Study Webtext
"Bartleby the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street " (1853)
Herman Melville
Prepared by Ann
Woodlief, Virginia Commonwealth University
Click on text in red for hypertext notes and questions
am a man. The nature of my
for the last thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact
with what an interesting and somewhat singular set of men of whom as yet
nothing that I know of has ever been written:-- I mean the
or .
I have known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I
pleased, could relate divers histories, at which good-natured gentlemen
might smile, and sentimental souls might weep. But I waive the biographies
of all other scriveners for a few
in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener the
I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I might write the
, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done. I believe that
no materials exist for a full and of this man. It is an irreparable loss to literature. Bartleby
was one of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from
the original sources, and in his case those are very small. What my own
astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I know of him, except, indeed,
one vague report which will appear in the .
Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit
I make some mention of myself, my employees, my business, my chambers,
and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensable
to an adequate understanding of the chief character about to be presented.
Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been
filled with a profound conviction that . Hence, though I belong to a profession
proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, at times, yet
nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to
my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses
a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in the cool tranquillity
of a snug retreat, do a among rich men's bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. The late , a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had
no hesitation in pronouncing my to be prudence; my next, method. I do not , but simply record the fact, that I was not
unemployed in my profession by the last John Jacob Astor; a name which,
I admit, I love to repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to
it, and I will freely add, that I was the late John Jacob Astor's good opinion.
Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my
avocations had been largely increased. The good old office, in the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery,
had been conferred upon me. It was not a very arduous office, but very
pleasantly remunerative. ; much more seldom indulge in dangerous
indignation at wrongs and outrages; but I must be permitted to be rash
here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violent abrogation of
the office of Master of Chancery, by the new Constitution, as a----; inasmuch as I had counted upon a life-lease of the
profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. But this is
.
My chambers were up stairs at No.--Wall-street. At one end they looked
upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetrating
the building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rather
tame than otherwise, But if so, the view
from the other end of my chambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing
more. In that direction my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a
black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required
no spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of
all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window
panes. Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my chambers
being on the second floor, the interval between this wall and mine not
a little resembled a huge square .
At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons
as copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy. First,
Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut.These may seem names, the like
of which are not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were , mutually conferred upon
each other by my three clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective
persons or characters. Turkey was a short, pursy Englishman of about my
own age, that is, somewhere not far from sixty. In the morning, one might
say, his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o'clock, meridian--
-- it blazed like a grate full of Christmas coals;
and continued blazing--but, as it were, with a gradual wane--till 6 o'clock,
P.M. or thereabouts, after which I saw no more of the proprietor of the
face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemed to set with it, to
rise, culminate, and decline the following day, with the like regularity
and undiminished glory. There are many singular coincidences I have known
in the course of my life, not the least among which was the fact that exactly
when Turkey displayed his fullest beams from his red and radiant countenance,
just then, too, at the critical moment, began the daily period when I considered
his business capacities as seriously disturbed for the remainder of the
twenty-four hours. Not that he was absolutely idle, or averse to business
then; far from it. The difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether . There was a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty
recklessness of activity about him. He would be incautious in dipping his
pen into his inkstand. All his blots upon my documents, were dropped there
after twelve o'clock, meridian. Indeed, not only would he be reckless and
sadly given to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further,
and was rather .  He made an unpleasant
racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; in mending his pens, impatiently
split them all to pieces, and threw them on the floor in a sudden passion;
stood up and leaned over his table, boxing his papers about in a most
like him. Nevertheless,
as he was in many ways a most valuable person to me, and all the time before
twelve o'clock, meridian, was the quickest, steadiest creature too, accomplishing
a great deal of work in a style not easy to be matched--for these reasons,
to overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, occasionally,
I remonstrated with him. I did this very gently, however, because, though
the civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in the morning,
yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to be slightly
rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. Now, valuing his morning services
as I did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at the same time made uncomfortable
by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock; and being a , unwilling by my admonitions to call forth unseemingly
retorts from him; I took upon me, one Saturday noon (he was always worse
on Saturdays), to hint to him, very kindly, that perhaps now that he was
growing old, it might be well to abridge his labors; in short, he need
not come to my chambers after twelve o'clock, but, dinner over, had best
go home to his lodgings and rest himself till tea-time. But no; he insisted
upon his afternoon . His countenance became
intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured me--gesticulating with a
long ruler at the other end of the room--that if his services in the morning
were useful, how indispensible, then, in the afternoon?
"" said Turkey on this occasion, "I consider
myself your right-hand man. In the morning I but marshal and deploy my
columns; but in the afternoon , and gallantly charge the foe,
thus!"--and he made a with the ruler.
"But the blots, Turkey," intimated I.
"True,--but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting old.
Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not the page--is honorable.
With submission, sir, we both are getting old."
was hardly to be resisted. At
all events, I saw that go he would not. So I made up my mind to let him
stay, resolving, nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoon
he had to do with my less important papers.
Nippers, the second on my list, was a whiskered, sallow, and, upon the
whole, rather young man of about
five and twenty. I always deemed him the victim of two evil powers-- ambition
and indigestion. The ambition was evinced by a certain impatience of the
duties of a an unwarrantable usurpation of strictly profession
affairs, such as the of legal documents. The indigestion seemed betokened
in an occasional nervous testiness and grinning irritability, causing the
teeth to audibly grind together over mistakes committed in copying; unnecessary
maledictions, hissed, rather than spoken, in the heat of business; and
especially by a with the height of the table where he worked.
Though of a very ingenious mechanical turn, Nippers could never get this
table to suit him. He put chips under it, blocks of various sorts, bits
of pasteboard, and at last went so far as to attempt an exquisite adjustment
by final pieces of folded blotting-paper. But no invention would answer.
If, for the sake of easing his back, he brought the table lid at a sharp
angle well up towards his chin, and wrote there like a man using the steep
roof of a Dutch house for his desk:--then he declared that it stopped the
circulation in his arms. If now he lowered the table to his waistbands,
and stooped over it in writing, then there was a sore aching in his back.
In short, the truth of the matter was, Nippers knew not what he wanted.
Or, , it was to be rid of a scrivener's table
altogether. Among the manifestations of his diseased ambition was a fondness
he had for receiving visits from certain ambiguous-looking fellows in seedy
coats, whom he called his clients. Indeed I was aware that not only was
he, at times, considerable of a ward-politician, but he occasionally did
at the Justices' courts, and was not unknown on the
steps of the Tombs. I have good reason to believe, however, that one individual
who called upon him at my chambers, and who, with a grand air, he insisted
was his client, was no other than a dun, and the alleged title-deed, a
bill. But with all his failings, and the annoyances he caused me, Nippers,
like his compatriot Turkey, was a very to me; wrote a neat, swift hand; and, when he chose,
was not deficient in a gentlemanly sort of deportment. Added to this, he
in a gentlemanly sort of way; and so, incidentally,
reflected credit upon my chambers. Whereas with respect to Turkey, I had
much ado to keep him from being a reproach to me. His clothes were apt
to look oily and smell of eating-houses. He wore his pantaloons very loose
and baggy in summer. His coats were execrable; his hat not to be handled.
But while the was a thing of indifference to
me, inasmuch as his natural civility and deference, as a dependent Englishman,
always led him to doff it the moment he entered the room, yet his coat
was another matter. Concerning his coats, I reasoned with him; but with
no effect. The truth was, I suppose, that a man with so small an income,
could not afford to sport such a lustrous face and a lustrous coat at one
and the same time. As Nippers once observed, Turkey's money went chiefly
for red ink. One winter day with a highly-respectable looking coat
of my own, a padded gray coat, of a most comfortable warmth, and which
buttoned straight up from the knee to the neck. I thought Turkey would
appreciate the favor, and abate his rashness and obstreperousness of afternoons.
But no. I verily believe that buttoning himself up in so downy and blanket-like
a coat had a pernicious effect upon him; upon the same principle that too
much oats are bad for horses. In fact, precisely as a rash, restive , so Turkey felt his coat. It made
him insolent. He was a man whom prosperity harmed.
Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private
surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might
be his faults in other respects, he was, at least, a temperate young man.
But indeed, nature herself seemed to have been his , and at his birth charged
him so thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like disposition, that all
subsequent potations were needless. When I consider how, amid the stillness
of my chambers, Nippers would sometimes impatiently rise from his seat,
and stooping over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seize the whole
desk, and move it, and jerk it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor,
as if the table were a , intent on thwarting and vexing him; I plainly
perceive that for Nippers, brandy and water were altogether superfluous.
It was fortunate for me that, owing to its course--indigestion--the irritability
and consequent nervousness of Nippers, were mainly observable in the morning,
while in the afternoon he was comparatively mild. So that Turkey's paroxysms
only coming on about twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities
at one time. Their fits relieved each other like guards. When Nippers'
was on, Turkey's was off, and vice versa. This was a under the circumstances.
 His
father was a carman, ambitious of seeing his son on the bench instead of
a cart, before he died. So he sent him to my office as a student at law,
errand boy, and cleaner and sweeper, at the rate of one dollar a week.
He had a little desk to himself, but he did not use it much. Upon inspection,
the drawer exhibited a great array of the shells of various sorts of nuts.
Indeed, to this quick-witted youth the whole noble science of the law was
. Not the least among the employments of Ginger
Nut, as well as one which he discharged with the most alacrity, was his
duty as cake and apple purveyor for Turkey and Nippers. Copying law papers
being proverbially a sort of business, my two scriveners were fain to moisten
their mouths very often with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls
nigh the Custom House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very
frequently for that peculiar cake--small, flat, round, and very spicy--after
which he had been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but
dull, Turkey would gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere
wafers--indeed they sell them at the rate of six or eight for a penny--the
scrape of his pen blending with the crunching of the crisp particles in
his mouth. Of all the fiery afternoon blunders and flurried rashnesses
of Turkey, was his once moistening a ginger-cake between his lips, and
clapping it on to a mortgage for a seal. of dismissing him then. But he mollified
me by making an oriental bow, and saying--"With submission, sir, it was
generous of me in stationery on my own account."
Now my original business--that of a , and drawer-up of recondite documents of
all sorts--was considerably increased by receiving the master's office.
There was now great work for scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks
already with me, but I must have additional help. In answer to my advertisement,
a motionless young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the
door being open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now--, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.
After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to
have among of copyists a man of so an aspect, which I thought might operate beneficially
upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers.
I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my
premises into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the
other by myself. I threw open these doors, or closed them. I resolved
to assign Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of them,
so as to have this quiet man within easy call, in case any was to be done. I placed his desk close up to a small
side window in that part of the room, a window which originally had afforded
a lateral view of certain grimy back-yards and bricks, but which, owing
to commanded at present no view at all, though it
gave some light. Within three feet of the panes was a wall, and the light
came down from far above, between two lofty buildings, as from a very small
opening in a dome. Still further to a satisfactory arrangement, I procured
, which might entirely isolate Bartleby
from my sight, though not remove him from . And thus, in a manner, privacy and society were
At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long
for something to copy, he seemed to himself on my documents. There
was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night line, copying by sun-light
and by candle-light. I should have been quite delighted with his application,
had be been . But he wrote on silently, palely,
It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener's business to verify
the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or more scriveners
in an office, they assist each other in this examination, one reading from
the copy, the other holding the original. It is a affair. I can readily imagine
that to some temperaments it would be altogether
intolerable. For example, I cannot credit that the would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby
to examine a law document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in
a crimpy hand.
Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist
in comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for
this purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me behind
the screen, was to avail myself of his services on such . It was on the third day, I think, of his being
with me, and before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing
examined, that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in
hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and , I sat with my head bent
over the original on my desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat
nervously extended with the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from
his retreat, Bartleby might it and proceed to business without
the least delay.
In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating
what it was I wanted him to do--namely, to examine a small paper with me.
Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his
privacy, Bartleby in a singularly , replied,
I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately
it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely
misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the clearest tone I
could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, "I would
prefer not to."
"Prefer not to," echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing the
room with a stride, "What do you mean? Are you ? I want you to help me
compare this sheet here--take it," and I thrust it towards him.
"I would prefer not to," said he.
I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye
dimly calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the
least uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in other
words, had there been any thing about him, doubtless him from the premises. But
as it was, I should have as soon thought of turning my pale out of doors. I stood gazing at him awhile,
as he went on with his own writing, and then reseated myself at my desk.
This is very strange, thought I. What had best do? But my business hurried
me. I concluded to forget the matter for the present, reserving it for
my future leisure. So calling Nippers from the other room, the paper was
speedily examined.
A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being
quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of
Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important suit,
and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I called
Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to place the
four copies in the hands of my four clerks, while I should read from the
original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats
in a row, each with his document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to
join this .
"Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."
I heard a low scrape of his chair legs on the unscraped floor, and soon
he appeared standing at the entrance of his
"What is wanted?" said he mildly.
"The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them.
There"--and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate.
"I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.
For a few moments I was turned into standing at the head of my seated column
of clerks. Recovering myself, I towards the screen, and demanded
the reason for such extraordinary conduct.

"I would prefer not to."
With any other man I should have scorned all further words,
and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something
about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful
manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him.
"These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving
to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. Every copyist is bound to help examine his
copy. Is it not so? Will you not speak? Answer!"
"I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me that
while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every statement
that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible
conclusion; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed
with him to reply as he did.
"You are decided, then, not to comply with my request--a request made
according to common usage and common sense?"
He briefly gave me to understand that on that point Yes: his decision was irreversible.
It is not seldom the case that when a man is in some unprecedented and
violently unreasonable way, in his own plainest faith. He begins, as
it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the justice
and all the reason is on the other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested
persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own
"Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?"
"With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think
that you are."
"Nippers," said I, "what do you think of it?"
"I think I should kick him out of the office."
(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning,
Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but Nippers replies
in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nipper's ugly
mood was on duty, and Turkey's off.)
"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf,
"what do you think of it?"

"You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth
and ."
But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But
once more business hurried me. I determined to postpone the consideration
of this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out
to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey
deferentially dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of
the common; while Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness,
ground out between his set teeth occasional hissing maledictions against
the stubborn oaf behind the screen. And for his (Nipper's) part, this was
the first and the last time he would do another man's business without
pay.
Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but
his own peculiar business there.
Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work.
His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his way narrowly. I observed
that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet
I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office.
He was a in the corner. At about eleven o'clock though, in
the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance toward the opening
in Bartleby's screen, as if silently beckoned thither by a gesture invisible
to me where I sat. That boy would then leave the office jingling a few
pence, and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in
the hermitage, receiving two of the cakes for his trouble.
He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a dinner, properly
speaking; he must be a vegetarian then, but no; he never eats even vegetables,
he . My mind then ran on in reveries
concerning the probable effects upon the human constitution of living entirely
on ginger-nuts. Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as
one of their peculiar constituents, and the final flavoring one. Now what
was ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all.
Ginger, then, had no effect upon Bartleby. Probably
Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a If the individual so resisted be of a not inhumane
temper, and the resisting one perfectly harmless in his passivity; then,
in the better moods of the former, he will endeavor charitably to what proves impossible to be solved by
his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded Bartleby and his ways.
Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is plain he intends no
insolence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his eccentricities are
involuntary. . I can get along with him. If I turn him
away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent employer,
and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth miserably
to starve. Yes. Here a delicious self-approval. To befriend
Bartleby; to humor him in his strange willfulness, will cost me little
or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually prove a for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable
with me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely
goaded on to encounter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark
from him answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed
to strike fire with my knuckles against a bit of . But one afternoon the evil impulse in me mastered
me, and the following little scene ensued:
"Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare
them with you."
"I would prefer not to."
"How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that "
No answer.
I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey and Nippers,
exclaimed in an excited manner--
"He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think
of it, Turkey?"
It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler,
his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers.
"Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step behind his screen,
and black his eyes for him!"
So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a . He was hurrying away to make good his promise,
when I detained him, alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey's
combativeness after dinner.
"Sit down, Turkey," said I, "and hear what Nippers has to say. What do
you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately dismissing
Bartleby?"
"Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct quite
unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only
be a passing whim."
"Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then--you speak
very gently of him now."
"All beer," cried Turkey; "gentleness is effects of beer--Nippers and
I dined together to-day. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall I go and black
his eyes?"
"You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied;
"pray, put up your fists."
I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional
incentives tempting me to my fate. I remembered that Bartleby
never left the office.
"Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the , won't you? (it was but a three minutes walk,) and
see if there is any thing for me."
"I would prefer not to."
"You will not?"
"I prefer not."
I to my desk, and sat there
in a deep study. My returned. Was there any other thing in which I
could procure myself to be repulsed by this lean,
penniless with?--? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable,
that he will be sure to refuse to do?
"Bartleby!"
No answer.
"Bartleby," in a louder tone.
No answer.
"Bartleby," I roared.
Like , agreeably to the laws of magical invocation,
at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.
"Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me."
"I prefer not to," he and slowly said, and mildly disappeared.
"Very good, Bartleby," said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe self-possessed
tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some very close at hand. At the moment I half intended
something of the kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my
dinner-hour, I thought it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day,
.
The conclusion of this whole business was
that it soon became a fixed fact of my chambers, that a pale young scrivener,
by the name of Bartleby, had a desk there; that he copied for me at the
usual rate of (one hundred words); but he was permanently
exempt from examining the work done by him, that duty being transferred
to Turkey and Nippers, one of compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness;
moreover, said Bartleby was never on any account to be dispatched on the
most trivial errand of any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon
him such a matter, it was generally understood that he would prefer not
to--in other words, that he would refuse
32 As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His
steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except
when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen),
his great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances,
made him . One prime thing was this,--he was
always there;--first in the morning, continually through the day, and the
last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most
precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could
not, , avoid falling into sudden spasmodic
passions with him. For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the
time those strange peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions,
forming the tacit stipulations on Bartleby's part under which he remained
in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business,
I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his
finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was
about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual
answer, "I prefer not to," was sure to come; and then, with the common infirmities of our
nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness--such unreasonableness.
However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.
Here is must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen
occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several
keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person
weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. Another was kept
by Turkey for convenience sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own
pocket. The fourth I knew not who had.
Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, , and finding myself rather early
on the ground, I thought I would walk round to my chambers for a while.
Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found
it resisted by something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called
out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting
his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and
otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was
sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and--preferred not admitting
me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps
I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time
he would probably have concluded his affairs. Now, the utterly of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers of a Sunday
morning, with his gentlemanly nonchalance,
yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me,
that incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But
not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery
of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness
chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but me, as it were. For I consider
that one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits
his hired clerk to dictate to him, and away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of
uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in
his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday
morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question.
It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person.
But what could he be doing there?--copying? Nay again, whatever might be
his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would
be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity.
Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade
the supposition that we would by any secular occupation violate of the day.
Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity,
at last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened
it, and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously,
peeped behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon
more closely examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period
Bartleby must have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without
plate, mirror, or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one
corner bore t faint impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under
his desk, I found a blanket; under the empty grate, a blacking box and
brush; on a chair, a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper
a few crumbs of ginger-nuts and a morsel of cheese. Yet, thought I, it
is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping
all by himself. Immediately then the thought came sweeping
across me, What miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed!
His poverty is great; but his solitude, Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall-street is deserted
as ; and every night of every day
it is an emptiness. This building too, which of week-days hums with industry
and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday
is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude
which he has seen all populous--a sort of innocent and transformed
For the a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy
seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness.
The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal
melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were . I remembered the bright silks and sparkling faces
I had seen that day in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the Mississippi
of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid copyist, and thought
to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the world is gay;
but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. These sad
fancyings-- , doubtless, of a sick and
silly brain--led on to other and more special thoughts, concerning the
eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered
round me. The scrivener's pale form appeared to me , among uncaring strangers, in its shivering winding
sheet.
Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight
left in the lock.
seek the gratification of no heartless
curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too,
so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged,
the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the
files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something
there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and
knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings' bank.
I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I
remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals
he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading--no,
not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out,
at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite
sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face
clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee
even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I
could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case
at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came,
or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale,
he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain
unconscious air of pallid--how shall I call it?--of , say, or rather an austere reserve about him,
which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities,
when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me,
even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that
behind his screen he must be standing in one of those of his.
Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered
fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not
forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a began to steal over me. My first emotions had been
those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as
the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same
melancholy merge into , that pity into repulsion. So
true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought
or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special
cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably
this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather
proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic
ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it
is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense
bids the soul be rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the
scrivener was the victim I might give alms to his body;
but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and
I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning.
Somehow, for the time from church-going.
I walked homeward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I
upon this;--I would put certain calm questions to him the
next morning, touching his history, &c., and if he declined to answer
then openly and reservedly (and I supposed he would prefer not), then to
give him a twenty dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him,
and tell him his services were no longer required; but that if in any other
way I could assist him, I would be happy to do so, especially if he desired
to return to his native place, wherever that might be, I would willingly
help to defray the expenses. Moreover, if after reaching home, he found
himself at any time in want of aid, a letter from him would be sure of
a reply.
The next morning came.
"Bartleby," said I, gently calling to him behind the screen.
No reply.
"Bartleby," said I, in a still gentler tone, "come here; I am not going
to ask you to do any thing you would prefer not to do--I simply wish to
speak to you."
Upon this he noiselessly slid into view.
"Will you tell me, Bartleby,
"I would prefer not to."
"Will you tell me anything about yourself?"
"I would prefer not to."
"But what can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards
you."
He did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my
, which as I then sat, was directly behind me, some
six inches above my head. "What is your answer, Bartleby?" said I, after
waiting a considerable time for a reply, during which his countenance remained
immovable, only there was the of the white attenuated mouth.
"At present I prefer to give no answer," he said, and retired into his
hermitage.
It was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner on this occasion nettled
me. Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain disdain, but , considering the undeniable
good usage and indulgence he had received from me.
Again I sat ruminating what I should do. as I was at his behavior,
and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my office, nevertheless
I strangely felt something superstitious knocking at my heart, and forbidding
me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing me for a villain if I dared
to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind. At last,
familiarly drawing my chair behind his screen, I sat down and said: "Bartleby,
never mind then about revealing your history; but let me entreat you,
, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this office.
Say now you will help to examine papers tomorrow or next day: in short,
say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:--say
so, Bartleby."
"At present I would prefer not to be a little ,"
Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed
suffering from an unusually bad night's rest, induced by severer indigestion
than common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby.
" not,
eh?" gritted Nippers--"I'd prefer him, if I were you, sir," addressing
me--"I'd prefer him; I'd give him preferences, the stubborn mule!
What is it, sir, pray, that he prefers not to do now?"
Bartleby moved not a limb.
Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntary using this word
"prefer" upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I trembled
to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously affected
me in a mental way. And what further and deeper might it not yet produce?
This apprehension had not been without in determining me to summary
means.
As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly
and deferentially approached.
"With submission, sir," said he, "yesterday I was thinking about Bartleby
here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart of good ale
every day, it would do much towards mending him, and enabling him to assist
in examining his papers."
"So you have got the word too," said I, slightly excited.
"With submission, what word, sir," asked Turkey, respectfully crowding
himself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing, making
me "What word, sir?"
"I would prefer to be left alone here," said Bartleby, as if offended
at being
"That's the word, Turkey," said I--"that's it."
"Oh, prefer oh yes--queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir
as I was saying, if he would but prefer--"
"Turkey," interrupted I, "you will please withdraw."
"Oh, certainly, sir, ."
As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught a
glimpse of me, and asked whether I would prefer to have a certain paper
copied on blue paper or white. He did not in the least roguishly accent
the word prefer. It was plain that it involuntarily rolled from his tongue.
I thought to myself, surely I must get rid of a man, who already has in some
degree turned the tongues, if not the heads of myself and clerks. But I
thought it not to break the dismission
at once.
The next day I noticed that but stand at his window in his dead-wall revery.
Upon asking him why he did not write, he said that he had decided upon
doing no more writing.
"Why, how now? what next?" exclaimed I, "do no more writing?"
"No more."
"And what is the reason?"
" for yourself," he indifferently replied.
I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and
glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying
by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have
temporarily .
I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that
of course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and urged
him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in the open
air. This, however, . A few days after this, my other clerks being
absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatch certain letters by the mail,
I thought that, having nothing else earthly to do, Bartleby would surely
be less inflexible than usual, and carry these letters . But he blankly declined. So, much to my
inconvenience, I went myself.
Still Whether Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I
could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked
him if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no
copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had permanently
given up copying.
"What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well- better
than ever before--would you not copy then?"
"I have given up copying," he answered, and
He remained as ever, in my chamber. Nay--if that were possible--he became
still more of a fixture than before. What was to be done? He would do nothing
in the office: why should he stay there? In plain fact, he had now become
a millstone to me, not only useless as a necklace, but afflictive to bear.
Yet I was sorry for him. I speak less than truth when I say that, on his
own account, he occasioned me uneasiness. If he would but have named a
single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, and urged their
taking the poor fellow away to some convenient retreat. But he seemed alone,
absolutely alone in the universe. /font> in the mid Atlantic. At length,
necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all other considerations.
Decently as I could, I told Bartleby that in six days' time he must unconditionally
leave the office. I warned him to take measures, in the interval, for procuring
some other abode. I offered to assist him in this endeavor, if he himself
would but take the first step towards a removal. "And when you finally
quit me, Bartleby," added I, "I shall see that you go not away entirely
unprovided. Six days from this hour, remember."
At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and
I , balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him,
touched his shoulder, and said, "The time has come; you must quit this
place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go."
"I would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me.
"You must."
He remained silent.
Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. He had
frequently restored to me six pences and shillings carelessly dropped upon
the floor, for I am apt to be very reckless in such . The proceeding then which followed will not be
deemed extraordinary. " and I handed the
bills towards him.
But he made no motion.
"I will leave them here then," putting them under a weight on the table.
Then taking my hat and cane and going to the door I tranquilly turned and
added--"After you have removed your things from these offices, Bartleby,
you will of course lock the door--since every one is now gone for the day
but you--and if you please, slip your key underneath the mat, so that I
may have it in the morning. I shall not see you again; so good-bye to you.
If hereafter in your new place of abode I can be of any service to you,
do not fail to advise me by letter. Good-bye, Bartleby, and fare you well."
But he answered not a word; like , he remained standing
mute and solitary in the middle of the otherwise deserted room.
As I walked home in a pensive mood, my . I could not but highly plume
myself on my masterly management in getting rid of Bartleby. Masterly I
call it, and such it must appear to any dispassionate thinker. The beauty
of my procedure seemed to consist in its perfect quietness. There was
, no bravado of any sort, no choleric hectoring
and striding to and fro across the apartment, jerking out vehement commands
for Bartleby to bundle himself off with his beggarly traps. Nothing of
the kind. Without loudly bidding Bartleby depart--as might have done--I assumed the ground that
depart he must; and upon the assumption built all I had to say. The more
I thought over my procedure, the more I was charmed with it. Nevertheless,
next morning, upon awakening, I had my doubts,--I had somehow slept off
the fumes of vanity. One of the coolest and wisest hours a man has, is
just after he awakes in the morning. My procedure seemed as sagacious as
ever,--but only in theory. How it would prove in practice--there was the
rub. It was truly a beautiful thought to have assumed Bartleby's departure;
but, after all, that assumption was simply my own, and none of Bartleby's.
The great point was, not whether I had assumed that he would quit me, but
whether he would prefer so to do. He was more a .
After breakfast, I walked down town, arguing the probabilities pro and
con. One moment I thought it would prove a miserable failure, and Bartleby
would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next moment it seemed
certain that I should see his chair empty. And so I kept veering about.
At the corner of Broadway and Canal- street, I saw quite an excited group
of people standing in earnest conversation.
"I'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as I passed.
"Doesn't go?--done!" said I, "put up your money."
I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, when
I remembered that this was an election day. The words I had overheard bore
no reference to Bartleby, but to the success or non-success of some candidate
for the mayoralty. In my intent frame of mind, I had, as it were, , and were debating
the same question with me. I passed on, very thankful that the uproar of
the street screened my momentary absent-mindedness.
As I had intended, I was earlier than usual at my office door. I stood
listening for a moment. All was still. He must be gone. I tried the knob.
The door was locked. Yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; he indeed
must be vanished. Yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: I was . I was fumbling under the
door mat for the key, which Bartleby was to have left there for me, when
accidentally my knee knocked against a panel, producing a summoning sound,
and in response a voice came to me from within--"Not yet; I am occupied."
It was Bartleby.
I was thunderstruck. For an instant I stood one cloudless afternoon
long ago in Virginia, by summer lightning; at his own warm open window
he was killed, and remained leaning out there upon the dreamy afternoon,
till some one touched him, when he fell. "Not gone!" I murmured at last.
But again obeying that which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and
from which ascendancy, for all my chafing, I could not completely escape,
I slowly went down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round
the block, considered what I should next do in this unheard-of-perplexity.
Turn the man out by an actual thrusting I could not; to drive him away
by calling him hard names would not do; calling in the police was an unpleasant
idea; and yet, to enjoy his cadaverous triumph over me,--this too I
could not think of. What was to be done? or, if nothing could be done,
was there any thing further that I could in the matter? Yes, as before
I had prospectively assumed that Bartleby would depart, so now I might
retrospectively assume that departed he was. In the legitimate carrying
out of this assumption, I might enter my office in a great hurry, and pretending
not to see Bartleby at all, walk straight against him as if he were air.
Such a proceeding would in a singular degree have the appearance of a
. It was hardly possible that Bartleby could withstand
such an application of the doctrine of assumptions. But upon second thoughts
the success of the plan seemed rather dubious. I resolved to argue the
matter over with him again.
Bartleby," said I, entering the office, with a quietly severe expression.
"I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had thought better
of you. I had imagined you of such a , that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint
would suffice--in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why,"
I added, , "you have not even touched the money yet," pointing
to it, just where I had left it the evening previous.
He answered nothing.
"Will you, or will you not, quit me?" I now demanded in a , advancing close to him.
"I would prefer not to quit you," he replied, the not.
"What have you to stay here? do you pay any rent? Do you
pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?"
He answered nothing.
 Are your eyes recovered? Could
you copy a small paper for me this morning? or help examine a few lines?
or step round to the post-office? In a word, will you do any thing at all,
to give a coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?"
He .
I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but
to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby
and I were alone. the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still
more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor
Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself
to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into his --an act which certainly more than the actor himself. Often
it had occurred to me in my upon the subject, that had
that altercation taken place in the public street, or at a private residence,
it would not have terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being
alone in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed
by humanizing domestic associations--an , doubtless of a dusty, haggard sort of appearance;--this
it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation
of the hapless Colt.
But when this rose in me and tempted me concerning Bartleby,
I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the : "A new commandment give I unto you, that ye
love one another." Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from higher considerations,
charity often operates as principle--a great safeguard to its
possessor. Men have committed murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake,
and hatred's sake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but
no man that ever I heard of, ever for sweet charity's sake. , then, if no better motive can be enlisted,
should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charity
and philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question, I strove
to towards the scrivener by benevolently
construing his conduct. Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don't mean
any thing; and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to be indulged.
I endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time
I tried to fancy that in the course of the
morning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him, Bartleby, of his
own free accord, would emerge from his hermitage, and take up some decided
line of march in the direction of the door. But no. Half-past twelve o'clock
came; Turkey began to glow in the face, overturn his inkstand, and become
generally obstreperous; Nippers abated down into quietude and courtesy;
Ginger Nut munched his noon apple; and Bartleby remained standing at his
window in one of his profoundest reveries. Ought I to acknowledge it? That afternoon
I left the office without saying one further word to him.
Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little
into " and "Priestly on Necessity." Under the circumstances,
those books induced a salutary feeling. Gradually I that these troubles of mine touching
the scrivener, had been all , and Bartleby was upon me for some mysterious
purpose of an all-wise Providence, which it was not for a mere mortal like
me to fathom. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen, ; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless
as any of these old chairs; in short, I never feel so private as when I
know you are here. At least I see it, I feel it; I penetrate to the predestinated
purpose of my life. I am content. Others may have loftier parts to enact;
but in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room
for such period as you may see fit to remain.
I believe that this wise and blessed frame of mind would have continued
with me, had it not been for the unsolicited and uncharitable remarks obtruded
upon me by who visited the rooms. But thus it often
is, that the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the
best resolves of the more . Though to be sure, when
I reflected upon it, it was not strange that people entering my office
should be struck by the peculiar aspect of the unaccountable Bartleby,
and so be tempted to throw out some sinister observations concerning him.
Sometimes an attorney having business with me, and calling at my office,
and finding no one but the scrivener there, would undertake to obtain some
sort of precise information from him touching my whereabouts; but without
heeding his Bartleby would remain standing immovable in the middle
of the room. So after contemplating him in that position for a time, the
attorney would depart, no wiser than he came.
Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and
witnesses and business was driving fast; some deeply occupied legal gentleman
present, seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him to run round
to his (the legal gentleman's) office and fetch some papers for him. Thereupon,
Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and remain idle as before. Then the
lawyer would give a great stare, and turn to me. And what could I say?
At last I was made aware that all through the circle of my professional
acquaintance, a whisper of wonder was running round, having reference to
the strange creature I kept at my office. This . And as the idea came upon me of his possibly
turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and ; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing
my professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the premises;
keeping soul and body together to the last upon his savings (for doubtless
he spent but half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps , and claim possession of my office by right of his perpetual
occupancy: as all these dark anticipations crowded upon me more and more,
and my friends continually intruded their relentless remarks upon the apparition
in my room; a great change was wrought in me. I resolved to gather all
my faculties together, and for ever rid me of this .
Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I
first simply suggested to Bartleby the of his permanent departure.
In a calm and serious tone, I commended the idea to his careful and mature
consideration. But having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised
me that his original determination remained the same; in short, that he
still preferred to .
What shall I do? I now said to myself, to the last button. What shall I do? what ought
I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or rather
ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But how?  No, I will not, I cannot do that.
 What then will you do? For all
your coaxing, he will not budge. he leaves under your own paperweight
on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers.
Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you
will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor
to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing
to be done?--a vagrant, is he? he a vagrant, a wanderer, who
refuses to budge? It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you
seek to count him as a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of
support: there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he does support
himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show
of his possessing the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit
me, I must quit him. I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and
give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then
proceed against him as a common trespasser.
Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him: "I find these chambers
too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose
to remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services.
I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place."
He made no reply, and nothing more was said.
On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers,
and having but little furniture, every thing was removed in a few hours.
Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind which I directed to be removed the last thing. It
was withdrawn; and being folded up like a huge folio, left him the I stood in the entry watching him
a moment, while something from within me upbraided me.
I re-entered, with my
"Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going--good-bye, and God some way bless you;
and take that," slipping something in his hand. But it dropped to the floor,
and then,--I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be
rid of.
Established in my new quarters, for a day or two I kept the door locked,
and started at every footfall in the passages. When I returned to my rooms
after any little absence, I would pause at the threshold for an instant,
and attentively listen, ere applying my key. But these fears were needless.
Bartleby never came nigh me.
I thought all was going well, when a perturbed looking stranger visited
me, inquiring whether I was the person who had recently occupied rooms
at No.--Wall-street.
Full of forebodings, I replied that I was.
"Then, sir," said the , "you are responsible for the man you
left there. He refuses to do any copying; he refuses to do any thing; he
says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the premises."
"I am very sorry, sir," said I, with assumed tranquillity, but an inward
tremor, "but, really, --he is no relation or
apprentice of mine, that you should hold me responsible for him."
"In mercy's name, who is he?"
"I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I employed
him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time past."
" then,--good morning, sir."
Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt
a charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet
a certain of I know not what withheld
me.
All is over with him, by this time, thought I at last, when through another
week no further intelligence reached me. But coming to my room the day
after, I found several persons waiting at my door in a high state of nervous
excitement.
"That's the man--here he comes," cried the foremost one, whom recognized
as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone.
"You must take him away, sir, at once," cried a portly person among them,
advancing upon me, and whom I knew to be the landlord of No.--Wall-street.
"These gentlemen, my tenants, cannot stand it any longer; Mr. B--" pointing
to the lawyer, "has turned him out of his room, and he now persists in
generally, sitting upon the banisters of the
stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night. Every body is concerned;
clients are leaving the offices; ; something you must do, and
that without delay."
, I fell back before it, and would fain have
in my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby
was nothing to me--no more than to any one else. In vain:--I was the last
person known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the
terrible account. in the papers (as one person present
obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that
if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener,
in his (the lawyer's) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to
rid them of the nuisance they complained of.
Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon
the banister at the landing.
"What are you doing here, Bartleby?" said I.
"Sitting upon the banister," he mildly replied.
I motioned him into the lawyer's room, who then left us.
", "are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation
to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being dismissed from
the office?"
No answer.
"Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something or
something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like
to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?"
"No; I would prefer not to make any change."
"Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?"
"There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship;
but I am not particular."
"Too much confinement," I cried, "why you keep yourself confined all the
time!"
"I would prefer not to take a clerkship," he rejoined, as if to settle
that little item at once.
"How would a bar-tender's business suit you? There is no trying of the
eyesight in that."
"I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular."
His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge.
"Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills
for the merchants? That would improve your health."
"No, I would prefer to be doing something else."
"How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young
gentleman with your conversation,--how would that suit you?"
"Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about
that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.
"Stationary you shall be then," I cried, now losing all patience, and
for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying
into a passion. "If you do not go away from these premises before night,
--indeed I am bound--to-- to--to quit the premises
myself!" I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what his immobility into compliance.
Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when
a final thought occurred to me--
"Bartleby," said I, in the kindest under such exciting circumstances, "will you
go home with me now--not to my office, but my dwelling--and remain there
till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure?
Come, let us start now, right away."
"No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."
I answered nothing; but effectualy dodging every one by the rushed from the building, ran
up Wall-street towards Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus was
soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquility returned I distinctly
perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could, both in respect
to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and with regard to my own
desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby, and shield him from rude
persecution. I now strove to be entirely care-free and quiescent; and my
conscience justified me in the attempt; though indeed it was not so successful
as I could have wished. So fearful was I of being again hunted out by the
incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business
to Nippers, for a few days I drove about the upper part of the town and
through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken,
and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact I almost
lived in my for the time.
When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon
desk. opened it with trembling hands. informed me that writer had sent
to police, and Bartleby removed as a . Moreover, since I knew more
about him than any one else, he wished me to appear at that place, and
make a suitable statement of the facts. These tidings had a conflicting
effect upon me. At first I was indignant; but at last almost approved.
The landlord's energetic, summary disposition, had led him to adopt a procedure
which I do not think I would have decided upon myself; and yet as a last
resort, under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan.
As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be
conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his
pale unmoving way,
Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and
headed by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, filed its way through all the noise, and
heat, and joy of the roaring thoroughfares at noon.
The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more
properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the
purpose of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was
indeed within. I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly
honest man, and greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric.
and closed by suggesting the idea of letting
him remain in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less
harsh might be done--though indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if
nothing else could be decided upon, the alms-house must receive him. I
then begged to have an interview.
Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all
his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and
especially in the inclosed grass-platted yards thereof. And so I found
him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face
, while all around, from the narrow slits of the
jail windows, I thought
"Bartleby!"
"," he said, without looking round,--"and I want
nothing to say to you."
"It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby," said I, at his implied suspicion. "And to you, this should
not be so vile a place. Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here.
And see, a place as one might think. Look, there is
the sky, and here is the grass."
"I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I
left him.
As I entered the corridor again, a broad man in an apron, accosted me, and jerking his thumb over
his shoulder said--"Is that ?"
"Yes."
"Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare,
that's all.
"Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an in such a place.
"I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to provide
them with something good to eat."
"Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.
He said it was.
"Well then," said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man's hands (for
so they called him). "I want you to give particular attention to my friend
there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be as polite
to him as possible."
"Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an expression
which seemed to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a
specimen of his breeding.
Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and
, went up with him to Bartleby.
"Bartleby, this is you will find him very useful to you."
", sir, your sarvant," said the grub-man, making a
low salutation behind his apron. "Hope you find it , sir;--spacious grounds--cool apartments, sir--hope
you'll stay with us some time--try to make it agreeable. What will you
have for dinner today?"
"I prefer not to dine to-day," said Bartleby, turning away. "It would
disagree with me; I am unused to dinners." So saying he slowly moved to
the other side of the inclosure, and took up fronting the dead-wall.
"How's this?" said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare of astonishment.
"He's odd, aint he?"
"I think he is a little deranged," said I, sadly.
"Deranged? deranged is it? Well now, upon my word, I thought that friend
of yourn was a ; they are always pale and genteel-like, them forgers.
--can't help it, sir. Did you know Monroe Edwards?"
he added touchingly, and paused. Then, laying his hand pityingly on my
shoulder, sighed, "he died of consumption at Sing-Sing. so you weren't
acquainted with Monroe?"
"No, I was never socially acquainted with any forgers. But I cannot stop
longer. Look to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will see you
again."
Some few days after this, I again obtained admission to the Tombs, and
went through the corridors in quest of Bartleby; but without finding him.
"I saw him coming from his cell not long ago," said a turnkey, "may be
he's gone to loiter in the yards."
So I went in that direction.
"Are you looking for the silent man?" said another turnkey passing me.
"Yonder he lies--sleeping in the yard there. 'Tis not twenty minutes since
I saw him lie down."
The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners.
The surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, behind them. The of the masonry weighed upon me with its gloom.
But a soft grew under foot. The heart of the eternal pyramids,
it seemed, wherein, by some strange magic, through the clefts, grass-seed,
dropped by birds, had sprung.
Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, , and lying on his side, his head touching
the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing stirred. I paused;
then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his dim eyes were
open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. Something prompted me
.
The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. "His dinner is ready.
Won't he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?"
"Lives without dining," said I, and closed the eyes.
"Eh!--He's asleep, aint he?"
"," murmured I.
* * * * * * * *
There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. Imagination
will readily supply the meagre recital of poor Bartleby's interment. But
ere parting with the reader, let me say, that if this little narrative
has sufficiently interested him, to awaken curiosity as to who Bartleby
was, and what manner of life he led prior to the present narrator's making
his acquaintance, I can only reply, that in such curiosity I fully share,
but am wholly unable to gratify it. Yet here I hardly know whether I should
divulge , which came to my ear a few months
after the scrivener's decease. Upon what basis it rested, I could never
ascertain; and hence how true it is I cannot now tell. But inasmuch as
this vague report has not been without a certain strange to me, however said, it may prove the same with
some others; and so I will briefly mention it. The report was this: that
Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the at Washington, from which he had been suddenly removed
by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot
adequately express the emotions which seize me. does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man
by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business
seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these
dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they
are annually burned. from out the folded paper
the pale clerk takes a ring:--the bank-note sent in swiftest charity:--he
whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those
who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for
those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities.
!
|


The "Living in Bondage" Business model: How exactly does the occult make money from sacrificing souls?
by Aruoture Oddiri- "Living in bondage: Breaking free" is a 2019 Nollywood remake of the popular 1992 film
- Released on November 8th, the remake is currently the number one movie in Nigeria as of this writing on November 22nd, with a cumulative box office take of N75.3 million
- The movie's plot is a father/son continuum that see's the offspring in 2019 facing the same challenges his father did in 1992
- What do you do when you discover the wealth bestowed upon you by a generous mentor comes at the cost of the life of someone dear to you?
- The film's plot shines a spotlight on the occult and raises the question of how exactly these sinister outfits make money
The Economics of the occult is a mystery
To explore the money making mystery in this film, we illustrate with a real-world transaction. Grilled meat in various forms is a worldwide delicacy. Known as Suya in West Africa, the value is in the taste. In order to experience the taste, you have to pay for it. If you will, the seller of the Suya is sacrificing the grilled beef/chicken/ram meat to you for a price, usually N100 to N250 or more for a rolled pack in newspapers depending on where you but it. Simple, straightforward transaction which applies to virtually everything with value that can be measured in units of currency.
So who pays the Occult for their sacrifices?
Keeping the Suya example in mind, let's switch to the business model of the Occult. In the movie, actor Ramsey Nouah (who made his Directorial debut with this film) is a wealthy business man by day, and leader of a sinister occult (made up entirely of men) named "The six" by night. Membership of the six requires giving up the life of a loved one in exchange for wealth. So here we have the same scenario with the Suya but here lies the critical question; who pays the occult for the souls they sacrifice?
Does the money for souls appear from thin air?
Buying Suya in 5 steps
- Reach into your pocket
- Pull out money
- Hand the money over to the Suya seller
- Receive Suya in exchange
- Enjoy your Suya while the seller enjoys your money
Ramsey Nouah sacrificing a life for money in his movie in 5 steps
- Offer sacrifice to.......unknown
- Unknown receives body/soul in an unknown chamber
- Unknown pulls money out of.......somewhere.....
- Money from mysterious source is given to Ramsey Nouah's character
- He buys a Porsche and Private Jet to entice more people to get hooked on his monetary gifts so he can get more sacrifices
This goes beyond a fictional movie, people believe profitable Occults are real
Millions (possibly billions) of earthlings around the globe believe lives can be exchanged for money. Looking at the Slavery model, humans were sold in exchange for money but it was based on manual labor. The money paid for a slave was done in anticipation of the output of their manual labor yielding returns. The Spirit world of the occult seems to work differently.
Closing questions
- Why do spirits pay physical money for souls?
- Why don't spirits give something spiritual in exchange for the souls they receive?
- Where do the spirits get their money and where do they keep it?
- How much does one soul cost and has it kept up with inflation and the Naira/Dollar exchange rate?


Tell DVLA you’ve changed address
We can't find your address.
You can't use our automated service. You will need to get in touch with DVLA to change your address.
Webchat
Chat online with an adviserCurrent waiting time: about 3 minutes
Opening times:
8am to 8pm Monday to Saturday
8am to 4pm Sunday
Current response time: about 7 days
Telephone
Telephone: 0345 300 3900
Current waiting time: about 2 minutes
Opening times:
8am to 8pm Monday to Friday
8am to 4pm Saturday
Calls cost up to 12p a minute from a landline and up to 45p a minute from a mobile


{%- include snippets/get-locale-string.html key='LICENSE_ANNOUNCE' -%} {%- assign _license_announce = __return -%} {%- include snippets/get-license-string.html key=include.license_key -%} {%- assign _license_name = __return -%} {%- if include.license -%} {%- assign _license_link = '[NAME]' | replace: "[URL]", include.license.url | replace: "[NAME]", _license_name -%}
{%- if site.author.nickname -%}
{{ _license_announce | replace: "[LICENSE]", _license_link | replace: "[AUTHOR_NAME]", site.author.fullname | replace: "[AUTHOR_NICKNAME]", site.author.nickname | replace: "[AUTHOR_SITE]", site.author.url | replace: "[EMAIL]", site.author.email }}
{%- else -%}
{{ _license_announce | replace: "[LICENSE]", _license_link | replace: "[AUTHOR_NAME]", site.author.fullname | replace: " or [AUTHOR_NICKNAME]", "" | replace: "[AUTHOR_SITE]", site.author.url | replace: "[EMAIL]", site.author.email }}
{%- endif -%}


1942 - Born Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr., in Louisville, Kentucky. He was a descendant of slaves of the antebellum South.
1954 - Grew up with dyslexia among racial segregation. He was once denied drinking water at a store because of his skin color. Has his bike stolen at the age of 12 and encounters police officer and boxing coach Joe E. Martin. Ali tells Martin that he is going to "whup" the thief to which Joe replies "You better learn how to box first."
1954 - Wins his first amateur boxing match against Ronnie O'Keefe by way of split decision.
1960 - Wins gold medal in heavyweight division at Summer Olympics in Rome.
1960 - Makes professional debut against Tunney Hunsaker and wins six-round decision.
1964 - Becomes number one contender for heavyweight title match against Sonny Liston. Sonny Liston is a dominating fighter with an intimidating personality and a criminal past with ties to the mob. Ali is a 7-1 underdog. Defeats Liston by TKO after 6 rounds and is crowned Heavyweight Champion of the World.
1965 - Defeats Sonny Liston in a rematch. Knocks him out in the very first round. Entire fight lasts for less than 2 minutes.
1966 - Ali refuses to be inducted into the armed forces. Systematically denied a boxing license in every state and then gets stripped of his passport.
1966-70 - Did not fight during his physical peak from the ages of 25 to 29 as his case worked its way through the appeals process in court. During this time, Ali spoke at colleges across the nation, criticizing the Vietnam war and advocating African-American pride and racial justice.
1970 - Returns to the ring and defeats Jerry Quarry and Oscar Bonavena to become number one contender for world heavyweight title.
1971 - Ali loses by unanimous decision to Joe Frazier, his first professional defeat.
1974 - Defeats Joe Frazier by unanimous decision to secure contendership for title which was now held by the notorious George Foreman.
1974 - Defeats George Foreman by knockout at the end of the 8th round in Kinshasa, Zaire (Democratic Republic of Congo). Becomes two-time Heavyweight Champion of the World.
1984 - Diagnosed with Parkinson's disease resulting from head trauma during his years as a boxer. It is estimated that he took around 29,000 punches during his lifetime.
2016 - Ali succumbed to complications from Parkinson's disease. He died at the age of 74.
"Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on Earth."
-- Muhammad Ali
If you have time, you should read more about this incredible human being
on his
Wikipedia entry.


Open Data Ecosystems
and
Libraries
Chattanooga's open data work
started with this guy,
these folks,
and these folks,
with a grant pulling everyone together.
Sean Brewer - Open Data Specialist
The Mayor’s Office will develop and implement strategies to shift City departments and policies toward openness, setting the standard for public information to be easily available to and understandable by citizens.
The Public Library will create an open data portal, a one-stop-shop for local data to be used by citizens, including developers, designers, journalists, non-profit organizations, and researchers.
Using the public data opened by the City and hosted on the portal, the Open Chattanooga Brigade- a citizen-led team of creative thinkers, neighborhood advocates, data nerds, designers, developers, and entrepreneurs- will train citizens to create visualizations, apps, and other solutions to address community information needs.
Issues citizens care about.
Catalog
vs.
Thank You.


Class Navigation
Navigation builder class
Namespace: Libraries\Navigation
Package: Phalcon\Libraries\Navigation
Copyright: Stanilav WEB
Author: Stanislav WEB | Lugansk<EMAIL_ADDRESS>Version: 1.0
Since: PHP >=5.4
Located at Libraries/Navigation/Navigation.php
Package: Phalcon\Libraries\Navigation
Copyright: Stanilav WEB
Author: Stanislav WEB | Lugansk<EMAIL_ADDRESS>Version: 1.0
Since: PHP >=5.4
Located at Libraries/Navigation/Navigation.php
public
null
|
|
public
instance
|
|
public
array
|
#
mapCollection( Phalcon\Config $config, integer $parent = null )
Collection mapper (assets child's tree) |
public
string
|
|
public
array
|
|
public
|
#
setActiveNode( mixed $action, mixed $controller, mixed $module )
Set active node in all navigation collections. |
public
null
|
|
public
|
#
_activeCollection( mixed $collection, mixed $action, mixed $controller, $module )
Activate node collection. |


Functional gradient descent algorithm for a variety of convex and non-convex loss functions, for both classical and robust regression and classification problems. See Wang (2011) <doi:10.2202/1557-4679.1304>, Wang (2012) <doi:10.3414/ME11-02-0020>, Wang (2018) <doi:10.1080/10618600.2018.1424635>, Wang (2018) <doi:10.1214/18-EJS1404>.
| Version: | 0.3-15 |
| Depends: | gbm |
| Imports: | rpart, methods, foreach, doParallel |
| Suggests: | hdi, pROC, R.rsp, knitr, gdata |
| Published: | 2018-07-23 |
| Author: | Zhu Wang [aut, cre], Torsten Hothorn [ctb] |
| Maintainer: | Zhu Wang <zwang at connecticutchildrens.org> |
| License: | GPL-2 | GPL-3 [expanded from: GPL (≥ 2)] |
| NeedsCompilation: | no |
| Citation: | bst citation info |
| Materials: | NEWS |
| In views: | MachineLearning |
| CRAN checks: | bst results |
| Reference manual: | bst.pdf |
| Vignettes: |
Classification of Breast Cancer Clinical Stage with Gene Expression Data (with Results) Classification of Cancer Types Using Gene Expression Data (with Results) Classification of UCI Machine Learning Datasets (with Results) Classification of Breast Cancer Clinical Stage with Gene Expression Data (without Results) Classification of UCI Machine Learning Datasets (without Results) Classification of Cancer Types Using Gene Expression Data (without Results) Cancer Classification Using Mass Spectrometry-based Proteomics Data |
| Package source: | bst_0.3-15.tar.gz |
| Windows binaries: | r-devel: bst_0.3-15.zip, r-release: bst_0.3-15.zip, r-oldrel: bst_0.3-15.zip |
| OS X binaries: | r-release: bst_0.3-15.tgz, r-oldrel: bst_0.3-15.tgz |
| Old sources: | bst archive |
| Reverse imports: | bujar, mpath |
| Reverse suggests: | fscaret, mlr |
Please use the canonical form https://CRAN.R-project.org/package=bst to link to this page.


It's important to know the "why" in addition to the "what" in UX design.Continue reading Using qualitative and quantitative data to design better user experiences.


{% extends '_main.html' %} {% block page_title %}Application complete - {{ block.super }}{% endblock page_title %} {% block breadcrumbs %}
{% endblock %} {% block content %}We have sent you a confirmation email.
We've sent your application to the Data Workspace team.
They will contact you within 5 working days to confirm your request or to ask for more information.


Weather App
How's the weather?
Add Current Location
Enter a location name.
Loading
Loading
Loading
Loading
Loading


---
layout: post
title: "Opening DH Box"
date: 2014-02-15 00:30:00
published: true
categories: blog
tags: dhpraxis
---
This is it! The inaugural post of the DH Box blog (the DH stands for Digital Humanities). Here we intend to make the process of planning, creating, and publicizing the DH Box transparent for our readers. Hopefully this provides some inspiration, and even a blueprint, for future collaborative DH projects.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves! First, some questions and answers:
What is DH Box?
Not much, so far. But we intend it to be a portable, customized environment for Digital Humanities learners that can rely on incredibly inexpensive technology. All you really need is a computer that runs Linux (and a monitor and keyboard, of course!) -- but the platform that excites us most is the Raspberry Pi, a tiny computer that sells for just $35. Imagine a collection of DH tools, pre-installed and configured, and a set of texts for users to interrogate -- all on a portable and inexpensive device.
What inspired the idea of DH Box?
Several ongoing humanities projects have begun to take advantage of the continuing miniaturization of computing technology. One in particular excited my imagination: Library Box, which repurposes a wireless router into a “portable digital file distribution tool...that enables delivery of educational, healthcare, and other vital information to individuals off the grid.” The possibilities for 'embedded', specialized miniature computers are massive.
What is needed to run DH Box?
Our first major goal is to get DH Box running on the Raspberry Pi. Once that's done, DH Box will also be runnable on nearly any Linux computer!
Who do you think will use DH Box?
Anyone and everyone who is interested in learning Digital Humanities inquiry techniques, but especially those who may not have any prior programming experience. We hope that instructors will use our tools to set up almost instant DH labs, and that students will use DH Box to get an edge in their research.
We see DH Box as an example of what is likely to be a robust and interesting future field, 'humanities hardware'.
Who are we?
We are an interdisciplinary team of learners and do-ers, librarians and developers and digital humanists and more -- with an interest in making DH work more accessible. Find us:
dhbox.org
@DH_Box
<EMAIL_ADDRESS>More to come as we continue to develop DH Box!


Start Bootstrap
Logout
QRcode Info
QRcode Image
Add Admin
Create Time Table
Add lecturer
Add Halls
Add Programs/Courses
Signup Staff
View Time table
Dashboard
Charts
{{response}}
{{error1}}
{{error2}}
Loading...
Submit
Featured
#
Hall name
Capacity
Actions
{{index + 1}}
{{hall.hall_name}}
{{hall.capacity}}
Edit
Delete
Edit lecturer Hall
×
{{edit_error1}}
{{edit_error2}}
Loading...
{{edit_response}}


Low Income Scheme prototype
Alpha sprint 5
Created 28 June 2016
Pensioner MVP
- Start page
- My lis home page
- Part help outcome
- Does anyone else live in your home?
- Save and restore version A
Exemption prototypes
What we plan to test:
- Updated exemption pages and journey.
- Users understanding of the breakdown.
What we changed:
- Added journey for users in a care home
- Better exemption page where users print, download, amend, etc
- Edited the journey for people living at home who are in education.
- Improved what you will need to apply page.
- Improved save and continue / memorable word / application number pages.
- Pension credit added as a kickout.
- When users tell us they have a partner, the text of some questions now updates to reflect this.
- Improved questions about service charges.
- Split the exemption page up so that the user now gets a done screen before seing their exemption.
What we found:
- Users don't understand 2 step verification