Chuang-tze

"There is an old Taoist story about a wise man on the northern frontier
of China. One day, for no apparent reason, a young man's horse ran away
and was taken by nomads across the border. Everyone tried to offer
consolation for the man's ill fortune, but his father, a wise man, said,
"What makes you so sure this is not a blessing?"

Months later, his horse returned, bringing with her a magnificent
stallion. This time everyone was full of congratulations for the son's
good fortune. But now his father said, "What makes you so sure this
isn't a disaster?" Their household was made richer by this fine horse,
which the son loved to ride. but one day he fell off the horse and broke
his hip. Once again, everyone offered their consolation for his bad
luck, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this is not a blessing?"

A year later the nomads mounted an invasion across the border, and every
able-bodied man was required to take up his bow and go into battle. The
Chinese frontiersmen lost nine of every ten men. Only because the son
was lame did father and son survive to take care of each other. Blessing
turns to disaster, and disaster to blessing: The changes have no end,
nor can the mystery be fathomed."

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS (Lucretius), chapter 6 (somewhat modified from published translation)

As many causes give to many things
     Impulse and irritation, so one force
     In human kind rouses the human seed
     To spurt from man. As soon as ever it issues,
     Forced from its first abodes, it passes down
     In the whole body through the limbs and frame,
     Meeting in certain regions of our flesh,
     And stirs in time the genitals of man.
     The aroused regions swell with seed, and then
     Comes the delight to dart the same at what
     The mad desire so yearns, and body seeks
     That object, which the mind by love is pierced.
     For quite soon each man follows toward his wound,
     And our blood spurts even toward the spot from where
     The stroke from where we are struck, and if indeed
     The foe be close, the red jet reaches him.
     Thus, one who gets a stroke from Venus' shafts--
     Whether a boy with limbs effeminate
     Assault him, or a woman darting love
     From all her body--that one strains to get
     Even to the thing whereby he's hit, and longs
     To join with it and cast into its frame
     The fluid drawn even from within its own.
     For the mute craving does promise delight.
     This need it is that's Venus trap to us:
     From this, are born all the lures of love,
     From this, O first has into human hearts
     Trickled that drop of pure joy which quite soon
     Is by chill care succeeded. Since, indeed,
     Though whom you love so now be far away,
     Yet idol-images of her are near
     And the sweet name is floating in your ear.
     But it makes sense to flee those images;
     And scare away whatever feeds your love;
     And turn elsewhere your mind; and vent the sperm,
     Within you gathered, into many bodies,
     Nor, with your thoughts still busied with one love,
     Keep it for one delight, and so store up
     Care for yourself and pain that's unavoidable.
     For, see, the ulcer, just by nourishing
     Grows to more life with deep habitual life,
     And day by day the passion swells again,
     And the pain increases heavier day by day--
     Unless you soon destroy even by new blows
     The former wounds of love, and so cure them
     While they're still fresh, by wandering freely round
     After the freely-wandering Venus, or
     Can lead elsewhere the tumults of your mind.
     Nor does that man who keeps away from love
     Yet lack the fruits of Venus; rather takes
     Those pleasures which are free of penalties.
     For the delights of Venus, verily,
     Are more unmixed for mortals sane-of-soul
     Than for those sick-at-heart with love-pining.
     Yes, in the very moment of possessing,
     Surges the heat of lovers back and forth,
     Restless, uncertain; and they cannot choose
     On what to first enjoy with eyes and hands.
     The parts they sought for, those they squeeze so tight,
     And pain the creature's body, close their teeth
     Often against her lips, and bruise with kiss
     Mouth into mouth,--because this same delight
     Is not unmixed; and underneath are stings
     Which make a man to hurt the very thing,
     Whate'er it be, from where arise in him
     Those fruits of madness. But with gentle touch
     Venus subdues these pains in acts of love,
     And the sweet blending of erotic joys
     Soften the bites of passion. Lovers hope
     That by the very body where they caught
     The heats of love their flames can be put out.
     But nature protests it's all quite otherwise;
     For this same love it is the one sole thing
     Of which, the more we have, the hotter burns
     The breast with doomed desire. For food and drink
     Are taken within our members; and, since they
     Can stop up certain parts, thus, easily
     Desire of water is glutted and of bread.
     But, look, from human face and lovely bloom
     Nothing's possessed by us to be enjoyed
     Except vague idol-images and vain--
     A sorry hope which sooon the winds disperse.
     As when the thirsty man in deep sleep seeks
     To drink, and water is not granted him
     With which to quench the heat within his members,
     But after images of liquids grasps
     And toils in vain, and thirsts even while he drinks
     So deeply from the water, so, in love,
     Venus quite fools with idol-images
     The lovers. Nor can they abate their lust
     By merely gazing on the bodies, nor
     Are able with their palms and fingers rub
     Love from each tender limb. And so they stray,
     Uncertain, over all the body. Then,
     At last, with members intertwined, when they
     Enjoy the flower of their age, when now
     Their bodies have sweet promise of keen joys,
     And Venus is about to sow the fields
     Of woman, greedily their frames they lock,
     And mingle salivers of their mouths, and breathe
     Into each other, pressing teeth on mouths--
     Yet to no purpose, since they're powerless
     To blend their flesh, or penetrate and pass
     With body entire into body, although
     They seem to strive and struggle thus to do;
     So eagerly they cling in Venus' bonds,
     Whilst melt away their members, overcome
     By violence of delight. But when at last
     Lust, gathered in the flesh, expends itself,
     There comes a brief pause in the raging heat--
     But then a madness just the same returns
     And that old fury visits them again,
     When once again they seek and crave to reach
     They know not what, all powerless to find
     The certain means to put an end to this.
     In such uncertain state they waste away
     With unseen wound.  And I must also add,
     They waste their powers and with their torments die;
     And I add too, they spend their futile years
     Under another's beck and call; their duties
     Neglected languish and their honest name
     Is made sick, sick; and meantime their estates
     Are lost in Babylonian tapestries;
     And scented ointments and neat high-heeled shoes
     Laugh on her feet; and (as you may be sure)
     Big emeralds of green light are set in gold;
     And rich sea-purple dress by constant wear
     Grows shabby and all soaked with Venus' sweat;
     And the well-earned ancestral property
     Is spent on rich hats, wigs, and many a time
     The cloaks, or garments of a fashion brand
     And in the latest style. And banquets, set
     With rarest cloth and food plates, are prepared--
     And games of chance, and many a drinking cup,
     And scented ointments, crowns and flowers. All in vain,
     Since from amid the well-spring of delights
     Bubbles some drop of poison to torment
     Among the very flowers--when quite soon mind
     Berates itself, now stricken with remorse
     For slothful years and ruin in bedrooms,
     Or else because she's left him all in doubt
     By launching some sly word, which still like fire
     Lives wildly, cleaving to his eager heart;
     Or else because he thinks she darts her eyes
     Too much about and gazes at another,--
     And in her face sees traces of a laugh.

     These ills are found in prospering love and true;
     But in crossed love and helpless there be such
     As through shut eyelids you can still take in--
     Uncounted ills; so that it's better far
     To watch beforehand, in the way I've shown,
     And guard against enticements. For to shun
     A fall into the hunting-snares of love
     Is not so hard, as to get out again,
     When tangled in the very nets, and burst
     The stoutly-knotted cords of Aphrodite.
     Yet even when there enmeshed with tangled feet,
     Still you can flee the threat, unless, indeed
     You choose to block the way of your own good.
     First concentrate on all the blemishes
     Of mind and body of your much desired,
     Desirable dame. Often men will,
     Quite blind with passion, see beauty in them
     That is not theirs in fact. And so we see
     Women in many ways so homely and ugly
     Whom foolish sweethearts hold in high esteem;
     And men will warn each other and advise
     To flee fair Venus, since their friends are trapped
     By a base passion--miserable fools,
     But they don't see their own worst hurt of all.
     The black-skinned girl is "tawny like the honey";
     The filthy and the fetid's "negligee";
     The cat-eyed she's "a little Pallas," she;
     The sinewy and wizened's "a gazelle";
     The pudgy and the pigmy is "piquant,
     One of the Graces sure"; the big and bulky
     O she's "an Admiration, imposante";
     The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly lisps";
     The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous,
     The spiteful spit-fire, is "a sparkling wit";
     And she who scarcely lives for her thin flesh
     Becomes "a slender darling"; "delicate"
     Is she who's nearly dead of coughing-fit;
     The bosomed female with protuberant breasts
     She is "like Ceres when the goddess gave
     Young Bacchus suck"; the pug-nosed lady-love
     "A Satyress, a feminine Silenus";
     The blubber-lipped is "all one luscious kiss"--
     A weary while it were to tell the whole.
     But let her face possess what charm you will,
     Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,--
     In truth, there still are others; and in truth
     We lived before without her; and in truth
     She does the same things--and we know she does--
     All, as the ugly creature, and she scents,
     Yes she, her wretched self with vile perfumes;
     Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle at
     Behind her back. But he, the lover, in tears
     Because shut out, covers her threshold o'er
     Often with flowers and garlands, and anoints
     Her haughty door-posts with the marjoram,
     And prints, poor fellow, kisses on the doors--
     Admitted at last, if haply but one whiff
     Got to him on approaching, he would seek
     Decent excuses to go out in haste;
     And his lament, long pondered, then would fall
     Down at his heels; and there he'd damn himself
     For his vain foolishness, observing how
     He had assigned to that same lady more--
     Than it is proper to admit to mortals.
     And these our Venuses quite know of this.
     Therefore the more are they at pains to hide
     All the-behind-the-scenes of life from those
     Whom they desire to keep in bonds of love--
     In vain, since ne'ertheless you can't by thought
     Drag all the matter forth into the light
     And well search out the cause of all these smiles;
     And if of graceful mind she be and kind,
     Do you, in your turn, overlook the same,
     And so allow for poor mortality.
     Nor sighs the woman always with feigned love,
     Who links her body round man's body locked
     And holds him fast, making his kisses wet
     With lips sucked into lips; often she acts
     Even from desire, and, seeking mutual joys,
     Incites him there to run love's race-course through.

Some Michael Jackson Writings

Dear professor,
These are some of the poems and reflections of MJ from his book, Dancing the Dream, and other sources, for your reference. I'm glad to have the chance to share them with you and hope you'll like it :)

Best regards,
Alice

How I Make Music

People ask me how I make music. I tell them I
just step into it.It's like stepping into a river and
joining the flow. Every moment in the river has
it's song. So I stay in the moment and listen.
What I hear is never the same. A walk
through the woods brings a light, crackling
song:Leaves rustle in the wind, birds chatter and
Squirrels scold, twigs crunch underfoot, and
the beat of my heart holds it all together. When
you join the flow, the music is inside and outside,
and both are the same. As long as I can listen to
the moment, I'll always have music.


Child Of Innocence

Child of innocence, I miss your sunny days
We joyously frolicked in extended plays
Ever since you've left the scene
The streets are lonely, dark and mean

Child of innocence, return to me now
With your simple smile show them how
This world once again can respond to your glance
And heartbeats flutter to the rhythm of your dance

Child of innocence, your elegance, your beauty
Beckons me now beyond the call of duty
Come fly with me far and above
Over the mountains in the land of love

Child of innocence, messenger of joy
You've touched my heart without a ploy
My soul is ablaze with a flagrant fire
To change the world is my deepest desire.


Magical Child


Once there was a child and he was free
Deep inside, he felt the laughter
The mirth and play of nature's glee
Beauty, love was all he'd see

He knew his power was the power of God
He was so sure, they considered him odd
This power of innocence, of compassion, of light
Threatened the priests and created a fight
In endless ways they sought to dismantle
This mysterious force which they could not handle

In endless ways they tried to destroy
His simple trust, his boundless joy
His invincible armor was a shield of bliss
Nothing could touch it, no venom, no hiss

The child remained in a state of grace
He wasn't confined in time or place
In Technicolor dreams, he frolicked and played
While acting his part, in Eternity he stayed

Soothsayers came and fortunes were told
Some were vehement, others were bold
In denouncing this child, this perplexing creature
With the rest of the world he shared no feature
IS he real?He is so strange
His unpredictable nature knows no range
He puzzles us so, is he straight?
What's his destiny?What's his fate?

And while they whispered and conspired
Through endless rumors to get him tired
To kill his wonder, trample him near
Burn his courage, fuel his fear
The child remained just simple, sincere

All he wanted was the mountain high
Color the clouds, paint the sky
Beyond these boundaries, he wanted to fly
In nature's scheme, never to die

Don't stop this child, he's the father of man
Don't cross his way, he's part of the plan
I am that child, but so are you
You've just forgotten, just lost the clue

Inside your heart sits a Seer
Between his thoughts, he can hear
A melody simple but wondrously clear
The music of life, so precious, so dear

If you could for one moment know
This spark of creation, this exquisite glow
You would come and dance with me
Kindle this fire so we could see
All the children of the Earth
Wave their magic and give new birth
To a world of freedom with no pain
A world of joy, much more sane

Deep inside, you know it's true
Just find that child, it's hiding in you.


Dancing The Dream


Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion when I'm dancing, I've felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I've felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known.
I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy.
I keep on dancing and dancing .......and dancing, until there is only......the dance.



TWO BIRDS

It's hard to tell them what I feel for you.
They haven't ever met you, and no one has your picture.
So how can they ever understand your mystery?
Let's give them a clue:
Two birds sit in a tree.
One eats cherries, while the other looks on.
Two birds fly through the air.
One's song drops like crystal from the sky while the other keeps silent.
Two birds wheel in the sun.
One catches the light on its silver feathers, while the other spreads wings of invisibility.

It's easy to guess which bird I am, but they'll never find you. Unless...

Unless they already know a love that never interferes, that watches from beyond, that breathes free in the invisible air.
Sweet bird, my soul, your silence is so precious.
How long will it be before the world hears your song in mine?
Oh, that is a day I hunger for!



I You We
"I said you had to do it. You said you didn't want to. We talked about it, and we agreed that maybe I could help.
I said you were wrong. You insisted you were right. We held each other's hand, and right and wrong disappeared.
I began crying. You began crying, too. We embraced, and between us grew a flower of peace.
How I love this mystery called We! Where does it come from, out of thin air? I thought about this mystery, and I realized something: We must be love's favorite child, because until I reach out for you, We is not even there. It arrives on the wings of tenderness: it speaks through our silent understanding. When I laugh at myself, it smiles. When I forgive you, it dances in jubilation.

So We is not a choice anymore, not if you and I want to grow with one another. We unites us, increases our strength; it picks up our burden when you and I are ready to let it fall.

The truth is that you and I would have given up long ago, but We won't let us. It is too wise. "Look into your hearts," it says. "What do you see? Not you and I, but only We."



TRUST
As I was feeding squirrels in the park, I noticed a small one that didn’t seem to trust me.
While the others came close enough to eat out of my hand, he kept his distance.
I threw a peanut his way.
He edged up, grabbed it nervously, and ran off.
Next time he must have felt less afraid, because he came a little closer.
The safer he felt, the more he trusted me.
Finally he sat right at my feet, as bold as any squirrel clamoring for the next peanut.
Trust is like that - it always seems to come down to trusting in yourself.
Others can’t overcome fear for you; you have to do it on your own.
It’s hard, because fear and doubt hold on tight.
We are afraid of being rejected, of being hurt once more.
So we keep a safe distance.
We think separating ourselves from others will protect us, but that doesn’t work, either.
It leaves us feeling alone and unloved.
Trusting yourself begins by recognizing that it’s okay to be afraid.
Having fear is not the problem, because everyone feels anxious and insecure sometimes.
The problem is not being honest enough to admit your fear.
Whenever I accept my own doubt and insecurity, I’m more open to other people.
The deeper I go into myself, the stronger I become, because I realize that my real self is much bigger than any fear.
In accepting yourself completely, trust becomes complete.
There is no longer any separation between people, because there is no longer any separation inside.
In the space where fear used to live, love is allowed to grow



COURAGE

It’s curious what takes courage and what doesn’t.
When I step out on stage in front of thousands of people, I don’t feel that I’m being brave.
It takes much more courage to express true feelings to one person.
When I think of courage, I think of the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.
He was always running away from danger.
He often cried and shook with fear.
But he was also sharing his real feelings with those he loved, even though he didn’t always like those feelings.


That takes real courage, the courage to be intimate.
Expressing your feelings is not the same as falling apart in front of someone else,
it’s being accepting and true to your own heart, whatever it may say.
When you have the courage to be intimate, you know who you are, and you’re willing to let others see that.
It’s scary, because you feel so vulnerable, so open to rejection.
But without self-acceptance, the other kind of courage, the kind heroes show in movies, seems hollow.
In spite of the risks, the courage to be honest and intimate opens the way to self discovery.
It offers what we all want, the promise of love.



mother

Eons of time I've been gestating 

To take a form been hesitating

From the unmanifest this cosmic conception

On this earth a fantastic reception 
And then one fateful August morn

From your being I was born 

With tender love you nurtured a seed

To your own distress you paid no heed 

Unmindful of any risk and danger 

You decided upon this lonely stranger
Rainbows, clouds, the deep blue sky 

Glittering birds that fly on high

Out of fragments you've made my whole 

>From the elements you fashioned my soul

Mother dear, you gave me life 

Because of you, no struggle or strife 

You gave me joy and position 

Cared for me without condition 

And if I ever change this world

It's from the emotions you've unfurled

Your compassion is so sweet and dear

Your finest feelings I can hear 

I can sense your faintest notion 

The wondrous magic of your love potion
And now that I have come so far 

Met with every king and czar 

Encountered every color and creed

Of every passion, every greed

I go back to that starry night 

With not a fear for muscle or might

You taught me how to stand and fight

For every single wrong and right 

Every day without a hold 

I will treasure what you've mold

 I will remember every kiss

Your sweet words I'll never miss 

No matter where I go from here 

You're in my heart, my mother dear


Planet Earth

Planet Earth, my home, my place
A capricious anomaly in the sea of space
Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spaceship, a large asteroid

Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn't true
You are my sweet heart soft and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.

In my veins I've felt the mystery
Of corridors of time, books of history
Life songs of ages throbbing in my blood
Have danced the rhythm of the tide and flood
Your misty clouds, your electric storm
Were turbulent tempests in my own form
I've licked the salt, the bitter, the sweet
Of every encounter, of passion, of heat
Your riotous color, your fragrance, your taste
Have thrilled my senses beyond all haste
In your beauty, I've known the how
Of timeless bliss, this moment of now

Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spaceship, a large asteroid
Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn't true
You are my sweet heart gentle and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.
Planet Earth, gentle and blue
With all my heart, I love you



That One In the Mirror (written by Michael Jackson)

I wanted to change the world, so I got up one morning and looked in the mirror. That one looking back said, There is not much time left. The earth is wracked with pain. Children are starving. Nations remain divided by mistrust and hatred. Everywhere the air and water have been fouled almost beyond help. Do something!
That one in the mirror felt very angry and desperate. Everything looked like a mess, a tragedy, a disaster. I decided he must be right. Didn't I feel terrible about these things, too, just like him? The planet was being used up and thrown away. Imagining earthly life just one generation from now made me feel panicky.

It was not hard to find the good people who wanted to solve the earths problems. As I listened to their solutions, I thought, There is so much good will here, so much concern. At night before going to bed, that one in the mirror looked back at me seriously, Now well get somewhere, he declared. If everybody does their part.

But everybody didn't do their part. Some did, but were they stopping the tide? Were pain, starvation, hatred, and pollution about to be solved? Wishing wouldn't make it so — I knew that. When I woke up the next morning, that one in the mirror looked confused. Maybe its hopeless, he whispered. Then a sly look came into his eyes, and he shrugged. But you and I will survive. At least we are doing all right.

I felt strange when he said that. There was something very wrong here. A faint suspicion came to me, one that had never dawned so clearly before. What if that one in the mirror isn't me? He feels separate. He sees problems out there to be solved. Maybe they will be, maybe they wont. Hell get along. But I don't feel that way — those problems aren't out there, not really. I feel them inside me. A child crying in Ethiopia, a sea gull struggling pathetically in an oil spill, a mountain gorilla being mercilessly hunted, a teenage soldier trembling with terror when he hears the planes fly over: Aren't these happening in me when I see and hear about them?

The next time I looked in the mirror, that one looking back had started to fade. It was only an image after all. It showed me a solitary person enclosed in a neat package of skin and bones. Did I once think you were me? I began to wonder. I am not so separate and afraid. The pain of life touches me, but the joy of life is so much stronger. And it alone will heal. Life is the healer of life, and the most I can do for the earth is to be its loving child.

That one in the mirror winced and squirmed. He hadn't thought so much about love. Seeing problems was much easier, because love means complete self-honesty. Ouch!

Oh, friend, I whispered to him, do you think anything can solve problems without love? That one in the mirror wasn't sure. Being alone for so long, not trusting others and being trusted by others, it tended to detach itself from the reality of life. Is love more real than pain? he asked.

I cant promise that it is. But it might be. Lets discover, I said. I touched the mirror with a grin. Lets not be alone again. Will you be my partner? I hear a dance starting up. Come. That one in the mirror smiled shyly. He was realizing we could be best friends. We could be more peaceful, more loving, more honest with each other every day.

Would that change the world? I think it will, because Mother Earth wants us to be happy and to love her as we tend her needs. She needs fearless people on her side, whose courage comes from being part of her, like a baby who is brave enough to walk because Mother is holding out her arms to catch him. When that one in the mirror is full of love for me and for him, there is no room for fear. When we were afraid and panicky, we stopped loving this life of ours and this earth. We disconnected. Yet how can anybody rush to help the earth if they feel disconnected? Perhaps the earth is telling us what she wants, and by not listening, we fall back on our own fear and panic.
One thing I know: I never feel alone when I am earths child. I do not have to cling to my personal survival as long as I realize, day by day, that all of life is in me. The children and their pain; the children and their joy. The ocean swelling under the sun; the ocean weeping with black oil. The animals hunted in fear; the animals bursting with the sheer joy of being alive.

This sense of the world in me is how I always want to feel. That one in the mirror has his doubts sometimes. So I am tender with him. Every morning I touch the mirror and whisper, Oh, friend, I hear a dance. Will you be my partner? Come.

NEVER GIVE IN!

THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG

THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG

Mark Twain

---

It was many years ago.  Hadleyburg was the most honest and upright town in all the region round about.
    But in time, Hadleyburg had the ill luck to offend a passing stranger. All through his wanderings he kept his injury in mind. He began to form a plan at once, saying to himself "I will corrupt the town."
    Six months later he went to Hadleyburg, and arrived in a buggy at the house of the old cashier of the bank about ten at night.  He got a sack out of the buggy and knocked at the door.  A woman's voice said "Come in," and he entered, and set his sack behind the stove in the parlor, saying
politely to the old lady who sat reading the Missionary Herald by the lamp:
    "Please keep your seat, madam, I will not disturb you.  Can I see your husband a moment, madam?"
    No, he was gone to Brixton, and might not return before morning.
    "Very well, madam, it is no matter.  I wanted to leave that sack in his care, to be delivered to the rightful owner when he shall be found.  I am a stranger; he does not know me; I am passing through the town to discharge a matter which has been long in my mind. My errand is now completed. There is a paper attached to the sack which will explain everything. Good-night, madam."
    The old lady was afraid of the mysterious stranger, and was glad to see him go.  But her curiosity was roused, and she went to the sack and read the paper, as follows:
    "This sack contains gold coin weighing a hundred
and sixty pounds four ounces. I am a foreigner, and am going back to my own country, to remain there.  I am grateful to America for what I have received at her hands during my stay under her flag; and to a citizen of Hadleyburg, I am grateful for a kindness done me a year or two ago.  I arrived in this village at night, hungry and without a penny.  I begged of the right man.  He gave me twenty dollars; that is to say, he gave me life.  Now I have no idea who that man was, but I want him found, and
I want him to have this money. This is an honest town, an incorruptible town, and I know I can trust it.  This man can be identified by the remark which he made to me; I know that he will remember it.
    "And now my plan is this:  Tell the contents of this writing to anyone likely to be the right man.  If he answers, 'I am the man; the remark I made was so-and-so,' apply the test: open the sack, and in it you will find a sealed envelope containing that remark.  If the remark mentioned by the candidate matches, give him the money, and ask no further questions, for he is the right man.
    "But if you prefer a public inquiry, then publish this present writing in the local paper―with these instructions: Thirty days from now, let the candidate appear at the town-hall at eight in the evening, and hand his remark, in a sealed envelope, to the Rev. Mr. Burgess; and let Mr. Burgess see if the remark is correct:  if correct, let the money be delivered, with my sincere gratitude, to my benefactor thus identified."
    Mrs. Richards sat down, shaking with excitement, and was soon lost in thinkings―after this pattern:  "If it had only been my husband that did it!―for we are old and poor!"
    At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his wife was saying, "I am SO glad you've come!" he was saying, "I am so tired―tired clear out; it is dreadful to be poor."
    Then his wife told him the secret.  It dazed him for a moment; then he said:
    "Very well, what shall we do―make the inquiry private?  No, not that; it would spoil the romance.  The public method is better. Think what a noise it will make!  And it will make the other towns jealous; for no stranger would trust such a thing to any town but Hadleyburg, and they know it.  It's a great help for us.  I must get to the
printing-office now, or I shall be too late."
    Not far from his house Mr. Richards met the editor of the paper and gave him the document, and said "Here is a good thing for you, Cox―put it in."
    At home again, he and his wife sat down to talk the mystery over; they were in no condition for sleep.  The first question was, Who could the citizen have been who gave the stranger the twenty dollars? Both answered in the same breath―
    "Barclay Goodson."
    "Yes," said Richards, "he could have done it, and it would have been like him, but there's not another in the town."
    "Everybody will grant that, Edward―grant it privately, anyway.  For six months, now, the village has been its own proper self once more―honest, narrow, self-righteous, and stingy."
    "Yes, and he was hated for it."
    "I reckon he was the best-hated man among us, except the Reverend Burgess."
"Well, Burgess deserves it. Edward, doesn't it seem odd that the stranger should appoint Burgess to deliver the money?"
    "He is not a bad man.  I know.  The whole of his unpopularity had its foundation in that one thing―the thing that made so much noise. Only he wasn't guilty of it."
    "How you talk!  Not guilty of it!  Everybody knows he WAS guilty."
    "Mary, I give you my word―he was innocent."
    "How do you know?"
    "I was the only man who knew he was innocent.  I could have saved him, but it would have lost us the good will of so many people, Mary; and then―"
    Meantime Cox had gone home from his office and told his wife what had happened, and they had talked it over eagerly.
     "Nobody knows this secret but the Richardses―and us."
    And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, from opposite directions.  They met, panting, at the foot of the printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other's face.  Cox whispered:
    "Nobody knows about this but us?"
    The whispered answer was:
    "Not a soul―on honour, not a soul!"
    "If it isn't too late to―"
    The men were starting upstairs; at this moment they were overtaken by a boy, and Cox asked,
    "Is that you, Johnny?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "You needn't ship the early mail; wait till I tell you."
    "It's already gone, sir."
    "GONE?"  It had the sound of unspeakable disappointment in it.
    "Yes, sir.
    The men turned and walked slowly away, not waiting to hear the rest. Neither of them spoke during ten minutes; then Cox said, in a vexed tone,
    "What possessed you to be in such a hurry, I can't make out."
    Then the friends separated without a good-night, and dragged themselves home like mortally stricken men.    
    In both houses a discussion followed of a heated sort―a new thing; there had been discussions before, but not heated ones.  Mrs. Richards said:
    "If you had only waited, Edward―if you had only stopped to think; but no, you must run straight to the printing-office and spread it all over the world."
    "It SAID publish it."
    "It also said do it privately, if you liked."
    "Why, yes―yes, it is true; but when I thought what a stir it would make, and what a compliment it was to Hadleyburg that a stranger should trust it so―"
    "But if you had only stopped to think, you would have seen that as long as the money went to somebody that needed it, and nobody would be hurt by it, and―"
    "But, Mary, we have been trained all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to us to stop not a single moment to think when there's an honest thing to be done―"
    "Oh, I know it, I know it. God knows I never had doubt of my honesty until now, under the very first temptation―. Edward, it is my belief that this town's honesty is as rotten as mine is; as rotten as yours.  It is a mean town, and hasn't a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so conceited about; I believe that if ever the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards."
II
Hadleyburg village woke up world-celebrated. Vain beyond imagination.  Its nineteen principal citizens went about shaking hands and saying THIS thing adds a new word to the dictionary―HADLEYBURG, synonym for INCORRUPTIBLE―destined to live in dictionaries for ever!  
    Reporters began to arrive from everywhere to verify the sack and its history and write the whole thing up anew.
    Then a change came.  The life-long habit of reading, knitting, and contented chat, or receiving or paying neighbourly calls, was gone; nobody talked now, nobody read, nobody visited―the whole village sat at home, sighing, worrying, silent. Trying to guess out that remark.
    The postman left a letter.  Richards glanced at the handwriting and postmark and tossed the letter on the table.  Hours later his wife was going away to bed without a good-night―custom now―but she stopped near the letter and eyed it with interest, then broke it open, and began to skim it.  Richards heard something fall.  It was his wife. He sprang to her side, but she cried out:
    "Leave me alone, I am too happy. Read the letter!"
    The letter was from a distant State, and said:
    "I am a stranger to you:  I have something to tell. I have just arrived home from Mexico, and learned about that episode.  Of course you do not know who made that remark, but I know, and I am the only person living who does know.  It was Goodson. I remember his saying he did not actually like any person in the town―not one; but that you―I think he said you―am almost sure―had done him a very great service once, possibly without knowing it, and he wished he had a fortune, he would leave it to you when he died.  If it was you that did him that service, you are his true heir, and entitled to the sack of gold. I know I can trust to your honour and honesty, for in a citizen of Hadleyburg these virtues are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am going to reveal to you the remark, satisfied that if you are not the right man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor Goodson's debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid.  This is the remark 'You are far from being a bad man. Go and reform.' "HOWARD L. STEPHENSON."
    It was a happy half-hour that the couple spent, caressing each other.
    "Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that grand service, poor Goodson!  I never liked him, but I love him now.  And it was fine and beautiful of you never to mention it. But you ought to have told me, Edward, you ought to have told your wife, you know."
    "Well, I―er―well, Mary, you see―"
    Edward's mind kept wandering―trying to remember what the service was he had done Goodson.
    The couple lay awake most of the night, Mary happy and busy, Edward busy, but not so happy. He was trying to recall that service. But what was it? He must recall it; it would make his peace of mind perfect.  
    That same Saturday evening the postman had delivered a letter to each of the other principal citizens―nineteen letters in all. They were exact copies of the letter received by Richards, but in place of Richards's name each receiver's own name appeared.
    All night long eighteen principal citizens did what Richards was doing at the same time―they put in their energies trying to remember what notable service it was that they had unconsciously done Goodson.
    The days passed, it began to look as if every member of the nineteen would not only spend his whole forty thousand dollars before receiving-day, but be in debt by the time he got the money.  In some cases, they really spent―on credit.
    For days, wherever the Reverend Burgess went, a member of the nineteen would be sure to appear, thrust an envelope privately into his hand, whisper "To be opened at the town-hall Friday evening," then vanish like a guilty thing.  When the great day came at last, he had nineteen envelopes.
III
The town-hall had never looked finer.  The gold-sack stood on a little table at the front of the platform where all the house could see it. At last, the Rev. Mr. Burgess rose and laid his hand on the sack, then went on to speak in warm terms of Hadleyburg's well-earned reputation for spotless honesty, and of the town's just pride in this reputation.
    "And who is the guardian of this noble fame―the community as a whole? No! The responsibility is individual, not communal.  From this day on each of you is its special guardian, and responsible that no harm shall come to it.  Does each of you accept this trust?  Then all is well.   I am done. Under my hand, my friends, rests a stranger's recognition of what we are; through him the world will know what we are."
    Then Mr. Burgess took an envelope out of his pocket.  He read its contents:
    "'The remark which I made to the distressed stranger was this:  "You are very far from being a bad man; go, and reform."'  Then he continued: 'We shall know in a moment now whether the remark here quoted corresponds with the one concealed in the sack; and if that shall prove to be so, this sack of gold belongs to a fellow-citizen who will stand before the nation as the symbol of the virtue which has made our town famous throughout the land―Mr. Billson!'"
    Now the house caught its breath, for it discovered that whereas in one part of the hall Deacon Billson was standing up with his head meekly bowed, in another part of it Lawyer Wilson was doing the same. Everybody was puzzled, and nineteen couples were surprised and indignant.
    Billson and Wilson turned and stared at each other.  Billson asked:
    "Why do you rise, Mr. Wilson?"
    "Because I have a right to. Explain to the house why you rise."
    "Because I wrote that paper."
    "It is a lie!  I wrote it."
    Lawyer Wilson spoke up now, and said:
    "I ask the Chair to read the name signed to that paper."
    That brought the Chair to itself, and it read out the name:
    "John Wharton BILLSON."
    "There!" shouted Billson, "And what kind of apology are you going to make for the imposture which you have attempted to play here?"
    "No apologies are due, sir; and as for the rest of it, I publicly charge you with stealing my note from Mr. Burgess and substituting a copy of it signed with your own name.  There is no other way by which you could have gotten hold of the test-remark; I alone, of living men, possessed the secret of its wording."
    Burgess rapped with his gavel, and said:
"There has evidently been a mistake, but that is all.  If Mr. Wilson gave me an envelope, I still have it."
    He took one out of his pocket, opened it, glanced at it, looked surprised and worried, and stood silent a few moments.
    "'The remark which I made to the unhappy stranger was this:  "You are far from being a bad man.   Go, and reform."'"  "This one," said the Chair, "is signed Thurlow G. Wilson."
    "There!" cried Wilson, "I reckon that settles it!  I knew perfectly well my note was stolen."
    The house was puzzled.  Mr. Burgess made a slit in the sack, slid his hand in, and brought out an envelope.  In it were a couple of folded notes.
    People jumped up and crowded around Wilson, wringing his hand and congratulating fervently―meantime the Chair was hammering with the gavel and shouting:
    "Order, gentlemen! Let me finish reading, please." When quiet was restored, the reading was resumed―as follows:
    "'Go and reform, or mark my words, some day, for your sins, you will die and go to Hell or Hadleyburg―try and make it the former.'"
    A ghastly silence followed.  
    "It is useless to try to disguise the fact―we find ourselves facing a serious matter.  It strikes at the town's good name. For the honor of both is now in peril. Both left out the crucial fifteen words."  
    He paused, then added:  "There would seem to be but one way this could happen.  I ask these gentlemen―was there agreement?"
    A murmur sifted through the house. The Chair's voice now rose above the noise:
    "Order! You forget there is still a document to be read."  
    When quiet had been restored he took up the document, and was going to read it, but laid it down again saying "I forgot; this is not to be read until all written communications received by me have first been read."  
    He took an envelope out of his pocket, reading:
    "'The remark which I made to the stranger was this:  "You are far from being a bad man  Go, and reform."'  Signed by Mr. Pinkerton the banker."
    Now some laughed till tears ran down.
    The Chair [reading].  "'The remark which I made,' etc.  'You are far from being a bad man.  Go,' etc.  Signed, 'Gregory Yates.'"
    The house was in a roaring humour now and ready to get all the fun out of the occasion.
    "Mr. Chairman, how many of those envelopes have you got?"
    "Together with those that have been already examined, there are nineteen."
    A storm of derisive applause broke out. The jollity broke loose again with the reading of the names. The list dwindled, poor old Richards keeping tally of the count.
    "Be ready," Mary whispered.  "Your name comes now; he has read eighteen."
    The chant ended. Burgess put his hand into his pocket.  The old couple, trembling, began to rise.  Burgess fumbled a moment, then said:
    "I find I have read them all."
    Faint with joy and surprise, the couple sank into their seats, and Mary whispered:
    "Oh, bless God, we are saved!―he has lost ours―I wouldn't give this for a hundred of those sacks!"
    Then Wingate, the saddler, got up and proposed cheers "for the cleanest man in town, the one citizen who didn't try to steal that money―Edward Richards."
    The Chair.  "Order!  I now offer the stranger's remaining document.
    "'P.S. Citizens of Hadleyburg:  There is no test-remark. Nobody made one. There wasn't a pauper stranger, nor a twenty-dollar contribution.  I am hoping to eternally end your vanity and give Hadleyburg a new renown―one that will STICK and spread far.  If I have succeeded, open the sack.'"
    The Chair ripped the sack wide, and gathered up a handful of bright, broad, yellow coins, shook them together, then examined them.
    "Friends, they are only gilded disks of lead!"
    The Saddler.  "Mr. Chairman, we've got one clean man left, anyway, out of the late aristocracy; and he needs money, and deserves it.  I move that you appoint Jack Halliday to auction off that sack of gilt twenty-dollar pieces, and give the result to the right man―the man whom Hadleyburg delights to honour―Edward Richards."
    This was received with enthusiasm. At the beginning of the auction Richards whispered in distress to his wife:  "Oh, Mary, can we allow it?  You see, it is an honour―reward for purity of character, and―can we
allow it?  Oh, Mary, what ought we to do?"
    Edward fell―that is, he sat still; sat with a conscience which was not satisfied, but overpowered by circumstances.

IV

At eleven a stranger knocked at the Richards' house.  Mrs. Richards peeped through the shutters, then went and received an envelope, and the stranger disappeared without a word.  She came back flushed and a little unsteady on her legs, and gasped out:
    "I am sure I recognised him!  Last night it seemed to me that maybe I had seen him somewhere before."
    "He is the man that brought the sack here?"
    "I am almost sure of it."
    "Then he is the so-called Stephenson too, and sold every important citizen in this town with his phony secret. Put them in the fire! quick! we mustn't be tempted.  It is a trick to make the world laugh at us, along with the rest, and―give them to me, since you can't do it!"  
    He snatched them and tried to hold his grip till he could get to the stove; but he was human, he was a cashier, and he stopped a moment to make sure of the signature. Then he came near to fainting.
    "Fan me, Mary, fan me!  They are the same as gold!"
    "Oh, how lovely, Edward!  Why?"
    "Signed by Harkness.  What can the mystery of that be, Mary?"
    "Edward, do you think―"
    What is that―a note?"
    "Yes.  It was with the checks."
    It was in the "Stephenson" handwriting, but there was no signature. It said:
    "I am a disappointed man.  Your honesty is beyond the reach of temptation. Dear sir, I made a bet with myself that there were nineteen corruptible men in your self-righteous community. I have lost. Take the whole pot, you are entitled to it."
    Richards sighed and said:
    "To think, Mary―he believes in me."
    A messenger arrived and delivered an envelope.  Richards took from it a note and read it; it was from Burgess:
    "You saved me, in a difficult time.  I saved you last night.  It was at cost of a lie, but I made the sacrifice freely, and from a grateful heart.  None in this village knows so well as I know how brave and good and noble you are.  At bottom you cannot respect me, knowing as you do of
that matter of which I am accused, and by the general voice condemned; but I beg that you will at least believe that I am a grateful man; it will help me to bear my burden. 'Burgess.'"
    "Saved, once more.  And on such terms!"  He put the note in the fire.
    "I wish I were dead, Mary, I wish I were out of it all!"
    "Oh, these are bitter days, Edward.  The stabs, through their very generosity, are so deep―and they come so fast!"
    Within twenty-four hours after the Richardses had received their checks their consciences were quieting down, discouraged; the old couple were learning to reconcile themselves to the sin they had committed. But they were to learn, now, that a sin takes on new and real terrors when there seems a chance that it is going to be found out. When they were alone they began to piece unrelated things together and get horrible results out of the combination.  When things had got about to the worst Richards was delivered of a sudden gasp and his wife asked:
    "Oh, what is it?"
    "The note―Burgess's note!  Its language was sarcastic! I see it now."
    He quoted:  "'At bottom you cannot respect me, knowing, as you do, of that matter of which I am accused'―oh, it is perfectly plain, now, God
help me!  He knows I know!  You see the clever phrasing. It was a trap―and like a fool, I walked into it.  And Mary―!"
    "Oh, it is dreadful―I know what you are going to say―he didn't return your copy of the test-remark."
    "No―kept it to destroy us with.  Mary, he has exposed us to some already.  I know it―I know it well.  I saw it in a dozen faces after church!"
    In the night the doctor was called.  The news went around in the morning that the old couple were seriously ill.  The town was distressed; for these old people were all it had left to be proud of now.
    Two days later the news was worse.  The old couple were delirious, and were doing strange things.  By witness of the nurses, Richards had exhibited checks for an amazing sum―$38,500!
    The following day the nurses had more news.  They had concluded to hide the checks, lest harm come to them; but when they searched they were gone from under the patient's pillow.
    The patient said:
    "Let the pillow alone; what do you want?"
    "We thought it best that the checks―"
    "They are destroyed.  They came from Satan.  I saw the hell-brand on them, and I knew they were sent to betray me to sin."  
    Then he fell to gabbling strange and dreadful things which were not understandable, and which the doctor admonished them to keep to themselves.
    Richards was right; the checks were never seen again.
    A nurse must have talked in her sleep, for within two days the forbidden gabblings were the property of the town.  They seemed to indicate that Richards had been a claimant for the sack himself, and that Burgess had concealed that fact and then betrayed it.
    Burgess denied it.  And he said it was not fair to attach weight to the chatter of a sick old man who was out of his mind.  Still, suspicion was in the air and there was talk.
    After a day or two it was reported that Mrs. Richards's delirious deliveries were copies of her husband's. Then came news the old couple were dying. Richards's mind cleared in his latest hour, and he sent for Burgess. Burgess said:
    "Let the room be cleared.  I think he wishes to say something in privacy."
    "No!" said Richards; "I want witnesses.  I want you all to hear my confession, so that I die a man, and not a dog.  I was clean, like the rest; and like the rest I fell when temptation came.  I signed a lie and claimed the sack. Mr. Burgess remembered that I had done him a service, and in gratitude (and ignorance) he suppressed my claim and saved me.  You know the thing charged against Burgess years ago.  My testimony could have cleared him, and I was a coward and left him to suffer disgrace―. My servant betrayed my secret to him―"
    "No one has betrayed anything to me―"
    "And then he repented of the saving kindness which he had done me, and he EXPOSED me―as I deserved―"
    "Never! I make oath―"
    "Out of my heart I forgive him."
    Burgess's protests fell on deaf ears; the dying man passed away without knowing that once more he had done poor Burgess a wrong.  The old wife died that night.
    The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen prey to the fiendish sack; the town was stripped of the last rag of its ancient glory. Its mourning was not showy, but it was deep.
    By act of the Legislature, Hadleyburg was allowed to change its name to (never mind what―I will not give it away), and leave one word out of the motto that for generations had graced the town's official seal.
    It is an honest town once more, and the man will have to rise early that catches it napping again.

Student Comments

Students have just a day or so to check their grades before they're "locked" and can be changed only with difficulty.

Students,
One student emailed me that the grades are not online yet. I have learned that (very wisely) the grades have NOT BEEN CONFIRMED yet, in order to allow students a chance to REVIEW them. But the grades, of course, will be EXACTLY as they are in the printscreen copies on my blog. Once the grades have been CONFIRMED, they will be LOCKED and cannot be changed except through a tedious process (writing a formal letter to the university, etc.) and I am NOT FOND OF TEDIUM, so please check your grades or notify your classmates to do so. (No student can be so busy that s/he cannot take the time to do this.)
    Do NOT wait until after the grades have been locked ("confirmed") on the computer.
    Otherwise, have a nice summer. And remember: "Whether you think you can or think you can't, your're right." (Henry Ford)
    RDC