[87813] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Best Flashlight Around
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Tactical Flashlight)
Wed Aug 31 08:08:19 2016
Date: Wed, 31 Aug 2016 08:02:50 -0400
From: "Tactical Flashlight" <tactical_flashlight@kimberlys.stream>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
<html xmlns=3D"http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>=20
<title></title>=20
</head>=20
<body> =20
<meta content=3D"text/html; charset=3Dutf-8" http-equiv=3D"Content-Type=
" />=20
<title>Best Flashlight Around</title> =20
<div align=3D"center" class=3D"wrapper">=20
<div class=3D"image">
<a href=3D"http://www.kimberlys.stream/drafters-departs/6848yK63fdIyb6IhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONWc8c"><img src=3D"http://www.kimberlys.stream/8db7OVag4M00Zb6vhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONWd7d/odium-cautioning" /></a>
</div>=20
<div class=3D"text">
<a href=3D"http://www.kimberlys.stream/drafters-departs/6848yK63fdIyb6IhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONWc8c">Click Here to Get Your 75% Coupon</a>
</div>=20
<div class=3D"Contact_info">
1tac.com 814 South Westgate Suite 105 Los Angeles, CA 90049
</div>=20
<div class=3D"Unsub">
<a href=3D"http://www.kimberlys.stream/marbling-hereabout/daa8UI63fepg_b6ghvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONWYb7">Unsubscribe</a>
</div>=20
</div> =20
<div style=3D"font:normal 10px Arial, Times New Roman, sans-serif; color=
:#ffffff; ">=20
<p>Best Flashlight Around<br /> Now this, of Mr. Wiseman's, is the commo=
n opinion. A fact is not called a fact, but a piece of gossip, if it does n=
ot fall into one of your scholastic categories. An inquiry must be in some =
acknowledged direction, with a name to go by; or else you are not inquiring=
at all, only lounging; and the work-house is too good for you. It is suppo=
sed that all knowledge is at the bottom of a well, or the far end of a tele=
scope. Sainte-Beuve, as he grew older, came to regard all experience as a s=
ingle great book, in which to study for a few years ere we go hence; and it=
seemed all one to him whether you should read in Chapter xx., which is the=
differential calculus, or in Chapter xxxix., which is hearing the band pla=
y in the gardens. As a matter of fact, an intelligent person, looking out o=
f his eyes and hearkening in his ears, with a smile on his face all the tim=
e, will get more true education than many another in a life of heroic vigil=
s. There is certainly some chill and arid knowledge to be found upon the su=
mmits of formal and laborious science; but it is all round about you, and f=
or the trouble of looking, that you will acquire the warm and palpitating f=
acts of life. While others are filling their memory with a lumber of words,=
one-half of which they will forget before the week be out, your truant may=
learn some really useful art: to play the fiddle, to know a good cigar, or=
to speak with ease and opportunity to all varieties of men. Many who have =
"plied their book diligently," and know all about some one branch=
or another of accepted lore, come out of the study with an ancient and owl=
- like demeanour, and prove dry, stockish, and dyspeptic in all the better =
and brighter parts of life. Many make a large fortune, who remain underbred=
and pathetically stupid to the last. And meantime there goes the idler, wh=
o began life along with them - by your leave, a different picture. He has h=
ad time to take care of his health and his spirits; he has been a great dea=
l in the open air, which is the most salutary of all things for both body a=
nd mind; and if he has never read the great Book in very recondite places, =
he has dipped into it and skimmed it over to excellent purpose. Might not t=
he student afford some Hebrew roots, and the business man some of his half-=
crowns, for a share of the idler's knowledge of life at large, and Art of L=
iving? Nay, and the idler has another and more important quality than these=
I mean his wisdom. He who has much looked on at the childish satisfaction=
of other people in their hobbies, will regard his own with only a very iro=
nical indulgence. He will not be heard among the dogmatists. He will have a=
great and cool allowance for all sorts of people and opinions. If he finds=
no out-of-the-way truths, he will identify himself with no very burning fa=
lsehood. His way takes him along a by-road, not much frequented, but very e=
ven and pleasant, which is called Commonplace Lane, and leads to the Belved=
ere of Commonsense. Thence he shall command an agreeable, if no very noble =
prospect; and while others behold the East and West, the Devil and the Sunr=
ise, he will be contentedly aware of a sort of morning hour upon all sublun=
ary things, with an army of shadows running speedily and in many different =
directions into the great daylight of Eternity. The shadows and the generat=
ions, the shrill doctors and the plangent wars, go by into ultimate silence=
and emptiness; but underneath all this, a man may see, out of the Belveder=
e windows, much green and peaceful landscape; many firelit parlours; good p=
eople laughing, drinking, and making love as they did before the Flood or t=
he French Revolution; and the old shepherd telling his tale under the hawth=
orn. Extreme BUSYNESS, whether at school or college, kirk or market, is a s=
ymptom of deficient vitality; and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic=
appetite and a strong sense of personal identity. There is a sort of dead-=
alive, hackneyed people about, who are scarcely conscious of living except =
in the exercise of some conventional occupation. Bring these fellows into t=
he country, or set them aboard ship, and you will see how they pine for the=
ir desk or their study. They have no curiosity; they cannot give themselves=
over to random provocations; they do not take pleasure in the exercise of =
their faculties for its own sake; and unless Necessity lays about them with=
a stick, they will even stand still. It is no good speaking to such folk: =
they CANNOT be idle, their nature is not generous enough; and they pass tho=
se hours in a sort of coma, which are not dedicated to furious moiling in t=
he gold- mill. When they do not require to go to the office, when they are =
not hungry and have no mind to drink, the whole breathing world is a blank =
to them. If they have to wait an hour or so for a train, they fall into a s=
tupid trance with their eyes open. To see them, you would suppose there was=
nothing to look at and no one to speak with; you would imagine they were p=
aralysed or alienated; and yet very possibly they are hard workers in their=
own way, and have good eyesight for a flaw in a deed or a turn of the mark=
et. They have been to school and college, but all the time they had their e=
ye on the medal; they have gone about in the world and mixed with clever pe=
ople, but all the time they were thinking of their own affairs. As if a man=
's soul were not too small to begin with, they have dwarfed and narrowed th=
eirs by a life of all work and no play; until here they are at forty, with =
a listless attention, a mind vacant of all material of amusement, and not o=
ne thought to rub against another, while they wait for the train. Before he=
was breeched, he might have clambered on the boxes; when he was twenty, he=
would have stared at the girls; but now the pipe is smoked out, the snuff-=
box empty, and my gentleman sits bolt upright upon a bench, with lamentable=
eyes. This does not appeal to me as being Success in Life. But it is not o=
nly the person himself who suffers from his busy habits, but his wife and c=
hildren, his friends and relations, and down to the very people he sits wit=
h in a railway carriage or an omnibus. Perpetual devotion to what a man cal=
ls his business, is only to be sustained by perpetual neglect of many other=
things. And it is not by any means certain that a man's business is the mo=
st important thing he has to do. To an impartial estimate it will seem clea=
r that many of the wisest, most virtuous, and most beneficent parts that ar=
e to be played upon the Theatre of Life are filled by gratuitous performers=
, and pass, among the world at large, as phases of idleness. For in that Th=
eatre, not only the walking gentlemen, singing chambermaids, and diligent f=
iddlers in the orchestra, but those who look on and clap their hands from t=
he benches, do really play a part and fulfil important offices towards the =
general result. You are no doubt very dependent on the care of your lawyer =
and stockbroker, of the guards and signalmen who convey you rapidly from pl=
ace to place, and the policemen who walk the streets for your protection; b=
ut is there not a thought of gratitude in your heart for certain other bene=
factors who set you smiling when they fall in your way, or season your dinn=
er with good company? Colonel Newcome helped to lose his friend's money; Fr=
ed Bayham had an ugly trick of borrowing shirts; and yet they were better p=
eople to fall among than Mr. Barnes. And though Falstaff was neither sober =
nor very honest, I think I could name one or two long- faced Barabbases who=
m the world could better have done without. Hazlitt mentions that he was mo=
re sensible of obligation to Northcote, who had never done him anything he =
could call a service, than to his whole circle of ostentatious friends; for=
he thought a good companion emphatically the greatest benefactor. I know t=
here are people in the world who cannot feel grateful unless the favour has=
been done them at the cost of pain and difficulty. But this is a churlish =
disposition. A man may send you six sheets of letter-paper covered with the=
most entertaining gossip, or you may pass half an hour pleasantly, perhaps=
profitably, over an article of his; do you think the service would be grea=
ter, if he had made the manuscript in his heart's blood, like a compact wit=
h the devil? Do you really fancy you should be more beholden to your corres=
pondent, if he had been damning you all the while for your importunity? Ple=
asures are more beneficial than duties because, like the quality of mercy, =
they are not strained, and they are twice blest. There must always be two t=
o a kiss, and there may be a score in a jest; but wherever there is an elem=
ent of sacrifice, the favour is conferred with pain, and, among generous pe=
ople, received with confusion. There is no duty we so much underrate as the=
duty of being happy. By being happy, we sow anonymous benefits upon the wo=
rld, which remain unknown even to ourselves, or when they are disclosed, su=
rprise nobody so much as the benefactor. The other day, a ragged, barefoot =
boy ran down the street after a marble, with so jolly an air that he set ev=
ery one he passed into a good humour; one of these persons, who had been de=
livered from more than usually black thoughts, stopped the little fellow an=
d gave him some money with this remark: "You see what sometimes comes =
of looking pleased." If he had looked pleased before, he had now to lo=
ok both pleased and mystified. For my part, I justify this encouragement of=
smiling rather than tearful children; I do not wish to pay for tears anywh=
ere but upon the stage; but I am prepared to deal largely in the opposite c=
ommodity. A happy man or woman is a better thing to find than a five-pound =
note. He or she is a radiating focus of goodwill; and their entrance into a=
room is as though another candle had been lighted. We need not care whethe=
r they could prove the forty-seventh proposition; they do a better thing th=
an that, they practically demonstrate the great Theorem of the Liveableness=
of Life. Consequently, if a person cannot be happy without remaining idle,=
idle he should remain. It is a revolutionary precept; but thanks to hunger=
and the workhouse, one not easily to be abused; and within practical limit=
s, it is one of the most incontestable truths in the whole Body of Morality=
Look at one of your industrious fellows for a moment, I beseech you. He s=
ows hurry and reaps indigestion; he puts a vast deal of activity out to int=
erest, and receives a large measure of nervous derangement in return. Eithe=
r he absents himself entirely from all fellowship, and lives a recluse in a=
garret, with carpet slippers and a leaden inkpot; or he comes among people=
swiftly and bitterly, in a contraction of his whole nervous system, to dis=
charge some temper before he returns to work. I do not care how much or how=
well he works, this fellow is an evil feature in other people's lives. The=
y would be happier if he were dead. They could easier do without his servic=
es in the Circumlocution Office, than they can tolerate his fractious spiri=
ts. He poisons life at the well-head. It is better to be beggared out of ha=
nd by a scapegrace nephew, than daily hag-ridden by a peevish uncle. And wh=
at, in God's name, is all this pother about? For what cause do they embitte=
r their own and other people's lives? That a man should publish three or th=
irty articles a year, that he should finish or not finish his great allegor=
ical picture, are questions of little interest to the world. The ranks of l=
ife are full; and although a thousand fall, there are always some to go int=
o the breach. When they told Joan of Arc she should be at home minding wome=
n's work, she answered there were plenty to spin and wash. And so, even wit=
h your own rare gifts! When nature is "so careless of the single life,=
" why should we coddle ourselves into the fancy that our own is of exc=
eptional importance? Suppose Shakespeare had been knocked on the head some =
dark night in Sir Thomas Lucy's preserves, the world would have wagged on b=
etter or worse, the pitcher gone to the well, the scythe to the corn, and t=
he student to his book; and no one been any the wiser of the loss. There ar=
e not many works extant, if you look the alternative all over, which are wo=
rth the price of a pound of tobacco to a man of limited means. This is a so=
bering reflection for the proudest of our earthly vanities. Even a tobaccon=
ist may, upon consideration, find no great cause for personal vainglory in =
the phrase; for although tobacco is an admirable sedative, the qualities ne=
cessary for retailing it are neither rare nor precious in themselves. Alas =
and alas! you may take it how you will, but the services of no single indiv=
idual are indispensable. Atlas was just a gentleman with a protracted night=
mare! And yet you see merchants who go and labour themselves into a great f=
ortune and thence into the bankruptcy court; scribblers who keep scribbling=
at little articles until their temper is a cross to all who come about the=
m, as though Pharaoh should set the Israelites to make a pin instead of a p=
yramid: and fine young men who work themselves into a decline, and are driv=
en off in a hearse with white plumes upon it. Would you not suppose these p=
ersons had been whispered, by the Master of the Ceremonies, the promise of =
some momentous destiny? and that this lukewarm bullet on which they play th=
eir farces was the bull's-eye and centrepoint of all the universe? And yet =
it is not so. The ends for which they give away their priceless youth, for =
all they know, may be chimerical or hurtful; the glory and riches they expe=
ct may never come, or may find them indifferent; and they and the world the=
y inhabit are so inconsiderable that the mind freezes at the thought.</p>=
=20
</div>=20
<hr width=3D"50%" />=20
<div style=3D"text-align: center; ">
<font size=3D"2">Change your options by visiting <a href=3D"=
http://www.kimberlys.stream/Orkney-endangers/62a8R9j3EffkhVb6thvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONW928">here</a><br /> 2220 Meridian Blvd.,Suite #763, Minden, NV 89423</fo=
nt>
</div> =20
<img src=3D"http://www.kimberlys.stream/cd78T5M4X01Hb6KhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONW782/vigorous-pointer" alt=3D""/></body>
</html>
