she would receive of their presence would be to turn
her head by chance and find the flattened nose and the peering
eyes against the window-pane. Her principles and her practice went
hand-in-hand in her domestic arrangements, as in her life
generally; and her kitchen was as airy, light and comfortable for
her maids as her drawing-room was for herself. The kitchen, too,
was provided with a bookcase for a servants’ library. There
lingers no small interest about the guest-chamber, where Harriet
Martineau received such guests as Charlotte Brontë, George Eliot,
Emerson, and Douglas Jerrold.... Climbing plants soon covered “The
Knoll” on every side. The ivy kept it green through all the year;
the porch was embowered in honeysuckle, clematis,
passion-flower[Pg 42] and Virginia creeper. Wordsworth, Macready,
and other friends of note planted trees for Harriet below the
terrace. A capable housewife. Her housekeeping was always well
done. Her own hands, indeed, as well as her head, were employed in
it on occasion. When in her home, she daily filled her lamp
herself. She dusted her own books, too, invariably. Sometimes she
did more. Soon after her establishment at the lakes ... a lady who
greatly reverenced her for her writings, called upon her in her
new home, accompanied by a gentleman friend. As the visitors
approached the house by the carriage-drive, they saw some one
perched on a set of kitchen steps, cleaning the drawing-room
windows. It was the famous authoress herself! She calmly went for
her trumpet, to listen to their business; and, when they had
introduced themselves she asked them in, and entered into an
interesting conversation on various literary topics. Before they
left she explained, with evident amusement at having been caught
at her housemaid’s duties, that the workmen had been long about
the house; that this morning, when the dirty windows might for the
first time be cleaned, one of her servants had gone off to marry a
carpenter, and the other to see the ceremony; and so the mistress,
tired of the dirt, had set to work to wash and polish the windows
for herself. Life at “The Knoll.” She rose very early; not
infrequently, in the winter, before daylight; and immediately set
out for a good[Pg 43] long walk. Sometimes, I am told, she would
appear at a farm-house, four miles off, before the cows were
milked. The old post-mistress recollects how, when she was making
up her early letter-bags, in the gray of the morning mists, Miss
Martineau would come down with her large bundle of correspondence,
and never failed to have a pleasant nod and smile, or a few kindly
inquiries. “I always go out before it is quite light,” writes Miss
Martineau to Mr. Atkinson ... “and in the fine mornings I go up to
the hill behind the church—the Kirkstone road.... When the little
shred of moon that is left, and the morning star, hang over
Wansfell, among the amber clouds of the approaching sunrise, it is
delicious.”... Returning home, she breakfasted at half-past seven;
filled her lamp ready for the evening, and arranged all household
matters; and by half-past eight was at her desk, where she worked
undisturbed till two, the early dinner-time. These business hours
were sacred, whether there were visitors in the house or not.
After dinner, however, she devoted herself to guests, if there
were any. Mrs. Fenwick Miller: ‘Harriet Martineau.’ Winter
evenings at Ambleside. In winter evenings I light the lamp, and
unroll my wool-work, and meditate or dream till the arrival of the
newspaper tells me that the tea has stood long enough.... After
tea, if there was news from the seat of war, I called in my maids,
who brought down the great atlas, and studied the chances of the
campaign with me.[Pg 44] Then there was an hour or two for
Montaigne or Bacon, or Shakespeare, or Tennyson, or some dear old
biography, or last new book from London—historical, moral, or
political. Then, when the house and neighborhood were asleep,
there was the half-hour on the terrace, or if the weather was too
bad for that, in the porch, whence I seldom or never came in
without a clear purpose for my next morning’s work. I believe
that, but for my country life, much of the benefit and enjoyment
of my travels, and also of my studies, would have been lost to me.
On my terrace, there were two worlds extended bright before me,
even when the midnight darkness hid from my bodily eyes all but
the outlines of the solemn mountains that surround our valley on
three sides, and the clear opening to the lake on the south. In
the one of those two worlds, I saw now the magnificent coast of
Massachusetts in autumn, or the flowery swamps of Louisiana, or
the forests of Georgia in spring, or the Illinois prairie in
summer; or the blue Nile, or the brown Sinai, or the gorgeous
Petra, or the view of Damascus from the Salahiey; or the Grand
Canal under a Venetian sunset, or the Black Forest in twilight, or
Malta in the glare of noon, or the broad desert, stretching away
under the stars, or the Red Sea, tossing its superb shells on
shore, in the pale dawn. That is one world, all comprehended
within my terrace wall, and coming up into the light at my call.
The other, and finer scenery, is of that world, only beginning to
be explored, of Science. Harriet Martineau: ‘Autobiography.’ Miss
Martineau as a hostess. The coach brought me to Miss Martineau’s
gate at[Pg 45] half-past six yesterday evening, and she was there,
with a beaming face, to welcome me.... We have been trudging
about, looking at cottages and enjoying the sight of the
mountains, spite of the rain and mist.... Miss M. is charming in
her own home—quite handsome from her animation and intelligence.
She came behind me, put her hands round me, and kissed me in the
prettiest way this evening, telling me she was so glad she had got
me here. Marian Evans: Letter to the Brays, 1852. Many of the most
interesting little stories in it [her ‘Autobiography’] about
herself and others she had told me, ... when I was staying with
her, and almost in the very same words. But they were all the
better for being told in her silvery voice. She was a charming
talker, and a perfect lady in her manners as a hostess. Marian
Evans [Lewes]: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 1877. ‘George Eliot’s Life,’
edited by J. W. Cross. New York: Harper & Bros., 1885.
Personal appearance. In the porch stood Miss Martineau herself. A
lady of middle height, “inclined,” as the novelists say, “to
embonpoint,” with a smile on her kindly face, and her trumpet at
her ear. She was at that time, I suppose, about fifty years of
age; her brown hair had a little gray in it, and was arranged with
peculiar flatness over a low, but broad forehead. I don’t think
she could ever have been pretty, but her features were not
uncomely, and their expression was gentle and motherly. James
Payn: ‘Some Literary Recollections.’ [Pg 46] One of her letters
described. Aunt Charles read us a clever letter from Harriet
Martineau, combining the smoker, the moralist, the political
economist, the gossip, and the woman. Caroline Fox: Journal
(1849). ‘Memories of Old Friends.’ Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott
& Co., 1882. Smoking. The degree of deafness, as I have said,
varied; and she tried all sorts of remedies. No one who knew her
would suspect her of anything “fast” or unfeminine, but under the
advice of some scientific person, or another, she tried smoking.
Cigars. I had the privilege of providing her privately with some
very mild cigars, and many and many a summer night have we sat
together for half an hour or so in her porch at “The Knoll,”
smoking. If some of the good people, her neighbors, had known of
that, it would, we agreed, have really given them something to
talk about. She only tried this remedy, if I remember right, for a
few months, but she fancied it had a beneficial effect upon her
hearing. For my part, I enjoyed nothing so much as these evenings.
James Payn: ‘Some Literary Recollections.’ A chiboque. Sleepless
nights were a source of great suffering to her in these latest
years. Under medical advice, she tried smoking as a means of
procuring better rest, with some success. She smoked usually
through the chiboque, which she had brought home with her from the
East, and which she had there learned to use, as she relates with
her customary simplicity and directness in the appendix to
‘Eastern Life’:[Pg 47] “I found it good for my health,” she says
there, “and I saw no more reason why I should not take it than why
English ladies should not take their glass of sherry at home—an
indulgence which I do not need. I continued the use of my chiboque
for some weeks after my return, and then only left it off because
of the inconvenience.” When health and comfort were to be promoted
by it, she resumed it. Mrs. Fenwick Miller: ‘Harriet Martineau.’
Charlotte Brontë’s account of a visit to Ambleside. I am at Miss
Martineau’s for a week. Her house is very pleasant, both within
and without; arranged at all points with admirable neatness and
comfort. Her visitors enjoy the most perfect liberty; what she
claims for herself, she allows them. I rise at my own hour,
breakfast alone. I pass the morning in the drawing-room, she in
her study. At two o’clock we meet, talk and walk till five—her
dinner hour—spend the evening together, when she converses
fluently and abundantly, and with the most complete frankness. I
go to my own room soon after ten, and she sits up writing letters.
She appears exhaustless in strength and spirits, and indefatigable
in the faculty of labor. She is a great and good woman; of course
not without peculiarities, but I have seen none as yet that annoy
me. She is both hard and warm-hearted, abrupt and affectionate. I
believe she is not at all conscious of her own absolutism. When I
tell her of it, she denies the charge, warmly; then I laugh at
her. Charlotte Brontë: Letter in Mrs. Gaskell’s ‘Life of Charlotte
Brontë.’ London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1857. [Pg 48] Her
ear-trumpet.Sense of humor. Owing to her keen intelligence, I
found it difficult to realize her extreme deafness, and used often
to address her when she was not prepared for it. She never lost
her sense of the absurdity of this practice, and I can see the
laughter in her kind eyes now, as she snatched up her trumpet. She
loved a good-natured pleasantry, even at her own expense.... A
ludicrous incident happened. I had got so well accustomed to her
ear-trumpet that I began to look upon it as a part of herself. It
was lying on the table, a good distance away from her, and having
some remark to make to her, I inadvertently addressed it to the
instrument, instead of her ear. Heavens, how we laughed! She had a
very keen sense of fun, of which, however, she was quite
unconscious. James Payn: ‘Some Literary Recollections.’ “Not to be
judged by writings alone.” Of my kind hostess, I cannot speak in
terms too high. Without being able to share all her
opinions—philosophical, political, or religious—I yet find a worth
and greatness in herself, and a consistency, and benevolence, and
perseverance in her practice, such as win the sincerest esteem and
affection. She is not a person to be judged by her writings alone,
but rather by her own deeds and life, than which nothing can be
more exemplary or noble. The government of her household is
admirably administered; all she does is well done, from the
writing of a history down to the quietest feminine occupation. No
sort of carelessness or neglect is allowed under her rule, and yet
she is not over-strict,[Pg 49] or too rigidly exacting; her
servants and her poor neighbors love as well as respect her.
Charlotte Brontë: Letter in Mrs. Gaskell’s ‘Life of Charlotte
Brontë.’ “Proud, not vain.” Proud, I think she was, but not in the
least vain; and the pride was rather the consciousness of power,
and the unconscious sense, so to speak, of absolute rectitude and
truthfulness.... The clear, quick apprehension of the nature and
merits of a question was her strong point, and she never talked or
wrote of what she did not understand, and saw at once how to make
a difficult matter intelligible to others. Henry G. Atkinson:
Letter to Maria Weston Chapman, published in the latter’s
‘Memorials of Harriet Martineau.’ Her egotism.Her conception of
heaven. Are not nearly all recent autobiographers egotists? A
number of such works have appeared during the last ten years, and
the position of the autobiographer has been in nearly every case
the same,—namely, that God did a good thing when he made him; but
that he should have made anybody else, and should have taken an
interest in the other individual equal to that which he manifested
in the autobiographer, is a proposition which he cannot bring
himself for a moment to consider. Two books in which this view is
conspicuous are the autobiographies of John Quincy Adams and Miss
Harriet Martineau. Carlyle is a mild egotist beside these writers.
Adams does not speak of himself as an individual, but as a cause
which he has espoused. Of the two, Miss[Pg 50] Martineau is the
more naïve. She is for arranging the world entirely from her own
point of view. For instance, she attacked the late Lord Lytton,
because he did not carry an ear-trumpet. Lord Lytton was deaf, and
preferred not to carry an ear-trumpet. Miss Martineau was deaf
also, and did carry one. She did not believe in the immortality of
the soul, and was very hard upon any one who was of a contrary
opinion. Her heaven, had her belief permitted her to have one,
would have been a place where they all sat round with ear-trumpets
and derided the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. —— ——:
‘Zweibak: or, Notes of a Professional Exile,’ in The Century,
February, 1886. Her lofty stand in money matters. It is well known
that a pension was offered to her by three Prime-ministers in
succession—Earl Grey, Lord John Russell, and Mr. Gladstone—which,
like Cæsar, she “did thrice refuse,” it being against her
principles to burden the State with any such obligation. And yet
she was entirely dependent upon that reed, the pen, for
subsistence. James Payn: ‘Some Literary Recollections.’ Her
needlework. She had a liking for the occupation [needlework] and
continued to do much of it all through her life. Many of her
friends can show handsome pieces of fancy work done by her hands.
Again and again she contributed to public objects by sending a
piece of her own beautiful needlework to be sold for the benefit
of a society’s funds. Not even in the busiest time of her literary
life did she ever[Pg 51] entirely cease to exercise her skill in
this feminine occupation. In fact, she made wool-work her artistic
recreation. Mrs. Fenwick Miller: ‘Harriet Martineau.’ An Ambleside
story. A right of way was in dispute, at one time, through certain
fields (a portion, I think, of Rydal Park), in the neighborhood of
Ambleside, and the owner closed them to the public. Miss
Martineau, though a philanthropist on a large scale, could also
(which is not so common with that class) pick up a pin for
freedom’s sake, and play the part of a village Hampden. When the
rest of her neighbors shrank from this contest with the Lord of
the Manor, she took up the cudgels for them, and “the little
tyrant of those fields withstood.” She alone, not, indeed, “with
bended bow and quiver full of arrows,” but with her ear-trumpet
and umbrella, took her walk through the forbidden land, as usual.
Whereupon the wicked lord (so runs the story, though I never heard
it from her own lips) put a young bull into the field. He attacked
the trespasser, or at all events prepared to attack her, but the
indomitable lady faced him and stood her ground. She was quite
capable of it, for she had the courage of her opinions, ... and,
at all events, whether from astonishment at her presumption, or
terror of the ear-trumpet (to which, of course, he had nothing to
say), the bull in the end withdrew his opposition, and suffered
her to pursue her way in peace. I wish I could add that she had
the good-fortune of another patriotic lady, “to take the tax
away,” but I am afraid the wicked lord succeeded in his designs.
More than once,[Pg 52] however, I have had pointed out to me over
the wall—for the bull was still there—the little eminence
wherefrom, with no weapon but her ear-trumpet (for she had her
umbrella over her head all the time to keep the sun off) this
dauntless lady withstood the horrid foe. James Payn: ‘Some
Literary Recollections.’ A good neighbor. I was pleased to find
that, notwithstanding her heresies, the common people in Ambleside
held her in gentle and kindly remembrance. She was a good
neighbor, charitable to all, considerate toward the unlettered,
never cynical or ill-tempered, always cheerful and happy as the
roses and ivy of “The Knoll” she so much loved. Moncure D. Conway,
in Harper’s Magazine, January, 1881. Her manner of working. I
wrote a vulgar, cramped, untidy scrawl till I was past twenty;
till authorship made me forget manner in matter, and gave freedom
to my hand. After that I did very well, being praised by
compositors for legibleness first, and in course of time for other
qualities.... I found that it would not do to copy what I wrote,
and discontinued the practice forever—thus saving an immense
amount of time which, I humbly think, is wasted by other authors.
There was no use in copying it. I did not alter; and if ever I did
alter, I had to change back again; and I, once for all, committed
myself to a single copy.... I have always used the same method in
writing. I have always made sure of what I meant to say, and[Pg
53] then written it down without care or anxiety—glancing at it
again only to see if any words were omitted or repeated, and not
altering a single phrase in a whole work. I mention this because I
think I perceive that great mischief arises from the notion that
botching in the second place will compensate for carelessness in
the first.... It has always been my practice to devote my best
strength to my work, and the morning hours have therefore been
sacred to it, from the beginning. I never pass a day without
writing, and the writing is always done in the morning. I have
seldom written anything more serious than letters by candlelight.
[While at work on the ‘Political Economy Tales’] on an average I
wrote twelve pages a day on large letter paper (quarto, I believe
it is called), the page containing thirty-three lines. Desk, etc.
The impending war [1853] rendered desirable an article on
England’s Foreign Policy, for the Westminster Review, and I agreed
to do it. I went to the editor’s house for the purpose.... On
taking possession of my room there, and finding a capital desk on
my table, with a singularly convenient slope, and of an admirable
height for writing without fatigue, it struck me that during my
whole course of literary labor, of nearly five-and-thirty years,
it had never once occurred to me to provide myself with a proper,
business-like desk. I had always written on blotting-paper, on a
flat table, except when in a lazy mood, in winter, I had written
as short-sighted people do (as Mrs. Somerville and “Currer Bell”
always did), on a board, or something stiff, held in the left
hand. I wrote a good deal of the ‘Political[Pg 54] Economy’ in
that way, and with steel pens, ... but it was radically
uncomfortable; and I have ever since written on a table, and with
quill pens. Now I was to begin on a new and luxurious method—just,
as it happened, at the close of my life’s work. Mr. Chapman
obtained for me a first-rate Chancery-lane desk, with all manner
of conveniences, and of a proper sanitary form; and, moreover,
some French paper of various sizes, which has spoiled me for all
other paper; ink to correspond; and a pen-maker, of French
workmanship, suitable to eyes which were now feeling the effects
of years and over-work. Harriet Martineau: ‘Autobiography.’
Appearance of MS. I have seen the original manuscript of one of
the ‘Political Economy Tales.’ The writing has evidently been done
as rapidly as the hand could move; every word that will admit of
it is contracted, to save time. “Socy.,” “opporty.,” “agst.,”
“abt.,” “independce.,” these were amongst the abbreviations
submitted to the printer’s intelligence; not to mention commoner
and more simple words, such as “wh.,” “wd.,” and the like. The
calligraphy, though very readable, has a somewhat slipshod look.
Thus, there is every token of extremely rapid composition. Yet the
corrections on the MS. are few and trifling; the structure of a
sentence is never altered, and there are but seldom emendations of
even principal words. The manuscript is written (in defiance of
law and order), on both sides of the paper. Mrs. Fenwick Miller:
‘Harriet Martineau.’ Fluctuations of mind about work. The
fluctuations of mind which I underwent about[Pg 55] every number
of my work, were as regular as the tides. I was fired with the
first conception, and believed that I had found a treasure. Then,
while at work, I alternately admired and despised what I wrote.
When finished, I was in absolute despair; and then, when I saw it
in print, I was surprised to see how well it looked. Harriet
Martineau: ‘Autobiography.’ George Eliot on ‘The Crofton Boys.’
What an exquisite little thing that is of Harriet Martineau’s—‘The
Crofton Boys!’ I have had some delightful crying over it. There
are two or three lines in it that would feed one’s soul for a
month. Hugh’s mother says to him, speaking of people who have
permanent sorrow, “They soon had a new and delicious pleasure,
which none but the bitterly disappointed can feel—the pleasure of
rousing their souls to bear pain, and of agreeing with God
silently, when nobody knows what is in their hearts.” Marian
Evans: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 1845. ‘George Eliot’s Life,’ edited by
J. W. Cross. Carlyle on ‘Deerbrook’. How do you like it
[Deerbrook]? people ask. To which there are serious answers
returnable, but few so good as none. Thomas Carlyle: Letter to
Emerson, 17th April, 1839. On ‘The Hour and the Man.’ The good
Harriet is not well; but keeps a very[Pg 56] courageous heart. She
lives by the shore of the beautiful blue Northumbrian Sea; “a
many-sounding” solitude which I often envy her. She writes
unweariedly.... You saw her Toussaint l’Ouvertour; how she has
made such a beautiful “black Washington” ... of a rough-handed,
hard-hearted, semi-articulate, gabbling Negro; and of the
horriblest phasis that ‘Sansculottism’ can exhibit, of a Black
Sansculottism, a musical Opera or Oratorio in pink stockings! It
is very beautiful. Beautiful as a child’s heart,—and in so shrewd
a head as that. She is now writing express Children’s Tales, which
I calculate I shall find more perfect. Thomas Carlyle: Letter to
Emerson, 21st February, 1841. ‘Correspondence of T. Carlyle and R.
W. Emerson.’ FOOTNOTES: [1]Haworth Churchyard, by Matthew Arnold.
[2]The portrait alluded to is probably the caricature by D.
Maclise, representing Miss Martineau seated, with a cat perched
upon her shoulder, before a cooking-stove. [Pg 57] AURORE DUPIN
(DUDEVANT). (George Sand.) 1804-1876. [Pg 59] AURORE DUPIN
(DUDEVANT). (George Sand.) Aurore Dupin was born in Paris, July 5,
1804. Her father, Maurice Dupin de Franceuil, was the son of an
illegitimate daughter of Marshal Saxe. His wife, Sophie Delaborde,
was “a child of the people.” The death of Captain Dupin, in 1808,
left little Aurore “a bone of contention” between her plebeian
mother and her patrician grandmother. Most of her youth was passed
with the latter, at Nohant, in Berri. Her education was
irregularly carried on under an old tutor named Deschatres. At
thirteen, she was sent to the Convent des Anglaises, at Paris.
Here a strong religious enthusiasm took possession of her; and she
desired to become a nun. But, her grandmother having removed her
from the convent, her lonely study of the works of philosophers
and metaphysicians wrought a change, and she “became a Protestant
without knowing it.” In 1821 the grandmother died. Aurore lived
unhappily with her mother, a woman of violent temper (to whom she
was nevertheless deeply attached), and this fact may have
influenced her in accepting the hand of M. Casimir Dudevant, to
whom she was married in 1822. The disparity in age was not great,
M. Dudevant being twenty-seven; but the marriage[Pg 60] proved a
most uncongenial one. In 1823, Aurore’s beloved son, Maurice, was
born; in 1828, her daughter, Solange. In 1831 she made an
arrangement with her husband by which she was free to spend every
alternate three months, in Paris, working with her pen. He allowed
her 3,000 francs a year. The education of the children was
carefully provided for in their compact. And now Aurore’s career
really began. In 1832 she published, under the pseudonym, “George
Sand,” her first novel, Indiana. This created a sensation and
established her fame. It was followed during her long life by
Valentine, 1832,[3] Lélia, 1833, Jacques, 1834, Le Secrétaire
intime, 1834, André, 1835, Leone Leoni, 1835, Simon, 1836,
Mauprat, 1837, La Dernière Aldini, 1837, Les Maîtres Mosaïstes,
1837, Spiridion, 1840, Le Compagnon du Tour de France, 1840,
Horace, 1842, Consuelo, 1842-1843, La Comtesse de Rudolstadt,
1843-4, Jeanne, 1844, Le Meunier d’ Angibault, 1845, La Mare au
Diable, 1846, La Péché d’ M. Antoine, 1847, Lucrezia Floriani,
1847, La Petite Fadette, 1849, François le Champi, 1850, Le
Château des Désertes, 1851, Les Maîtres Sonneurs, 1853, Les Beaux
Messieurs de Bois Doré, 1858, Elle et Lui, 1859, L’ Homme de
Neige, 1859, Constance Verrier, 1860, Jean de la Roche, 1860, Le
Marquis de Villemer, 1861, Valvèdre, 1861, La Ville Noire, 1861,
Mlle. La Quintinie, 1863, La Confession d’ une Jeune Fille, 1865,
Cadio, 1868, Malgré tout, 1870, Pierre qui roule, 1870, Nanon,
1872, Contes d’ une Grand’ mère, 1873, and numerous other novels
and tales; Cosima, 1840, Claudie, 1851, Le Mariage de Victorine,
1851, Le Pressoir, 1853,[Pg 61] Maître Favilla, 1855, and other
plays; Letters d’ un Voyageur (written 1834-6), Un Hiver à
Majorque, 1842, Histoire de ma Vie, 1854-5, Journal d’ un Voyageur
pendant le Siège, 1872, Impressions et Souvenirs, 1873, and other
records of experience. In 1836, M. and Mme. Dudevant finally
separated, and the latter was known henceforward as Mme. Sand. She
had from this time full control of her children, to whom she was
devoted. Her intimacy with Alfred de Musset, broken off after
their journey to Italy, in 1834, is well known and variously
commented upon. Chopin was also her ardent admirer. She took to
the end a deep interest in public affairs. The last years of her
life were passed quietly at Nohant, where she died, June 8, 1876.
The brief remarks on George Sand, by Charlotte Brontë and Mrs.
Browning, have interest, as the words of sister authors who (as
well as George Eliot), are sometimes classed with her. “The
immense vibration of George Sand’s voice upon the ear of Europe,”
says Mr. Arnold, “will not soon die away. Her passions and her
errors have been abundantly talked of. She left them behind her,
and men’s memory of her will leave them behind also. There will
remain of her to mankind the sense of benefit and stimulus from
the passage upon earth of that large and frank nature, of that
large and pure utterance.... There will remain an admiring and
ever-widening report of that great and ingenuous soul, simple,
affectionate, without vanity, without pedantry, human, equitable,
patient, kind.” [Pg 62] Reminiscences of her childhood. While I
was yet very young, my mother commenced the cultivation of my
intellectual faculties; my mind was neither particularly sluggish
nor particularly active; left to itself it might have developed
but slowly. I was rather backward in talking, but having once
begun to speak I learned words very rapidly, and, when but four
years old, I could read fluently. I was brought up with my cousin
Clotilde. Our respective mothers taught us our prayers, and I
recollect that I used to repeat mine by heart without a mistake,
and also without having any idea of their meaning, except as
regards the following words, which we were made to repeat when our
little heads were laid upon the same pillow: “Mon Dieu, je vous
donne mon cœur!” (My God, I give my heart to Thee!) I do not know
why I understood those words better than the rest, for they are
highly metaphysical; but certainly I did understand them, and it
was the only part of my prayers that conveyed to me any idea
either of God or myself.... My mother used to sing to me a rhyme
on Christmas Eve; but as that only occurred once a year, I do not
recollect it. What I have not forgotten is the absolute belief
which I had in the descent down the chimney of Old Father
Christmas, a good old man with a snowy beard, who, during the
night, as the clock struck twelve, was to come and place in my
little shoe a present which I should find upon awaking. Twelve
o’clock at night! that mysterious hour unknown to children, and
which is represented to them as the impossible limit to which they
can keep awake! What incredible efforts did I not make to resist
my tendency to sleep before the appearance of the little[Pg 63]
old man! I felt anxious yet afraid to see him! But I could never
keep awake long enough, and the following morning my first anxiety
was to go and examine my shoe in the fire-place. What emotion did
I not feel at sight of the white paper parcel! for Father
Christmas was extremely clean in his ways, and never failed to
carefully wrap up his offering. I used to jump out of bed and run
barefooted to seize my treasure. It was never a very magnificent
affair, for we were not wealthy! It used to be a little cake, an
orange, or simply a nice rosy apple. But, nevertheless, it seemed
so precious to me that I scarcely dared to eat it. George Sand:
‘Histoire de ma Vie,’ quoted by Raphaël Ledos de Beaufort, in
‘Letters of George Sand.’
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MAKE no claim that the house wherein I dwell is a perfect one; it
is my first house—a fledgling. One must build at least thrice, it
has been truly observed, to obtain the perfected dwelling, and
still there will remain room for improvement. So many things go to
make up the ideal house, it is beyond human possibility to combine
them all; while even during the process of construction one’s
tastes are liable to change or become subject to modification. To
the most of mankind a single venture is sufficient; only
architects build more than once for a pastime. For the sole office
of the architect is to plan; the province of 10the builder to
delay. The asylums teem with victims to the vexations of
house-building. Having money to make and not to disburse, with no
further care than to complete the work in hand with the utmost
leisure, the architect and builder pass through the ordeal
unscathed, and remain to lure new victims. One exception I recall.
Picturesquely situated on the eastern coast, within hearing of the
surge and rising amid the forest-growth, stands an untenanted
villa. The imposing exterior is of massive stone, and all that
unlimited wealth and taste could contribute has been lavished upon
the interior. The mansion was completed within the specified time,
but during its construction architect and builder both died, the
owner living only three days after its completion. From the
placing of the foundation-stone to the prospective fire in the
hearth—from commencement to completion—who may foresee the
possibilities? Ever man proposes while Fate disposes. Plans look
so feasible on paper, and building seems so delightfully facile in
theory—so much time, so much money, and your long-dreamed-of
castle in Spain is a reality. But, like the quest of a German
professor I once knew who was searching for a wife who must be
rich, beautiful, young, angelic, and not afraid of 11a mouse, the
perfect house is difficult to attain; while plans often resemble
the summer excursions one takes with the mind during winter,
apparently so easy to carry out and yet so unfrequently realized.
We forget the toilsome climb up the mountain where we arrive,
perchance, to find the view shrouded in mist; or a cold spell sets
in when we reach the seashore; or heavy rains render the
long-contemplated angling trip a dismal failure. If we leave the
house to the architect, he builds merely for himself—he builds his
house, not yours. You must be the idealist of your own ideal. “Our
so-called architects,” says Richard Jefferies, “are mere
surveyors, engineers, educated bricklayers, men of hard, straight
ruler and square, mathematically accurate, and utterly devoid of
feeling. You call in your practical architect, and he builds you a
brick box. The princes of Italy knew better; they called in the
poet and the painter, the dreamers, to dream for them.” How the
penetrating insight of Montaigne pierced the mask of the
architect: “The Merchant thrives not but by the licentiousness of
youth; the Husbandman but by dearth of corne; the Architect but by
the ruine of houses!” Perhaps the easiest way out of the
difficulty is to secure a house already constructed 12that will
meet your requirements as nearly as may be. But the mere building,
the foundation, construction, architectural details, and interior
arrangement are only a small part of numerous vital factors that
should enter into the question of the house and home. There are
equally the considerations of situation, neighborhood,
accessibility, and a score of like important features to be
seriously meditated on. One can not afford to make mistakes in
building or in marrying. “In early manhood,” says Cato, “the
master of a family must study to plant his ground. As for
building, he must think a long time about it.” The external
construction is, indeed, the least part of building—there is still
the decorating and the furnishing. Wise is he who weighs and
ponders ere he decides upon the location of his house, especially
if he would be near the town. For in the ideal home I would unite
many things, including pure air, sufficient elevation, pleasant
views, the most suitable exposure, good soil, freedom from noise,
and the natural protection from wind afforded by trees. “Let our
dwelling be lightsome, if possible; in a free air and near a
garden,” is the advice of the philosopher, Pierre du Moulin. Very
apposite are old Thomas Fuller’s directions for a site—“Chiefly
choose a wholesome air, for air is a 13dish one feeds on every
minute, and therefore it need be good.” And again: “Light (God’s
eldest daughter) is a principal beauty in a building, and a
pleasant prospect is to be respected.” In the chapter of the
Essays, on Smells and Odors, the author pertinently observes: “The
principall care I take, wheresoever I am lodged, is to avoid and
be far from all manner of filthy, foggy, ill-savouring, and
unwholesome aires. These goodly Cities of strangely seated Venice
and huge-built Paris, by reason of the muddy, sharp, and offending
savours which they yield; the one by her fennie and marish
situation, the other by her durtie uncleannesse and continuall
mire, doe greatly alter and diminish the favor which I bear them.”
All these desiderata are well-nigh impossible to unite in the
city. There all manner of nuisances necessarily
exist—manufactories which discharge noxious smoke and soot, the
clangor of bells and whistles, an atmosphere more or less charged
with unwholesome exhalations. This more particularly in summer; in
winter I grant the city has its charms and advantages. Wealth may
sometimes combine the delights of urban and rural life, as when a
large residence plot is retained in a pleasant neighborhood of the
town. But even unlimited means can rarely procure a 14place of
this description, which comes by inheritance rather than by
choosing, and in the end becomes too valuable to retain. Besides,
however fine the ancestral trees and endeared the homestead, it
must still lack the repose of the country, the free expanse of
sky, the unfettered breadth of the fields. When I look about me I
find the combination I would attain a difficult one to secure in
almost any city. If I build in the suburbs, upon the most
fashionable avenue, its approaches may be disagreeable and the
surrounding landscape flat and uninviting. The opposite quarter of
the suburbs, the main northern residence avenue, will be windy
during winter. If I locate westward there may be factories and
car-shops to constantly offend the ear; if I move eastward
unsavory odors may assail, and if I select a site in yet another
neighborhood that commends itself for its elevation and pleasant
society, there may be the smoke and soot of neighboring chimneys
to defile the air and intrude themselves unceasingly into my
dwelling. The country-seat sufficiently removed from town, and yet
comparatively accessible, alone may yield, during the greater
portion of the year, all the desired qualifications of the ideal
home. Does not Béranger truly sing— 15Cherchons loin du bruit de
la ville Pour le bonheur un sûr asile. Seek we far from the city’s
noise A refuge safe for peaceful joys. And have not all the poets
before him apostrophized the delights of a country life? Why not
the town-house, and also the country-seat—a hibernaculum for the
winter, and a villeggiatura for the summer? Unfortunately, this
would involve constructing two houses, meeting a double building
liability, harboring two sets of worries; and, moreover, one’s
library, however modest, can not well be disarranged or
periodically shifted from one place to another. The old Latins
were distinguished as we well know for their love of the country.
Virgil, Ovid, Tibullus, and Terence all had their country-seats.
Horace, in addition to the Sabine farm, possessed his cottage at
Tivoli, and longed for a third resort at Sorrento. Pliny the
Younger, and Cicero rode seventeen miles from Rome to Tusculum
daily to gain repose. Pliny’s letters attest his intense fondness
for rural surroundings. The holder of numerous country-houses, he
has described two of them very minutely, his descriptions giving
to posterity the most reliable and truthful account of the old
Roman villas. Of all his villas, including those at Tusculum,
Præneste, Tibur, 16several on Lake Como, and his Laurentine and
Tuscan resorts, the two latter were his especial favorites, whose
fascinations he never tires of recounting. Especially attractive
is his account of Laurentium: the apartments so planned as to
command the most pleasing views; the dining-room built out into
the sea, ever washed by the advancing wave; the terrace before the
gallery redolent with the scent of violets; the gallery itself so
placed that the shadow of the building was thrown on the terrace
in the forenoon; and at the end of the gallery “the little garden
apartment” looking on one side to the terrace, on the other to the
sea; his elaborate bath-rooms and dressing-rooms, his tennis-court
and tower, and his own sleeping-room carefully constructed for the
exclusion of noise. “My house is for use, and not for show,” he
exclaims; “I retire to it for a little quiet reading and writing,
and for the bodily rest which freshens the mind.” One side of the
spacious sitting-room invited the morning, the other the afternoon
sun. One room focused the sunlight the entire day. In the walls of
this his study was “a book-case for such works as can never be
read too often.” The Tuscan villa was on a still more extensive
scale, the house facing the south, and adorned with a broad, long
colonnade, 17in front of which reposed a terrace embellished with
numerous figures and bounded with a hedge of box from whence one
descended to the lawn inclosed with evergreens shaped into a
variety of forms. This, in turn, he states, was fenced in by a
box-covered wall rising by step-like ranges to the top, beyond
which extended the green meads, fields, and thickets of the Tuscan
plain, tempered on the calmest days by the breeze from the
neighboring Apennines. The dining-room on one extremity of the
terrace commanded the magnificent prospect, and almost cooled the
Falernian. There, too, are luxurious summer and winter rooms, a
tennis-court, a hippodrome for horse exercise, shaded marble
alcoves in the gardens, and the play of fountain and ripple of
running water. The long epistle to Domitius Apollinaris,
descriptive of the Tuscan retreat, he concludes by saying: “You
will hardly think it a trouble to read the description of a place
which I am persuaded would charm you were you to see it.” It was
the delightful situation and the well cared for gardens of Pliny’s
country-seats, it will be seen, no less than the refined elegance
and the conveniences of the splendid houses themselves, of which
Pliny was mainly his own architect, that rendered them so
attractive. Assuredly he must 18have been a most accomplished
house-builder and artist-architect; for, in addition to the many
practical and artistic features he has enumerated with such
precision, he specifies a room so contrived that when he was in it
he seemed to be at a distance from his own house. But even Pliny’s
wealth and inventive resources, much as they contributed to his
comfort, could not combine everything. He could not bring
Laurentium to him; he must needs go to her. The daily ride of
seventeen miles and back to the city must have been irksome during
bad weather; and even amid all his luxury and beauty of scenery he
bewails the lack of running water at Laurentium. Luxurious and
convenient as were the old Roman villas, they were built with only
one story, in which respect at least the modern house is an
improvement upon the house of the ancients; and there yet remain
other beautiful sites than those along the Tyrrhenian sea or in
the vale of Ustica. Whether the house be situated in the country
or in the town, whether it be large or small, it is apparent that
the site and the exposure are of primary importance. So far as
situation is concerned, a rise of ground and an easterly exposure,
with the living-rooms on the south side, is undoubtedly the
pleasantest. During the summer the 19prevailing west wind blows
the dust of the street in the opposite direction; during winter
the living-rooms are open to the light and sun. The comfort of the
house during summer, and the outer prospect from within during
winter, will depend in no small degree upon the proper planting of
the grounds. Deciduous trees, and here the variety is great, will
shade and cool it in summer, evergreens will furnish and warm its
surroundings in winter; while for a great portion of the year the
hardy flower-garden, including the shrubberies that screen the
grounds from the highway, and the climbers which disburse their
bloom and fragrance over its verandas and porches, will contribute
largely to its beauty and attractiveness. Somehow I can not look
upon my house by itself, without including as accessories, nay, as
essential parts of it, its outward surroundings and external
Nature—the woods whence its joists and rafters were hewed, the
earth that supplied its mortar, brick, and stone, the coal whence
it derives its light and heat, the trees that ward off the wind in
winter and shield it from the sun in summer, the garden which
contributes its flowers, the orchards and vineyards that supply
its fruits, the teeming fields and pastures that continuously
yield the largess 20of their corn, and flocks, and herds. From
each of these my house and I receive a tithe. My purpose, however,
even were I able to do the subject justice, is not to treat of the
adornment of gardens, of architectural styles, expression of
purpose in building, or the proper exterior form for the American
town-house and country villa. There remain, nevertheless, some
features of the interior of the home to which I would fain call
attention, though even here, more than in the matter of the
exterior, opinions necessarily differ. Every house, methinks,
should possess its distinctive character, its individual sentiment
or expression; and this depends less upon the architect and the
professional decorator than upon the taste reflected by the
occupants. And yet there is nothing so bizarre or atrocious that
it will not please some; there exists nothing so perfect as to
please all. Shall the ideal house be large or small? Excellent
results may follow in either case in intelligent, thoughtful
hands. Where money is merely a secondary object, then the great
luxuriously furnished rooms, the lofty ceilings, the grand halls
and staircases, the picture gallery, the music, billiard, and ball
rooms, the house of magnificent distances and perspectives. Still
man is not content; for such a house, to 21be beautiful, calls for
constant care, a retinue of servants, a blaze of light, a round of
visitors and entertainments to populate its vast apartments and
render it companionable. The house to entertain in and the house
to live in are generally two separate things; but, of the two, you
want to live in your house more than to entertain in it.
Doubtless, even to those possessed of abundant means, the
medium-sized house, sufficiently roomy for all ordinary purposes
and yet cosy enough for family comfort, is the most satisfactory.
In daily domestic life you do not become lost and absorbed in its
magnitude; and for the matter of entertainments, on a large scale,
you always have the resource of a “hall,” with no further trouble
beyond that of issuing the invitations and liquidating the bills.
In the ideal dwelling-house of medium size even this will be
dispensed with, while still preserving the charm of privacy—one
has simply to add a supplementary supper-room and an ample
ball-room, to be thrown open only on special occasions for the
accommodation of the overflow. Thus it would be possible to avoid
a barn to live in, and a cote to entertain in. The great thing in
house planning is to think ahead, and still think ahead. The hall
which looks so spacious on paper is 22sure to contract, and
ordinary-sized rooms will shrink perceptibly when they come to be
furnished. It is important that the spaces between the doors and
windows, the proportionate height of the doors and windows, the
many little conveniences, and innumerable minor yet major details,
like the placing of mantels, registers, chandeliers and
side-lights, be planned by the occupant, and not left to the mercy
of the architect. The latter will place the mantel on the side of
a long, narrow room, thereby diminishing the width several feet,
when it should go at the end. He will hang the doors so they will
bump together, or open on the side you do not want them to open
on. If he concede you a spacious hall and library, he will clip on
the vestibule, or be a miser when he doles out the space for the
stairway landing or the butler’s pantry. And what architect will
stop to think of that most important of household institutions—a
roomy, convenient, concealed catch-all, or rather a series of
catch-alls! Even so simple a contrivance as an invisible small
wardrobe in the wall adjoining the entrance—a receptacle for hats,
wraps, and waterproofs—he has never yet devised. Every hall must
of necessity be littered up with that hideous contrivance, a
hat-rack, in a more or less offensive form, 23when at a touch a
panel in the wainscot might fly open to joyfully engulf the outer
vesture of visitors. You must see your house planned and furnished
with the inward eye ere the foundation is laid, and exercise the
clairvoyant’s art if you would not be disappointed when it is
finally ready for habitation. The question of closet-room is best
left to the mistress of the house, otherwise it is certain to be
stinted; and it were economy in the end to secure the services of
a competent chef to plan the kitchen and its accessories—that
tributary of the home through whose savory or unsavory channels so
great a wave of human enjoyment or dolor flows. It is with houses
very much as it is with gardens—no two are ever precisely alike;
so far at least as the interior of the former is concerned. Both
reflect, or should reflect, through a hundred different ways and
niceties of adjustment and arrangement, the individual tastes of
those who are instrumental in their creation. The ideal house must
first be conceived by those who are to dwell in it, modeled
according to their requirements, mirroring their ideas, their
refinement, and their conceptions of the useful and the beautiful.
By different persons these ends are approached by different ways.
So long as we attain the desired end, the route thereto is of
little consequence. 24But in the ideal house, it may be observed,
a little money and a good deal of taste go a very great way. All
the eyes of Argus and all the clubs of Hercules must need be
yours, would you see your house perfectly planned and perfectly
constructed. The terrible gauntlet one has to run! He who builds
should have nothing to divert his mind from the task. It is the
work of a lifetime crowded into a year. And when all is done, and
the lights are turned on and the house is peopled with its guests,
who is there that is fully content with the result of his labor?
who that finds in the fruition the full promise of the bloom? The
perfect house in itself exists no more than the perfect man or
woman. We can at best set up an exalted standard of excellence to
approximate as nearly as we may. It is very much in building as it
is in life, where content with what we have is, after all, the
true source of happiness. “I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse,
and a turtle-dove, and am still on their trail,” is the burden of
Walden. How many of us are not likewise in quest of the something
that ever eludes? When we think we have come up with the fox, it
is but his shadow we seize; he himself has already vanished round
the ravine. We follow, but may not overtake, 25at will, the siren
that the poet beckoned for in vain: Ah, sweet Content! where doth
thine harbor hold? Is it in churches with religious men Which
please the gods with prayers manifold, And in their studies
meditate it then? Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear, Be
where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbor here.[1] 1. Barnabe Barnes.
What philosopher among all who have moralized and analyzed has
discovered the sought-for stone? Amiel failed in the pursuit: “I
am always waiting for the woman and the work which shall be
capable of taking entire possession of my soul, and of becoming my
end and aim.” “A man’s happiness,” says Alphonse Karr, in an
apothegm worthy of La Bruyère, “consists in that which he has not
got, or that which he no longer has.” The coveted bauble palls
when it is finally ours, the “dove” escapes, and we all grow old.
Absolute happiness flees when we enter our ’teens. Methinks the
French poet Chénier has resolved the experience of most of us with
reference to a certain phase of life as felicitously as any of
those who have endured and felt: Tout homme a ses douleurs. Mais
aux yeux de ses frères Chacun d’un front serein déguise ses
misères, Chacun ne plaint que soi. Chacun dans son ennui Envie un
autre humain qui se plaint comme lui. 26Nul des autres mortels ne
mesure les peines, Qu’ils savent tous cacher comme il cache les
siennes, Et chacun, l’œil en pleurs, en son cœur douloureux Se
dit: Excepté moi, tout le monde est heureux. Each man his sorrows
hath; but, in his brothers’ eyes, Each one with brow serene his
troubles doth disguise. Each of himself complains; each one, in
weariness, Envies a fellow-man who mourns in like distress. None
measureth the pains that all as well conceal As he himself doth
hide the griefs that he doth feel; And each, with tearful eye,
says in his sorrowing heart, Excepting me, the world with
happiness hath part. Yet, I like to think, and cherish the
thought, when the cloud reveals no silver lining, that however
disappointing some phases of life may be, some experiences of
human character, there are bright days and pleasant places ahead
in the future, somewhere and sometime. Happiness is coy at the
best, fickle in bestowing her favors; and we find her the more
delightful, possibly, in that, like the sunshine, she comes and
goes. We awaken some morning to find her present, and the next
morning she has flown. “It sometimes seemeth that when we least
think on her she is pleased to sport with us.” So many she has to
minister to that she has necessarily but a brief period to remain.
Still I see her ever laughing with the children at play, and find
her lingering where industry abides. Beside the humble board of
the laborer she is often found, while frequently passing by the
homes of 27the rich. Over gardens and fields she hovers on
pleasant days of spring, and on blustering winter nights I hear
the rustle of her wings above the poet’s page. The sunshine that
sifts through the window, warming and gilding all my surroundings,
is mine to-day; to-morrow it may stream elsewhere. It is all the
brighter when it comes; but to possess it I must open wide the
casement to let in the beams. Climbing with the sunny Rector of
Eversley to the lonely tarn amid the hills—you have read and
admired Chalk-Stream Studies; or, if not, you have that enjoyment
in store—I recall the moral that adorns this delightful essay.
“What matter,” he happily reasons, “if, after two hours of such
enjoyment, he (the angler) goes down again into the world of man
with empty creel or with a dozen pounders or two-pounders,
shorter, gamer, and redder-fleshed than ever came out of Thames or
Kennet? What matter? If he has not caught them, he might have
caught them; he has been catching them in imagination all the way
up; and if he be a minute philosopher, he holds that there is no
falser proverb than that devil’s beatitude, ‘Blessèd is he who
expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.’ Say, rather:
‘Blessèd is he who expecteth everything, for he 28enjoys
everything once, at least; and, if it falls out true, twice
also.’” And with this gentle spirit, despite his many trials,
Charles Kingsley lived on through life, shedding sunshine and
cheer from the vine-embowered rectory at Eversley. His house was
large enough for his personal comforts, for the entertainment of
his chosen friends, and for the satisfaction of his domestic
requirements; and this sufficed. Reflecting the “sweetness and
light” of his own nature, it became the perfect house to him for
the reason that he was satisfied with his surroundings. The ideal
home is largely the handiwork of the contented mind; and if before
we build we learn to extract the finer essences of things, we may
then pluck the rose where others only find the thorn.
We just received news that as of today (
Tuesday, May 2, 2023
) almost all positions are filled up for United Kingdom residents.
eQuantom-AI
can only accept a limited number of total users to keep the profit
per user is high. As of right now, there are still (37) spots
left, so hurry up and
sign up now to secure your spot.
Add a comment
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I've been trading with for the last few weeks and made a small profit of £2,300. I'm loving it!
Reply. 13 . Like . 12 minutes ago
Tanya Porquez
I saw on the News and signed up yesterday, I'm up around £25.
Reply. 6 . Like . 13 minutes ago
Jennifer Jackson Mercer
A friend of mine used it and recommended it, so I'll look into it.
Reply. 19 . Like . 25 minutes ago
David Barrott
It is so easy to use, you just deposit money and the robot does all the work for you.
Reply. 43 . Like . about an hour ago
Amanda Gibson
I saw this on the news. Thank you for sharing this article!
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Julie Keyse
I've heard so much about bitcoin and everybody was using it, I'm going to give this a try!
Reply. Like . 2 hours ago
Peter Williams
I've made over £1,430 after just a week, I'm so close to leaving my job and doing this full time.
Reply. 12 . Like . 2 hours ago
Kirsten Bauman Riley
I bought my first bitcoin yesterday and I'm really excited to see what this can do for me over the coming days.
Reply. 30 . Like . 2 hours ago
Celia Kilgard
worked for me! It worked just like I thought it would. It was easy enough and I just want others to know when something works.
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Alanna 'martin' Payne
Thanks for the info, just started using the platform.
Reply. 16 . Like . 2 hours ago
Logan Chang
Been so busy with my kids lately, but this fits in just fine. I've traded up around £190 in 4 days. It's small, but a really good start!
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Mark Fadlevich
I've been so impressed by this, I've deposited over £500 into my account so far and made back more than 4 times that amount.
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Ashley O'Brien Berlin
Really easy to use and really fast. I'm not really a technical person, but I got the hang of this easy. It has made me around £130 after just a day!!
Reply. 33 . Like . 2 hours ago
Amanda Hickam
Just signed up, wish me luck people.
Reply. 23 . Like . 3 hours ago
Jonathan Jackson
My friend just e-mailed me this, a friend at work had told her about it. i guess it works really well
Reply. 6 . Like . 3 hours ago
Travis Wilson Hodge
Telling all my friends about this, thanx for the info
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Dean Phongsa
Wasn't sure about signing up, but I am so glad I did. I've made like £89 after just 2 hours on the platform. Really easy and really fast, nothing could be simpler
Reply. 17 . Like . 4 hours ago
Molly Murley Davis
I've gone ahead and made my initial deposit. I can't wait to get started and see what happens.
Reply. 8 . Like . 6 hours ago
Jenna Ponchot Bush
This would have to be the easiest way to invest in bitcoin ever, even I was able to do it with virtually no previous experience in the area.
Reply. 20 . Like . 8 hours ago
Kyle Miranda
I have tried so much of this kind of stuff, in one sense I want to try it but in the back of my mind I am thinking, yeah right!! Someone please reassure me it works.
Reply. 10 . Like . 8 hours ago
Tom Bergheger
I tried the platform thing a while ago and it worked pretty good for me.
Reply. 13 . Like . 8 hours ago
Eitan Silver
A few of my friends had invested in bitcoin and made an absolute killing do it, I'm going to be joining them soon.
Reply. 3 . Like . 8 hours ago
Gotmy Mindframe Right
Had no idea you could get results like this, does anybody know if you can invest in other crypto currencies.
Reply. 5 . Like . 9 hours ago
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