Another two years have passed, and it is again the end of the summer half-year at Rugby; in fact, the School has broken up. The fifth-form examinations were over last week, and upon them have followed the speeches, and the sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and they too are over now. The boys have gone to all the winds of heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, and the few enthusiasts besides who have asked leave to stay in their houses to see the result of the cricket matches. For this year the Wellesburn return match and the Marylebone match are played at Rugby, to the great delight of the town and neighbourhood, and the sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers who have been reckoning for the last three months on showing off at Lord’s ground.
The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, after an interview with the captain of the eleven, in the presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what school the cricket dinners were to be, and all other matters necessary for the satisfactory carrying out of the festivities, and warned them as to keeping all spirituous liquors out of the close, and having the gates closed by nine o’clock.
The Wellesburn match was played out with great success yesterday, the School winning by three wickets; and to-day the great event of the cricketing year, the Marylebone match, is being played. What a match it has been! The London eleven came down by an afternoon train yesterday, in time to see the end of the Wellesburn match; and as soon as it was over, their leading men and umpire inspected the ground, criticising it rather unmercifully. The captain of the School eleven, and one or two others, who had played the Lord’s match before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and several of the Lord’s men, accompanied them; while the rest of the eleven looked on from under the Three Trees with admiring eyes, and asked one another the names of the illustrious strangers, and recounted how many runs each of them had made in the late matches in Bell’s Life. They looked such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows that their young adversaries felt rather desponding as to the result of the morrow’s match. The ground was at last chosen, and two men set to work upon it to water and roll; and then, there being yet some half-hour of daylight, some one had suggested a dance on the turf. The close was half full of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailed with enthusiasm. The cornopean player was still on the ground. In five minutes the eleven and half a dozen of the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got partners somehow or another, and a merry country-dance was going on, to which every one flocked, and new couples joined in every minute, till there were a hundred of them going down the middle and up again; and the long line of school buildings looked gravely down on them, every window glowing with the last rays of the western sun; and the rooks clanged about in the tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and resolved on having their country-dance too; and the great flag flapped lazily in the gentle western breeze. Altogether it was a sight which would have made glad the heart of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he were half as good a fellow as I take him to have been. It was a cheerful sight to see. But what made it so valuable in the sight of the captain of the School eleven was that he there saw his young hands shaking off their shyness and awe of the Lord’s men, as they crossed hands and capered about on the grass together; for the strangers entered into it all, and threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted like boys; while old Mr. Aislabie stood by looking on in his white hat, leaning on a bat, in benevolent enjoyment. “This hop will be worth thirty runs to us to-morrow, and will be the making of Raggles and Johnson,” thinks the young leader, as he revolves many things in his mind, standing by the side of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not leave for a minute, for he feels that the character of the School for courtesy is resting on his shoulders.
But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his hand, he thought of the Doctor’s parting monition, and stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud-voiced remonstrances from all sides; and the crowd scattered away from the close, the eleven all going into the School-house, where supper and beds were provided for them by the Doctor’s orders.
Deep had been the consultations at supper as to the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether it would be best to play steady or freely; and the youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t be a bit nervous, and praised their opponents as the jolliest fellows in the world, except perhaps their old friends the Wellesburn men. How far a little good-nature from their elders will go with the right sort of boys!
The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the intense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes to mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went down in a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the cold bath in a corner of the close. The ground was in splendid order, and soon after ten o’clock, before spectators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lord’s men took their places at the wickets—the School, with the usual liberality of young hands, having put their adversaries in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, and called play, and the match has begun.
“Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!” cries the captain, catching up the ball and sending it high above the rook trees, while the third Marylebone man walks away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up the middle stump again and puts the bails on.
“How many runs?” Away scamper three boys to the scoring table, and are back again in a minute amongst the rest of the eleven, who are collected together in a knot between wicket. “Only eighteen runs, and three wickets down!” “Huzza for old Rugby!” sings out Jack Raggles, the long-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called “Swiper Jack,” and forthwith stands on his head, and brandishes his legs in the air in triumph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels, and throws him over on to his back.
 Ah, look out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he sees a long-armed bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to the wicket. “And, Jack, mind your hits. He steals more runs than any man in England.”
And they all find that they have got their work to do now. The newcomer’s off-hitting is tremendous, and his running like a flash of lightning. He is never in his ground except when his wicket is down. Nothing in the whole game so trying to boys. He has stolen three byes in the first ten minutes, and Jack Raggles is furious, and begins throwing over savagely to the farther wicket, until he is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that young gentlemen can do to keep his team steady, but he knows that everything depends on it, and faces his work bravely. The score creeps up to fifty; the boys begin to look blank; and the spectators, who are now mustering strong, are very silent. The ball flies off his bat to all parts of the field, and he gives no rest and no catches to any one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, and the goddess who presides over it loves to bring down the most skilful players. Johnson, the young bowler, is getting wild, and bowls a ball almost wide to the off; the batter steps out and cuts it beautifully to where cover-point is standing very deep—in fact almost off the ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along about three feet from the ground; he rushes at it, and it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the whole field. Such a catch hasn’t been made in the close for years, and the cheering is maddening. “Pretty cricket,” says the captain, throwing himself on the ground by the deserted wicket with a long breath. He feels that a crisis has passed.
I wish I had space to describe the match—how the captain stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, and bowled small cobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for the last wicket; how the Lord’s men were out by half-past twelve o’clock for ninety-eight runs; how the captain of the School eleven went in first to give his men pluck, and scored twenty-five in beautiful style; how Rugby was only four behind in the first innings; what a glorious dinner they had in the fourth-form school; and how the cover-point hitter sang the most topping comic songs, and old Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches that ever were heard, afterwards. But I haven’t space—that’s the fact; and so you must fancy it all, and carry yourselves on to half-past seven o’clock, when the School are again in, with five wickets down, and only thirty-two runs to make to win. The Marylebone men played carelessly in their second innings, but they are working like horses now to save the match.
There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered up and down the close; but the group to which I beg to call your especial attention is there, on the slope of the island, which looks towards the cricket-ground. It consists of three figures; two are seated on a bench, and one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight and rather gaunt man, with a bushy eyebrow and a dry, humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is carelessly dressed, and looks rather used up, which isn’t much to be wondered at, seeing that he has just finished six weeks of examination work; but there he basks, and spreads himself out in the evening sun, bent on enjoying life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with his arms and legs. Surely it is our friend the young master, whom we have had glimpses of before, but his face has gained a great deal since we last came across him.
And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned yellow cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping figure, near six feet high, with ruddy, tanned face and whiskers, curly brown hair, and a laughing, dancing eye. He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, and dandling his favourite bat, with which he has made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man nineteen years old, a praepostor and captain of the eleven, spending his last day as a Rugby boy, and, let us hope, as much wiser as he is bigger, since we last had the pleasure of coming across him.
And at their feet on the warm, dry ground, similarly dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat across his knees. He too is no longer a boy—less of a boy, in fact, than Tom, if one may judge from the thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler, too, than one could wish; but his figure, though slight, is well knit and active, and all his old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent, quaint fun, with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens to the broken talk between the other two, in which he joins every now and then.
All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining in the cheering which follows every good hit.  Tom has clearly abandoned the old theory of “natural enemies” in this case at any rate.
But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and see what we can gather out of it.
“I don’t object to your theory,” says the master, “and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. But now, in such books as Aristophanes, for instance, you’ve been reading a play this half with the Doctor, haven’t you?”
“Yes, the Knights,” answered Tom.
“Well, I’m sure you would have enjoyed the wonderful humour of it twice as much if you had taken more pains with your scholarship.”
“Well, sir, I don’t believe any boy in the form enjoyed the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage-seller more than I did—eh, Arthur?” said Tom, giving him a stir with his foot.
“Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “I think, sir, you’ve hit upon the wrong book there.”
“Not a bit of it,” said the master. “Why, in those very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly appreciate them unless you are master of the weapons? and the weapons are the language, which you, Brown, have never half worked at; and so, as I say, you must have lost all the delicate shades of meaning which make the best part of the fun.”
“Oh, well played! bravo, Johnson!” shouted Arthur, dropping his bat and clapping furiously, and Tom joined in with a “Bravo, Johnson!” which might have been heard at the chapel.
“Eh! what was it? I didn’t see,” inquired the master. “They only got one run, I thought?”
“No, but such a ball, three-quarters length, and coming straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that turn of the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to leg for a safe one.—Bravo, Johnson!”
“How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur; “they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.”
“There now,” struck in the master; “you see that’s just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand cricket, so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you tell me are the best play, though when you or Raggles hit a ball hard away for six I am as delighted as any one. Don’t you see the analogy?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, “I see; only the question remains whether I should have got most good by understanding Greek particles or cricket thoroughly. I’m such a thick, I never should have had time for both.”
“I see you are an incorrigible,” said the master, with a chuckle; “but I refute you by an example. Arthur there has taken in Greek and cricket too.”
“Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and couldn’t have made a false concord if he’d tried ever so hard; and then I looked after his cricket.”
“Out! Bailey has given him out. Do you see, Tom?” cries Arthur. “How foolish of them to run so hard.”
“Well, it can’t be helped; he has played very well. Whose turn is it to go in?”
“I don’t know; they’ve got your list in the tent.”
“Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising; but at this moment Jack Raggles and two or three more came running to the island moat.
“O Brown, mayn’t I go in next?” shouts the Swiper.
“Whose name is next on the list?” says the captain.
“Winter’s, and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy who carries it; “but there are only twenty-six runs to get, and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight exactly.”
“Oh, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus the boys; so Tom yields against his better judgment.
“I dare say now I’ve lost the match by this nonsense,” he says, as he sits down again; “they’ll be sure to get Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; however, you’ll have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard hit or two,” adds he, smiling, and turning to the master.
“Come, none of your irony, Brown,” answers the master. “I’m beginning to understand the game scientifically. What a noble game it is, too!”
“Isn’t it? But it’s more than a game. It’s an institution,” said Tom.
“Yes,” said Arthur—“the birthright of British boys old and young, as habeas corpus and trial by jury are of British men.”
“The discipline and reliance on one another which it teaches is so valuable, I think,” went on the master, “it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the individual in the eleven; he doesn’t play that he may win, but that his side may.”
“That’s very true,” said Tom, “and that’s why football and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are such much better games than fives or hare-and-hounds, or any others where the object is to come in first or to win for oneself, and not that one’s side may win.”
“And then the captain of the eleven!” said the master; “what a post is his in our School-world! almost as hard as the Doctor’s—requiring skill and gentleness and firmness, and I know not what other rare qualities.”
“Which don’t he may wish he may get!” said Tom, laughing; “at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he wouldn’t have been such a flat to-night as to let Jack Raggles go in out of his turn.”
“Ah, the Doctor never would have done that,” said Arthur demurely. “Tom, you’ve a great deal to learn yet in the art of ruling.”
“Well, I wish you’d tell the Doctor so then, and get him to let me stop till I’m twenty. I don’t want to leave, I’m sure.”
“What a sight it is,” broke in the master, “the Doctor as a ruler! Perhaps ours is the only little corner of the British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and strongly ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful every day of my life that I came here to be under him.”
“So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom, “and more and more sorry that I’ve got to leave.”
“Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of some wise act of his,” went on the master. “This island now—you remember the time, Brown, when it was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost-bitten fags in February and March?”
“Of course I do,” said Tom; “didn’t I hate spending two hours in the afternoon grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives bat? But turf-cart was good fun enough.”
“I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights with the townspeople; and then the stealing flowers out of all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was abominable.”
“Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but we fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to do with the Doctor’s ruling?”
“A great deal, I think,” said the master; “what brought island-fagging to an end?”
“Why, the Easter speeches were put off till midsummer,” said Tom, “and the sixth had the gymnastic poles put up here.”
“Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads of their worships the sixth form?” said the master.
“The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “I never thought of that.”
“Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “or else, fag as you were, you would have shouted with the whole school against putting down old customs. And that’s the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have been carried out when he has been left to himself—quietly and naturally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die out; no wavering, and no hurry—the best thing that could be done for the time being, and patience for the rest.”
“Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudging Tom with his elbow—“driving a nail where it will go;” to which allusion Tom answered by a sly kick.
“Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allusion and by-play.
Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves, has presented himself at the wicket; and having run one for a forward drive of Johnson’s, is about to receive his first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and four wickets to go down—a winning match if they play decently steady. The ball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they run two for a leg-bye amidst great applause and shouts from Jack’s many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully-pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right round to leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening. Only seventeen runs to get with four wickets! The game is all but ours!
It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his wicket, with his bat over his shoulder, while Mr. Aislabie holds a short parley with his men. Then the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slow twisters. Jack waves his hand triumphantly towards the tent, as much as to say, “See if I don’t finish it all off now in three hits.”
Alas, my son Jack, the enemy is too old for thee. The first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, swiping with all his force. If he had only allowed for the twist! But he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning up straight in the air, as if it would never come down again. Away runs Jack, shouting and trusting to the chapter of accidents; but the bowler runs steadily under it, judging every spin, and calling out, “I have it,” catches it, and playfully pitches it on to the back of the stalwart Jack, who is departing with a rueful countenance.
“I knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “Come along; the game’s getting very serious.”
So they leave the island and go to the tent; and after deep consultation, Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play steady and keep his bat straight. To the suggestions that Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, “Arthur is the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the wicket is only kept up.”
“I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said the master, as they stood together in front of the dense crowd, which was now closing in round the ground.
“Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in for his play,” said Tom, “but I couldn’t help putting him in. It will do him so much good, and you can’t think what I owe him.”
The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Arthur, after two narrow escapes, scores one, and Johnson gets the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and Johnson’s batting worthy the occasion. He makes here a two, and there a one, managing to keep the ball to himself, and Arthur backs up and runs perfectly. Only eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives it forward for two, and feels prouder than when he got the three best prizes, at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, “Well played, well played, young un!”
But the next ball is too much for the young hand, and his bails fly different ways. Nine runs to make, and two wickets to go down: it is too much for human nerves.
Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to take the Lord’s men to the train pulls up at the side of the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give out that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. And so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson carry out their bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the Lord’s men are declared the winners, they having scored the most in the first innings.
But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and all the School eleven, as they accompany their conquerors to the omnibus, and send them off with three ringing cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, saying to Tom, “I must compliment you, sir, on your eleven, and I hope we shall have you for a member if you come up to town.”
As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back into the close, and everybody was beginning to cry out for another country-dance, encouraged by the success of the night before, the young master, who was just leaving the close, stopped him, and asked him to come up to tea at half-past eight, adding, “I won’t keep you more than half an hour, and ask Arthur to come up too.”
“I’ll come up with you directly, if you’ll let me,” said Tom, “for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite up to the country-dance and supper with the rest.”
“Do, by all means,” said the master; “I’ll wait here for you.”
So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to his second in command about stopping the dancing and shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur promised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So Tom handed his things over to the man in charge of the tent, and walked quietly away to the gate where the master was waiting, and the two took their way together up the Hillmorton road.
Of course they found the master’s house locked up, and all the servants away in the close—about this time, no doubt, footing it away on the grass, with extreme delight to themselves, and in utter oblivion of the unfortunate bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment in the shape of meals was his “dish of tea” (as our grandmothers called it) in the evening; and the phrase was apt in his case, for he always poured his out into the saucer before drinking. Great was the good man’s horror at finding himself shut out of his own house. Had he been alone he would have treated it as a matter of course, and would have strolled contentedly up and down his gravel walk until some one came home; but he was hurt at the stain on his character of host, especially as the guest was a pupil. However, the guest seemed to think it a great joke, and presently, as they poked about round the house, mounted a wall, from which he could reach a passage window. The window, as it turned out, was not bolted, so in another minute Tom was in the house and down at the front door, which he opened from inside. The master chuckled grimly at this burglarious entry, and insisted on leaving the hall-door and two of the front windows open, to frighten the truants on their return; and then the two set about foraging for tea, in which operation the master was much at fault, having the faintest possible idea of where to find anything, and being, moreover, wondrously short-sighted; but Tom, by a sort of instinct, knew the right cupboards in the kitchen and pantry, and soon managed to place on the snuggery table better materials for a meal than had appeared there probably during the reign of his tutor, who was then and there initiated, amongst other things, into the excellence of that mysterious condiment, a dripping-cake. The cake was newly baked, and all rich and flaky; Tom had found it reposing in the cook’s private cupboard, awaiting her return; and as a warning to her they finished it to the last crumb. The kettle sang away merrily on the hob of the snuggery, for, notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, throwing both the windows wide open at the same time; the heaps of books and papers were pushed away to the other end of the table, and the great solitary engraving of King’s College Chapel over the mantelpiece looked less stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in the twilight to the serious drinking of tea.
After some talk on the match, and other indifferent subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s approaching departure, over which he began again to make his moan.
“Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you will miss us,” said the master. “You are the Nestor of the School now, are you not?”
“Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. “By-the-bye, have you heard from him?”
“Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he started for India to join his regiment.”
“He will make a capital officer.”
“Ay, won’t he!” said Tom, brightening. “No fellow could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are very like boys. And he’ll never tell them to go where he won’t go himself. No mistake about that. A braver fellow never walked.”
“His year in the sixth will have taught him a good deal that will be useful to him now.”
“So it will,”’ said Tom, staring into the fire. “Poor dear Harry,” he went on—“how well I remember the day we were put out of the twenty! How he rose to the situation, and burnt his cigar-cases, and gave away his pistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority of the sixth, and his new duties to the Doctor, and the fifth form, and the fags! Ay, and no fellow ever acted up to them better, though he was always a people’s man—for the fags, and against constituted authorities. He couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor must have liked him?” said Tom, looking up inquiringly.
“The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appreciates it,” said the master dogmatically; “but I hope East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can’t respect those above him. How long it took him, even here, to learn the lesson of obeying!”
“Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said Tom. “If I can’t be at Rugby, I want to be at work in the world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford.”
“What do you mean by ‘at work in the world’?” said the master, pausing with his lips close to his saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it.
“Well, I mean real work—one’s profession—whatever one will have really to do and make one’s living by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not only at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather puzzled to find out himself what he really did mean.
“You are mixing up two very different things in your head, I think, Brown,” said the master, putting down the empty saucer, “and you ought to get clear about them. You talk of ‘working to get your living,’ and ‘doing some real good in the world,’ in the same breath. Now, you may be getting a very good living in a profession, and yet doing no good at all in the world, but quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep the latter before you as your one object, and you will be right, whether you make a living or not; but if you dwell on the other, you’ll very likely drop into mere money-making, and let the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don’t be in a hurry about finding your work in the world for yourself—you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet; but just look about you in the place you find yourself in, and try to make things a little better and honester there. You’ll find plenty to keep your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And don’t be led away to think this part of the world important and that unimportant. Every corner of the world is important. No man knows whether this part or that is most so, but every man may do some honest work in his own corner.” And then the good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of work which he might take up as an undergraduate, and warned him of the prevalent university sins, and explained to him the many and great differences between university and school life, till the twilight changed into darkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing in by the back entrance.
“I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, looking at his watch; “why, it’s nearly half-past nine already.”
“Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, forgetful of his oldest friends,” said the master. “Nothing has given me greater pleasure,” he went on, “than your friendship for him; it has been the making of you both.”
“Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom; “I should never have been here now but for him. It was the luckiest chance in the world that sent him to Rugby and made him my chum.”
“Why do you talk of lucky chances?” said the master. “I don’t know that there are any such things in the world; at any rate, there was neither luck nor chance in that matter.”
Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. “Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you and East at the end of one half-year, when you were in the shell, and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes?”
“Yes, well enough,” said Tom; “it was the half-year before Arthur came.”
“Exactly so,” answered the master. “Now, I was with him a few minutes afterwards, and he was in great distress about you two. And after some talk, we both agreed that you in particular wanted some object in the School beyond games and mischief; for it was quite clear that you never would make the regular school work your first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of the next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys, and separated you and East, and put the young boy into your study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean on you, you would begin to stand a little steadier yourself, and get manliness and thoughtfulness. And I can assure you he has watched the experiment ever since with great satisfaction. Ah! not one of you boys will ever know the anxiety you have given him, or the care with which he has watched over every step in your school lives.”
Up to this time Tom had never given wholly in to or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly feared him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he had learnt to regard him with love and respect, and to think him a very great and wise and good man. But as regarded his own position in the School, of which he was no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one credit for it but himself, and, truth to tell, was a very self-conceited young gentleman on the subject. He was wont to boast that he had fought his own way fairly up the School, and had never made up to or been taken up by any big fellow or master, and that it was now quite a different place from what it was when he first came. And, indeed, though he didn’t actually boast of it, yet in his secret soul he did to a great extent believe that the great reform in the School had been owing quite as much to himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, had done him good, and taught him a good deal; so had other boys in different ways, but they had not had the same means of influence on the School in general. And as for the Doctor, why, he was a splendid master; but every one knew that masters could do very little out of school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with his chief, so far as the social state of the School was concerned, and thought that the Doctor would find it no easy matter to get on without him. Moreover, his School Toryism was still strong, and he looked still with some jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the matter of change, and thought it very desirable for the School that he should have some wise person (such as himself) to look sharply after vested School-rights, and see that nothing was done to the injury of the republic without due protest.
It was a new light to him to find that, besides teaching the sixth, and governing and guiding the whole School, editing classics, and writing histories, the great headmaster had found time in those busy years to watch over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and his particular friends, and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the same time, and all this without taking the least credit to himself, or seeming to know, or let any one else know, that he ever thought particularly of any boy at all.
However, the Doctor’s victory was complete from that moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave way at all points, and the enemy marched right over him—cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and the land transport corps, and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years to do it; but now it was done thoroughly, and there wasn’t a corner of him left which didn’t believe in the Doctor. Had he returned to School again, and the Doctor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and football, and the Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of the most cherished School institutions, Tom would have supported him with the blindest faith. And so, after a half confession of his previous shortcomings, and sorrowful adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beautifully-bound volumes of the Doctor’s sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the Schoolhouse, a hero-worshipper, who would have satisfied the soul of Thomas Carlyle himself.
There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, Jack Raggles shouting comic songs and performing feats of strength, and was greeted by a chorus of mingled remonstrance at his desertion and joy at his reappearance. And falling in with the humour of the evening, he was soon as great a boy as all the rest; and at ten o’clock was chaired round the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” while old Thomas, in a melting mood, and the other School-house servants, stood looking on.
And the next morning after breakfast he squared up all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen and other acquaintance, and said his hearty good-byes; and by twelve o’clock was in the train, and away for London, no longer a school-boy, and divided in his thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the long stage of his life which was now slipping out of sight behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next stage upon which he was entering with all the confidence of a young traveller.
“Strange friend, past, present, and to be; Loved deeplier, darklier understood; Behold I dream a dream of good, And mingle all the world with thee.”—TENNYSON.
n the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again at the well-known station; and leaving his bag and fishing-rod with a porter, walked slowly and sadly up towards the town. It was now July. He had rushed away from Oxford the moment that term was over, for a fishing ramble in Scotland with two college friends, and had been for three weeks living on oatcake, mutton-hams, and whisky, in the wildest parts of Skye. They had descended one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea ferry; and while Tom and another of the party put their tackle together and began exploring the stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into the house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his hand, and threw himself on the heathery scrub which met the shingle, within easy hail of the fishermen. There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth young England, “improving his mind,” as he shouted to them, by the perusal of the fortnight-old weekly paper, soiled with the marks of toddy-glasses and tobacco-ashes, the legacy of the last traveller, which he had hunted out from the kitchen of the little hostelry, and, being a youth of a communicative turn of mind, began imparting the contents to the fishermen as he went on.
“What a bother they are making about these wretched corn-laws! Here’s three or four columns full of nothing but sliding scales and fixed duties. Hang this tobacco, it’s always going out! Ah, here’s something better—a splendid match between Kent and England, Brown, Kent winning by three wickets. Felix fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out!”
Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, answered only with a grunt.
“Anything about the Goodwood?” called out the third man.
“Rory O’More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted the student.

“I say, can’t you throw lighter over there? We ain’t fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the stream.
“Hullo, Brown! here’s something for you,” called out the reading man next moment. “Why, your old master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.”
 Neither of his companions took any notice of him, luckily; and with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to disentangle his line. He felt completely carried off his moral and intellectual legs, as if he had lost his standing-point in the invisible world. Besides which, the deep, loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the shock intensely painful. It was the first great wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel Death had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten down, and spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good for him and for many others in like case, who had to learn by that loss that the soul of man cannot stand or lean upon any human prop, however strong, and wise, and good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful way, until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid.
As he wearily laboured at his line, the thought struck him, “It may be all false—a mere newspaper lie.” And he strode up to the recumbent smoker.
“Let me look at the paper,” said he.
“Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it up to him listlessly. “Hullo, Brown! what’s the matter, old fellow? Ain’t you well?”
“Where is it?” said Tom, turning over the leaves, his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he could not read.
“What? What are you looking for?” said his friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder.
“That—about Arnold,” said Tom.
“Oh, here,” said the other, putting his finger on the paragraph. Tom read it over and over again. There could be no mistake of identity, though the account was short enough.
“Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the paper. “I shall go for a walk. Don’t you and Herbert wait supper for me.” And away he strode, up over the moor at the back of the house, to be alone, and master his grief if possible.
His friend looked after him, sympathizing and wondering, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, walked over to Herbert. After a short parley they walked together up to the house.
“I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled Brown’s fun for this trip.”
“How odd that he should be so fond of his old master,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public-school men.
The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibition, waited supper for him, and had everything ready when he came back some half an hour afterwards. But he could not join in their cheerful talk, and the party was soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. One thing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that he couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer: he felt an irresistible longing to get to Rugby, and then home, and soon broke it to the others, who had too much tact to oppose.
So by daylight the next morning he was marching through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Caledonian Canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as fast as boat and railway could carry him to the Rugby station.
As he walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid of being seen, and took the back streets—why, he didn’t know, but he followed his instinct. At the School-gates he made a dead pause; there was not a soul in the quadrangle—all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with another effort he strode through the quadrangle, and into the School-house offices.
He found the little matron in her room in deep mourning; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved nervously about. She was evidently thinking of the same subject as he, but he couldn’t begin talking.
“Where shall I find Thomas?” said he at last, getting desperate.
“In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you take anything?” said the matron, looking rather disappointed.
“No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to find the old verger, who was sitting in his little den, as of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics.
He looked up through his spectacles as Tom seized his hand and wrung it.
“Ah! you’ve heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, while the old man told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest sorrow.
By the time he had done Tom felt much better.
“Where is he buried, Thomas?” said he at last.
“Under the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered Thomas. “You’d like to have the key, I dare say?”
“Thank you, Thomas—yes, I should, very much.”
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then got up, as though he would go with him; but after a few steps stopped short, and said, “Perhaps you’d like to go by yourself, sir?”
Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to him, with an injunction to be sure and lock the door after him, and bring them back before eight o’clock.
He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into the close. The longing which had been upon him and driven him thus far, like the gad-fly in the Greek legends, giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up and pall. “Why should I go on? It’s no use,” he thought, and threw himself at full length on the turf, and looked vaguely and listlessly at all the well-known objects. There were a few of the town boys playing cricket, their wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the big-side ground—a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of a captain of the eleven. He was very nearly getting up to go and send them off. “Pshaw! they won’t remember me. They’ve more right there than I,” he muttered. And the thought that his sceptre had departed, and his mark was wearing out, came home to him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He was lying on the very spot where the fights came off—where he himself had fought six years ago his first and last battle. He conjured up the scene till he could almost hear the shouts of the ring, and East’s whisper in his ear; and looking across the close to the Doctor’s private door, half expected to see it open, and the tall figure in cap and gown come striding under the elm-trees towards him.
No, no; that sight could never be seen again. There was no flag flying on the round tower; the School-house windows were all shuttered up; and when the flag went up again, and the shutters came down, it would be to welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he had honoured was lying cold and still under the chapel floor. He would go in and see the place once more, and then leave it once for all. New men and new methods might do for other people; let those who would, worship the rising star; he, at least, would be faithful to the sun which had set. And so he got up, and walked to the chapel door, and unlocked it, fancying himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on his own selfish sorrow.
He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for a moment to glance over the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, and he walked up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat himself down there to collect his thoughts.
And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting in order not a little. The memories of eight years were all dancing through his brain, and carrying him about whither they would; while, beneath them all, his heart was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could never be made up to him. The rays of the evening sun came solemnly through the painted windows above his head, and fell in gorgeous colours on the opposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little and little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then, leaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned aloud. If he could only have seen the Doctor again for one five minutes—have told him all that was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved and reverenced him, and would, by God’s help, follow his steps in life and death—he could have borne it all without a murmur. But that he should have gone away for ever without knowing it all, was too much to bear. “But am I sure that he does not know it all?” The thought made him start. “May he not even now be near me, in this very chapel? If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me sorrow, as I should wish to have sorrowed when I shall meet him again?”
He raised himself up and looked round, and after a minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had occupied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing him as he let himself be carried away by them. And he looked up at the great painted window above the altar, and remembered how, when a little boy, he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks, before the painted glass came; and the subscription for the painted glass, and the letter he wrote home for money to give to it. And there, down below, was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand on that first day, scratched rudely in the oak panelling.
And then came the thought of all his old schoolfellows; and form after form of boys nobler, and braver, and purer than he rose up and seemed to rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and were feeling—they who had honoured and loved from the first the man whom he had taken years to know and love? Could he not think of those yet dearer to him who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, and were now without a husband or a father? Then the grief which he began to share with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up once more, and walked up the steps to the altar, and while the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down there his share of a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to bear in his own strength.
Here let us leave him. Where better could we leave him than at the altar before which he had first caught a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the drawing of the bond which links all living souls together in one brotherhood—at the grave beneath the altar of him who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart till it could feel that bond?
And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there than of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young and brave souls, who must win their way through hero-worship to the worship of Him who is the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only through our mysterious human relationships—through the love and tenderness and purity of mothers and sisters and wives, through the strength and courage and wisdom of fathers and brothers and teachers—that we can come to the knowledge of Him in whom alone the love, and the tenderness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of all these dwell for ever and ever in perfect fullness.
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# Licensed under a 3-clause BSD style license - see LICENSE.rst
import functools
import types
import warnings
import numpy as np
from astropy.units.core import Unit, UnitsError
from astropy.units.quantity import Quantity
from astropy.utils import lazyproperty
from astropy.utils.exceptions import AstropyUserWarning
from astropy.utils.misc import InheritDocstrings
__all__ = ['Constant', 'EMConstant']
class ConstantMeta(InheritDocstrings):
"""Metaclass for the :class:`Constant`. The primary purpose of this is to
wrap the double-underscore methods of :class:`Quantity` which is the
superclass of :class:`Constant`.
In particular this wraps the operator overloads such as `__add__` to
prevent their use with constants such as ``e`` from being used in
expressions without specifying a system. The wrapper checks to see if the
constant is listed (by name) in ``Constant._has_incompatible_units``, a set
of those constants that are defined in different systems of units are
physically incompatible. It also performs this check on each `Constant` if
it hasn't already been performed (the check is deferred until the
`Constant` is actually used in an expression to speed up import times,
among other reasons).
"""
def __new__(mcls, name, bases, d):
def wrap(meth):
@functools.wraps(meth)
def wrapper(self, *args, **kwargs):
name_lower = self.name.lower()
instances = self._registry[name_lower]
if not self._checked_units:
for inst in instances.values():
try:
self.unit.to(inst.unit)
except UnitsError:
self._has_incompatible_units.add(name_lower)
self._checked_units = True
if (not self.system and
name_lower in self._has_incompatible_units):
systems = sorted([x for x in instances if x])
raise TypeError(
'Constant {0!r} does not have physically compatible '
'units across all systems of units and cannot be '
'combined with other values without specifying a '
'system (eg. {1}.{2})'.format(self.abbrev, self.abbrev,
systems[0]))
return meth(self, *args, **kwargs)
return wrapper
# The wrapper applies to so many of the __ methods that it's easier to
# just exclude the ones it doesn't apply to
exclude = set(['__new__', '__array_finalize__', '__array_wrap__',
'__dir__', '__getattr__', '__init__', '__str__',
'__repr__', '__hash__', '__iter__', '__getitem__',
'__len__', '__bool__', '__quantity_subclass__'])
for attr, value in vars(Quantity).items():
if (isinstance(value, types.FunctionType) and
attr.startswith('__') and attr.endswith('__') and
attr not in exclude):
d[attr] = wrap(value)
return super().__new__(mcls, name, bases, d)
[docs]class Constant(Quantity, metaclass=ConstantMeta):
"""A physical or astronomical constant.
These objects are quantities that are meant to represent physical
constants.
"""
_registry = {}
_has_incompatible_units = set()
def __new__(cls, abbrev, name, value, unit, uncertainty,
reference=None, system=None):
if reference is None:
reference = getattr(cls, 'default_reference', None)
if reference is None:
raise TypeError("{} requires a reference.".format(cls))
name_lower = name.lower()
instances = cls._registry.setdefault(name_lower, {})
# By-pass Quantity initialization, since units may not yet be
# initialized here, and we store the unit in string form.
inst = np.array(value).view(cls)
if system in instances:
warnings.warn('Constant {0!r} already has a definition in the '
'{1!r} system from {2!r} reference'.format(
name, system, reference), AstropyUserWarning)
for c in instances.values():
if system is not None and not hasattr(c.__class__, system):
setattr(c, system, inst)
if c.system is not None and not hasattr(inst.__class__, c.system):
setattr(inst, c.system, c)
instances[system] = inst
inst._abbrev = abbrev
inst._name = name
inst._value = value
inst._unit_string = unit
inst._uncertainty = uncertainty
inst._reference = reference
inst._system = system
inst._checked_units = False
return inst
def __repr__(self):
return ('<{0} name={1!r} value={2} uncertainty={3} unit={4!r} '
'reference={5!r}>'.format(self.__class__, self.name, self.value,
self.uncertainty, str(self.unit),
self.reference))
def __str__(self):
return (' Name = {0}\n'
' Value = {1}\n'
' Uncertainty = {2}\n'
' Unit = {3}\n'
' Reference = {4}'.format(self.name, self.value,
self.uncertainty, self.unit,
self.reference))
def __quantity_subclass__(self, unit):
return super().__quantity_subclass__(unit)[0], False
def copy(self):
"""
Return a copy of this `Constant` instance. Since they are by
definition immutable, this merely returns another reference to
``self``.
"""
return self
__deepcopy__ = __copy__ = copy
@property
def abbrev(self):
"""A typical ASCII text abbreviation of the constant, also generally
the same as the Python variable used for this constant.
"""
return self._abbrev
@property
def name(self):
"""The full name of the constant."""
return self._name
@lazyproperty
def _unit(self):
"""The unit(s) in which this constant is defined."""
return Unit(self._unit_string)
@property
def uncertainty(self):
"""The known uncertainty in this constant's value."""
return self._uncertainty
@property
def reference(self):
"""The source used for the value of this constant."""
return self._reference
@property
def system(self):
"""The system of units in which this constant is defined (typically
`None` so long as the constant's units can be directly converted
between systems).
"""
return self._system
def _instance_or_super(self, key):
instances = self._registry[self.name.lower()]
inst = instances.get(key)
if inst is not None:
return inst
else:
return getattr(super(), key)
@property
def si(self):
"""If the Constant is defined in the SI system return that instance of
the constant, else convert to a Quantity in the appropriate SI units.
"""
return self._instance_or_super('si')
@property
def cgs(self):
"""If the Constant is defined in the CGS system return that instance of
the constant, else convert to a Quantity in the appropriate CGS units.
"""
return self._instance_or_super('cgs')
def __array_finalize__(self, obj):
for attr in ('_abbrev', '_name', '_value', '_unit_string',
'_uncertainty', '_reference', '_system'):
setattr(self, attr, getattr(obj, attr, None))
self._checked_units = getattr(obj, '_checked_units', False)
class EMConstant(Constant):
"""An electromagnetic constant."""
@property
def cgs(self):
"""Overridden for EMConstant to raise a `TypeError`
emphasizing that there are multiple EM extensions to CGS.
"""
raise TypeError("Cannot convert EM constants to cgs because there "
"are different systems for E.M constants within the "
"c.g.s system (ESU, Gaussian, etc.). Instead, "
"directly use the constant with the appropriate "
"suffix (e.g. e.esu, e.gauss, etc.).")


 Sometimes this means a server of some kind, sommetimes a powerful, shared computer used for high performance computations, or even an ordinary workstation to help troubleshoot.
Historically, this was done using a program called Telnet. While this protocol is still in use today, largely as a novelty, a similar, more secure protocol is now in use called Secure Shell or SSH.
As the name suggests, SSH is often used to establish a shell session on a remote machine. All of the things we have learned previously about using a shell are still valid, the execution just takes place on a different computer.
SSH is simple to invoke:
ssh<EMAIL_ADDRESS>The server to which we would like to connect, along with the username are specified on the command line. In the example above, the username is “george” and the server is “lesica.com”. By default, SSH uses port 22.
It is also possible to specify a command to be run instead of opening a full shell session. This is handy when you only wish to use the remote computer’s computational resources. Output from the command is delivered back to your local computer.
ssh<EMAIL_ADDRESS>ls # Listing of george's home directory
It is possible to avoid typing one’s password over and over again. We will walk through setting up key-based authentication in class and take a look at the example on the MIT course web page.
In addition to key-based authentication, we can also set up “nicknames” for the servers we connect to most often. This is done using the file ~/.ssh/config
(create it if it doesn’t exist already). This file can be used to set per-server options. An example is shown below.
Host missing
HostName missing.cs.umt.edu
User gl219598e
IdentityFile ~/.ssh/id_rsa_missing
This is the entry in my config file for the server we will use in class. Note that I’ve nicknamed it “missing”, set the username, and pointed it at a key file. This allows me to connect using a simple command: ssh missing
.
It is possible to copy files to any remote SSH host using the scp
program. Since SCP (secure copy) uses the same configuration file, it can be made very easy to use.
scp file.txt missing:/home/gl219598e/
There is also a -r
flag that copies directories recursively, making it easy to copy a number of files. If you have a lot of data, however, it might be better to use tar
to compress the files beforehand.
# Use scp directly
scp -r myfiles missing:/home/gl219598e/
# Using tar
tar -cxf files.tar.gz myfiles/
scp files.tar.gz missing:/home/gl219598e/
It is possible to route your computer’s network traffic through another machine using SSH. This can be helpful if you need to access services running on the remote machine but not exposed to the Internet. It can also allow you to use the remote machine as a kind of “poor man’s” VPN (I used this technique to watch Hulu when I lived in Chile).
The MIT page has an example and some nice diagrams.
A terminal multiplexer allows multiple shell sessions to be run and, more importantly for us, saved and restored. This capability is useful for running a persistent application on a remote server such that you can return to it later as though you’d only gotten up from the computer rather than logged out of it.
Tmux and Screen are the most popular terminal multiplexers. Install Tmux using Homebrew or your Linux distro’s package manager.
What if you want to leave a program running on a server? This could be a long-lived computation, or a program that serves requests. We can do this with nohup
, which causes a program to effectively ignore the “hangup” signal it receives when we close the SSH session.
nohup ./longjob.py George
We can also put this into the background either by appending &
to the command or using our job control tools. Once we disconnect, the job remains. Note that stdout and stderr are automatically redirected to a file. This makes sense since we expect to “abandon” the program as it runs, but, presumably, we still want its output.
Once we log back in, however, we can’t bring the application back to the foreground, it doesn’t even show up in our jobs
listing.
We can accomplish something similar, but more conveniently, using Tmux. First, we start a Tmux session:
tmux new -s longjob
We can simply run tmux
to get a new, anonymous, session too. Now we can run our program normally:
./longjob.py George
We could redirect the output or put the job in the background as well. But once we’re ready to log out we can “detach” from our terminal session with Ctrl-b d
or by running tmux detach
. Note that the program output stops printing, we’re no longer inside the shell session that has longjob.py
running, so we don’t get its output.
Now we can disconnect from the server and come back later. If we run tmux ls
we’ll see the longjob
session listed. We can “attach” to it:
tmux attach -t longjob
We could also use tmux attach
or tmux a
since there is only one session. Now the old session is restored, and we can even see all the output that has occurred since we left!


Run simple jobs locally or in distributed fashion using queue. Runs "r=feval(funNm,jobs{i}{:})" for each job either locally or across cluster. Distributed queuing system must be installed separately. If queuing system is not installed, this function can still be called with either the 'local' or 'parfor' options. jobs should be a cell array of length nJob. Each job should be a cell array of parameters to pass to funNm. funNm must be a function in the path and must return a single value (which may be a dummy value if funNm writes its results to disk). If using type='local', jobs are executed using simple for loop. If using type='parfor', the for loop is a parfor loop, make sure to setup matlab workers first using "matlabpool open nWorkers". If type='distr' attempts to use the distributed cluster code (must be installed separately); defaults to 'local' if cluster code not found. USAGE [out,res] = fevalDistr( funNm, jobs, [varargin] ) INPUTS funNm - name of function that will process jobs jobs - [1xnJob] cell array of parameters for each job varargin - additional params (struct or name/value pairs) .type - ['local'], 'parfor' or 'distr' .pLaunch - [] parameter to controller('launchQueue',pLaunch{:}) .group - [1] send jobs in batches (only relevant if type='distr') OUTPUTS out - 1 if jobs completed successfully res - [1xnJob] cell array containing results of each job EXAMPLE n=16; jobs=cell(1,n); for i=1:n, jobs{i}={rand(500),ones(25)}; end tic, [out,J] = fevalDistr('conv2',jobs,'type','local'); toc, tic, [out,J] = fevalDistr('conv2',jobs,'type','parfor'); toc, pDistr={'type','distr','pLaunch',{48,401:408}}; tic, [out,J] = fevalDistr('conv2',jobs,pDistr{:}); toc figure(1); montage2(cell2array(J)) See also controller, queue Piotr's Image&Video Toolbox Version 2.50 Copyright 2010 Piotr Dollar. [pdollar-at-caltech.edu] Please email me if you find bugs, or have suggestions or questions! Licensed under the Lesser GPL [see external/lgpl.txt]


Tutorial Flow:
- Determining the problem category (completed)
- Performing detailed diagnosis of the problem
- Identifying the scope of the SQL statements involved
Performing detailed diagnosis of the problem
The database administrator determines that the problem is related to locking. He identifies the type of locking problem by
revisiting the MONREPORT.DBSUMMARY
report. This report contains further information related to locking.
Monitoring report used
Report highlights
Pay attention to check common request metrics and focus on lock metrics.
Results
- No deadlocks
- High values of
LOCK_WAITS
and LOCK_WAIT_TIME
Conclusion
- The locking problem does not involve lock timeouts, deadlocks, or lock
escalations. This is purely a lock wait problem.
- The increased overall lock wait time
(LOCK_WAIT_TIME)
is due to many
statements waiting for a lock for a shorter period.


Mannabase is an online platform for the world's first Universal Basic Income cryptocurrency. Manna is distributed by the nonprofit Hedge 4 Humanity as a basic human right that every person in the world is eligible to receive, for free. Founded in 2015, Manna has achieved milestones in the cryptocurrency movement, as the first blockchain-based currency to be created and distributed by a tax-exempt nonprofit organization, and the first digital currency to implement a Universal Basic Income as its primary method of distribution. It currently distributes Manna weekly to about 100,000 users. The website is written in Vue.js with a Node.js server backend.
To warm up to the codebase, we added two-factor authentication to mannabase.com as an added optional securiy measure. We also added a settings page to allow the user to change their email, name, and password.
We aim for users to build a targeted direct giving portfolio so that users who want to participate in the UBI but want to provide to others can allocate their weekly Manna to other causes and users of their choice. We began by fleshing out a new dashboard page, profile pages for users, the ability to search for users, to add them as "connections", and a new "Wallet" page that displays the user's transaction history in a more readable way. This work is currently under review.
A global UBI can attract many spam accounts. This makes verifying the uniqueness of individual accounts of utmost importance. Currently, users upon signup will be asked to send photos of their face and government id, which is manually reviewed by Mannabase staff. This process does not scale well.
At the heart of this problem lies the challenge of validating unique identity. How can one distinguish real accounts from fake ones? One approach is analyze connections between accounts in a graph setting, much like how PageRank is used to validate the relevance/trustworthiness of web pages. BrightID aims to do this with a mobile app for people to form connections with people they trust. This app will contact a peer-to-peer network that will return scores that represent an individual account's trustworthiness. These scores can then port to arbitrary applications.
Members of the Hedge 4 Humanity Team will be able to tackle a variety of different areas for BrightID, including:Mannabase's Manna currency is quite speculative. Although its value may increase someday, we hope to also use a cryptocurrency at the moment with a more stable currency. That currency is DAI, which is a stable coin. It also has great infrastructure for burner wallets that will allow users who are new to the cryptocurrency world easily participate and receive currency. The Dollar4Everyone project will be another UBI with this stablecoin, which can use BrightID to verify uniqueness of users. Members have the opporunity to also be intimately involved in building this project from scratch.
Hedge 4 Humanity will be making a new website explaining the organization's structure and allowing for easy donation. It will likely be partially implemented in Wordpress. There is already a developer working on this project, but members can also help with this development as well.


 That is understandable, because Elixir is more of NodeJS thing rather than PHP."
layout: post
tags:
- what the heck is Elixir
- NodeJS and Laravel
---
Disclaimer: This post assumes the reader is pure backend PHP developer and has no background knowledge of NodeJS and related technologies. Feel free to skip sections that you think you are already familiar with.
As a backend PHP developer,this tons of new terms that comes along with Elixir might confuse you.
Why use Elixir in the first place?
understanding the tool is much easier to grasp if you know what it is for:
- You want to manage properly your JavaScript and CSS files
- You want to "concatenate" multiple js/css into one file to reduce HTTP calls
- You want to "minify" multiple js/css into one file to reduce size of JS/CSS
- You want to use latest features of JavaScript ( EcmaScript 6 ) while still backward compatible with browsers using JavaScript 5
- You want to use ES6 Modules in your JavaScript codes
Before going further, lets define few terms in here
- asset
- is a collective term for JavaScript, CSS and Images that your web application uses.
- minify
- to minify an asset means to reduce the file size of the css/js by compressing it in smaller size. Often by removing the whitespaces,comments and other characters that is not needed in live site
- uglify
- is the reverse of minification process, because when you remove all the whitespaces (like newlines, tabs and spaces) reading the codes is really terrible since they are all in the same line.
- ES6
- it stands for ECMAScript 6, the ECMA part stands for European Computer Manufacturers Association. It is because when Mozilla wanted to standardize JavaScript (developed by Netscape, which is now Mozilla) nobody wanted to help Mozilla except ECMA. The "6" part means its a new version of it ( yes the browser you are using right now is EcmaScript 5 released on 2009)
- NodeJS
- is a technology that allows you to use JavaScript on server-side (yes, your job as PHP backend developer will be replaced soon by NodeJS developers)
- NodeJS Module
- is way of NodeJS to encapsulate related code into a single unit of code. When creating a module, this can be interpreted as moving all related functions into a file
- npm
- is is the package manager of NodeJS, it is the counter-part of composer in PHP world.
- ES6 Modules
- current version of JavaScript doesn't supports the concept of modules natively, so they had to use CommonJS and Asynchronous Module Definition (AMD) in able to use modules. But now that latest version of JavaScript (ES6) will officially support modules, this hyped the legion of hipsters a bit.
- Browserify
- allows you to use Modules in your JavaScript codes
- Gulp
- is NodeJS-based tool to manage and automate the process of optimizing, minifying and other tasks in managing your assets. It is meant to replaced Grunt promising an "easier" way to do things.
- transpiler
- is a tool that takes the source code of a program written in one programming language as its input and produces the equivalent source code in another programming language. In this context, often used to allow developers to write cool syntax in JavaScript and transpile it into an equivalent (sometimes more optimized) JavaScript that browsers can understand.
- CoffeeScript
- some Ruby fanboys wanted to be able to write ruby-like code in JavaScript, so they built this -- a language that can be written with syntactic sugar of Ruby and later on can be transpiled into native JavaScript
- BabelJS
- some hipsters is very impatient of the new features of ES6 that they even built a transpiler just to allow them to write ES6 codes that will be converted back to JS5. This is that tool.
- SASS/LESS
- are CSS pre-processors that allows you to write CSS in a dynamic way, things like variables, mixins etc which is not usually available in normal CSS
Now, the thing with JavaScript developers is they tend to build tools on top of another tools, then another tool on top of another tool ... This produced tons of new tools just for very simple task -- managing your asset files.
At the beginning, there is NodeJS. In able to install Elixir, it needs to install Gulp. So you need npm to install it.
But, Gulp is very tedious to work with, tons of codes to write just for basic things. And since it is meant to be used in NodeJS applications, the Laravel Team made a utility named Elixir to make Gulp tasks "aware" of Laravel Framework
JavaScript
If you want to use CofeeScript, then Elixir makes it very easy for you
If you want to use ES6, then Elixir makes it very easy for you by utilizing BabelJS
If you want to use Modules, then Elixir makes it very easy for you by utilizing Browserify
all without having to dabble around all the Gulp tasks yourself
CSS
If you want to use SASS, then Elixir makes it very easy for you
If you want to use LESS, then Elixir makes it very easy for you
all without having to dabble around all the Gulp tasks yourself
The good news though is, all of this is readily available inside Homestead.  Just follow the documentation on how to use the actual tool, as I merely explained each terms and use-cases of those in here so as to help you more confident whenever you encounter those terms in Laracasts videos and forums.
The thing is, it is not required to use it in every Laravel project, it is only necessary if the project has a lot of codes involving the front-end codes and it needs to be super-optimized. You should not add another layer of complexity to your development workflow unless it is really necessary.


kluge up
`Prev `__
K
`Next `__
--------------
**kluge up**: vt.
To lash together a quick hack to perform a task; this is milder than
`*cruft together* <../C/cruft-together.html>`__ and has some of the
connotations of `*hack up* <../H/hack-up.html>`__ (note, however, that
the construction kluge on corresponding to `*hack
on* <../H/hack-on.html>`__ is never used). “I've kluged up this routine
to dump the buffer contents to a safe place.”
--------------
+---------------------------------+----------------------------+---------------------------------------------------+
| `Prev `__ | `Up <../K.html>`__ | `Next `__ |
+---------------------------------+----------------------------+---------------------------------------------------+
| kluge around | `Home <../index.html>`__ | Knights of the Lambda Calculus |
+---------------------------------+----------------------------+---------------------------------------------------+


3 references to SetPSScriptRootAndPSCommandPath
System.Management.Automation (3)
engine\runtime\CompiledScriptBlock.cs (2)
1037
SetPSScriptRootAndPSCommandPath
(locals, context);
2213
_scriptBlock.
SetPSScriptRootAndPSCommandPath
(_localsTuple, context);
engine\ScriptCommandProcessor.cs (1)
300
_scriptBlock.
SetPSScriptRootAndPSCommandPath
(_localsTuple, _context);


The Assignment
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The title of my essay is "Thorough Cleansing". It proposes satirical solutions to overpopulation in the Philippines and states how we can help combat it.
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Hello! My name is Martin Villalon and I am a 3rd year high school student at the Philippine Science Hgih School in Central Luzon.
I am currently 15 years old as of the date today.
I enjoy songs featuring female vocals and solving Math problems.
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We guarantee that all our products are...
Our themes are updated regularly to keep them bug free!
All dependencies are kept current to keep things fresh.
You can use this design as is, or you can make changes!
Is it really open source if it's not made with love?
A sneak-peak into what to expect from our farm this year...
Memory Loss is a fast-finishing 70% sativa hybrid from Archive Seed Bank that smells very much like a Dutch Haze, with a strong, peppery incense odor and undertones of bubblegum and fruit. This cross of Amnesia haze and a Face Off OG male produces large, easy to grow plants and heavy yields. Memory Loss is named for its mind-warping high that can leave users in a disoriented and forgetful mental state.
Presidential Kush, also known as “Presidential OG,” is an evenly balanced hybrid (50% indica/50% sativa) strain created through a cross of the classic Bubble Gum X OG Kush strains. One taste of this spicy bud and you’ll see why it’s worthy of this oval office name. It has a sweet citrusy flavor with hints of woody pine and touches of mellow spices.
This legendary West Coast strain crosses Ghost OG and Skunk Haze to create an indica-dominant hybrid that tastes and smells like a bushel of fresh bananas. Banana Kush tends to provide a mellow buzz alongside a relaxed sense of euphoria. A great choice when dealing with stress or depression, Banana Kush also helps stimulate your creative juices and can help you remain talkative in social settings.
Purple Punch is the sweet and sedating union of two indica-dominant classics. By breeding Larry OG with Granddaddy Purple, the astonishing trichome laden Purple Punch was born, smelling of grape candy, blueberry muffins, and tart Kool-Aid. The potency of this strain gives the consumer a one-two punch to the head and body, initially landing between the eyes and settling down into the limbs.
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We're more than just a cannabis farm.
Our history, values and more!
Founded in 2007, Crescent Valley Farms is a family owned and operated agriculture company located on the beautiful Okanogan River of North Central Washington State. Here at the farm we pride ourselves on environmental stewardship and sustainability. Using tried and true organic farming methods along side OMRI and WSDA listed organic inputs, we can ensure our products will always be All Natural, and "Mother Nature Approved".
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Meet the faces behind our success story...


About HaGGele
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Witness a bonafide Gaming experience with HaGGele
Haggele is a community of Indian CS fans
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Here are some of our Youtube Videos
Memes
Follow us on Instagram for latest CS:GO Memes and eSports updates
HaGGele Discord Server
Cool Welcome Card
Daily Csgo, Valorant and other top games updates and patches updates
Music channel
NSFW channel
Youtube Video Notification
Check your Csgo stats and inventory worth
Pokecord server where you can collect your pokemon and challenge others for pokemon battle
Steam Group
Steam Group Fun
Here you'll find most under-rated Quotes ever xD
Xh1bt
Chi Chi Chi.
KennyS
Muh meh leke naach mera.
Thanos chutkibaaz
Me nahi khelra tum khelo.
Schizo
Support ko kyu nai aaya.
Pimple
Good Evening Mr. Jalan.
Chaddi
Mara tha use mra kaise nhi.
Xh1bt
Gawwwd Bolte
Fenico
Yaar schizo chilata to ni khel paata m.
Thanos chutkibaaz
Me nahi khelra tum khelo.
Schizo
Aise khelna h to matt bulaya kro.
Sherlock
Okay Okay Okay.
Itachi
Yaar trade ni nikaloge to kese chlega.
Xh1bt
ZaDeH.
PeroAman
Tu bait krta re.
Thanos chutkibaaz
Igl call doona.
Schizo
Are tu pro hai re.
Bakka
Kutiya sohail chaku p.
Chaddi
Merko nahi pta merko kya dikhra h.
Administrators
Here are some of our Admins
Akshat Jalan
HaGGele Founder
F.A.Q
-
Why?
Marzi meri
-
But why?
Merko ni pta
-
Nahi hora kya?
Nahi
-
Phr kyu?
ese hi


Apply for help with health costs
The low income scheme
You could get help towards:
- NHS Prescriptions;
- NHS Dental treatment;
- sight tests, glasses and contact lenses;
- NHS wigs and fabric supports;
- travel to receive NHS treatment (when referred by a GP or hospital doctor, dentist or optician)
If you have a low amount of money to live on after your housing costs and you or your partner (or both) have less than:
- £16,000 in savings, investments or properties (not counting the place where you live); or
- £23,250 in savings, investments or properties if you permanently live in a care home
You can apply at any time. Do not wait until you need treatment.
I've used this service before - view my application
You may already be entitled to help with health costs if you receive any of the following:
- income support;
- pension credit guarantee credit;
- universal credit; or
- you are named on, or entitled to, an NHS Tax Credit exemption certificate
What to do if one of the above applies to you
You can claim for:
- yourself;
- your partner; or
- your children


University of Westminster
BSc Computer Games Development 1st
Hi and welcome to my online portfolio. I am a Computer Games Development Graduate from the University of Westminster.
I enjoy working on the gameplay side of games the most as this is the main part which gets a game working from the mechanics to how things interact together in the world. I also enjoy working on other parts of games such as AI.
Another thing which I enjoy taking part in are game jams as they are never predictable, every game jam has a different theme and me and my team must come up with a new idea. It is also incredibly fun to work with friends on a creating a game from scratch in a very limited time.
Overall I am very interested in all types of technology whether it is games or software development. I have become increasingly interested in the Swift language and the iOS development environment and have been learning it for about 6 months. It has been such a great learning experience and I am still learning new things everyday.
Some quick example text to build on the card title and make up the bulk of the card's content.
Go to project 1Some quick example text to build on the card title and make up the bulk of the card's content.
Go to project 2Some quick example text to build on the card title and make up the bulk of the card's content.
Go to project 3


User name
Sunday 24 April
Palermo, Buenos Aires, ARG
Last update: 2 hours ago
Air
+ 20 PPM
Humedity
30%
Polution
30%
Wind
30
+20 PPM
AIR QUALITY
It's a great day to go out. There is no risk around
5 reports nearby