FORE:

FORE:Outgeneraled, the hydroplane cut speed and swung toward the yacht, followed by the tender.

FORE:

FORE:The first principle to be pointed out in regard to belts, to distinguish them from shafts as a means of transmitting power, is that power is communicated by means of tensile instead of torsional strain, the power during transmission being represented in the difference of tension between the driving and the slack side of belts. In the case of shafts, their length, or the distance to which they may be extended in transmitting power, is limited by torsional resistance; and as belts are not liable to this condition, we may conclude that unless there are other difficulties to be contended with, belts are more suitable than shafts for transmitting power throughout long distances. Belts suffer resistance from the air and from friction in the bearings of supporting pulleys, which are necessary in long horizontal belts; with these exceptions they are capable of moving at a very high rate of speed, and transmitting power without appreciable loss.

FORE:Formerly an apprentice entered a shop to learn hand skill, and to acquaint himself with a number of mysterious processes; to learn a series of arbitrary rules which might serve to place him at a disadvantage even with those whose capacity was inferior and who had less education; but now the whole is changed. An engineer apprentice enters the shop with a confidence that he may learn whatever the facilities afford if he will put forth the required efforts; there are no mysteries to be solved; nearly all problems are reached and explained by science, leaving a greater share of the shop-time of a learner to be devoted to studying what is special.

FORE:"I never want another woman like you to deal with," he said. "I prefer a man, however great a scoundrel he may be. But you would have robbed me; I have turned the tables on you. And I am going to squeeze you. Give me those diamonds, take a receipt for the sum I mentioned, and I wait a fortnight."There must, one would suppose, be some force in the Epicurean philosophy of death, for it has been endorsed by no less a thinker and observer than Shakspeare. To make the great dramatist responsible for every opinion uttered by one or other of his characters would, of course, be absurd; but when we find personages so different in other respects as Claudio, Hamlet, and Macbeth, agreeing in the sentiment that, apart from the prospect of a future judgment, there is nothing to appal us in the thought of death, we cannot avoid the inference that he is here making them the mouthpiece of his own convictions, even, as in Hamlet��s famous soliloquy, at the expense of every dramatic propriety. Nevertheless, the answer of humanity to such sophisms will always be that of Homer��s Achilles, ��μ? δ? μοι θ?νατ?ν γε παρα?δα������Talk me not fair of death!�� A very simple process of reasoning will make this clear. The love of life necessarily involves a constant use of precautions against its loss. The certainty of death means the certainty that these precautions shall one day prove unavailing; the consciousness of its near approach means the consciousness that they have actually failed. In both cases the result must be a sense of baffled or arrested effort, more or less feeble when it is imagined, more or less acute when it it is realised. But this diversion of the conscious energies from their accustomed channel, this turning back of the feelings on themselves, constitutes the essence of all emotion; and where the object of the arrested energies was to avert a danger, it constitutes the emotion of fear. Thus, by an inevitable law, the love of life has for its reverse side the dread of death. Now the love of life is guaranteed by the survival of the fittest; it must last as long as the human race, for91 without it the race could not last at all. If, as Epicurus urged, the supreme desirability of pleasure is proved by its being the universal object of pursuit among all species of animals,177 the supreme hatefulness of death is proved by an analogous experience; and we may be sure that, even if pessimism became the accepted faith, the darkened prospect would lead to no relaxation of our grasp on life. A similar mode of reasoning applies to the sorrow and anguish, mortis comites et funeris atri, from which the benevolent Roman poet would fain relieve us. For, among a social species, the instinct for preserving others is second only to the instinct of self-preservation, and frequently rises superior to it. Accordingly, the loss of those whom we love causes, and must always cause us, a double distress. There is, first, the simple pain due to the eternal loss of their society, a pain of which Lucretius takes no account. And, secondly, there is the arrest of all helpful activity on their behalf, the continual impulse to do something for them, coupled with the chilling consciousness that it is too late, that nothing more can be done. So strong, indeed, is this latter feeling that it often causes the loss of those whose existence was a burden to themselves and others, to be keenly felt, if only the survivors were accustomed, as a matter of duty, to care for them and to struggle against the disease from which they suffered. Philosophy may help to fill up the blanks thus created, by directing our thoughts to objects of perennial interest, and she may legitimately discourage the affectation or the fostering of affliction; but the blanks themselves she cannot explain away, without forfeiting all claim on our allegiance as the ultimate and incorruptible arbitress of truth.