Clojure High Performance JVM Programming 1st Edition Eduardo Diaz

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Clojure High Performance JVM Programming 1st Edition Eduardo Diaz Digital Instant Download Author(s): Eduardo Diaz, Shantanu Kumar, Akhil Wali ISBN(s): 9781787129597, 1787129594 Edition: 1 File Details: PDF, 10.19 MB Year: 2017 Language: english

Table of Contents Clojure: High Performance JVM Programming Credits Preface What this learning path covers What you need for this learning path Who this learning path is for Reader feedback Customer support Downloading the example code Errata Piracy Questions 1. Module 1 1. Getting Started with Clojure Getting to know Clojure Installing Leiningen Using a REPL The nREPL protocol Hello world REPL utilities and conventions Creating a new project Project structure Creating a standalone app Using Cursive Clojure Installing Cursive Clojure Getting started with Clojure code and data Lists in Clojure Operations in Clojure Functions in Clojure Clojure's data types Scalars Collection data types Summary

2. Namespaces, Packages, and Tests Namespaces in Clojure Packages in Clojure The classpath and the classloader Back to Clojure namespaces Playing with namespaces Creating a new namespace Working with namespaces on the REPL Testing in Clojure Testing from the command line Testing in IntelliJ Summary 3. Interacting with Java Using Maven dependencies Clojure interop syntax Creating an object Calling an instance method Calling a static method or function Accessing inner classes Writing a simple image namespace Writing the tests The let statement Destructuring in Clojure Sequential destructuring Associative destructuring Exposing your code to Java Testing from Groovy Proxy and reify Summary 4. Collections and Functional Programming Basics of functional programming Persistent collections Types of collections in Clojure The sequence abstraction Specific collection types in Clojure Vectors Lists

Maps Sorted maps and hash maps Common properties Sets Sorted sets and hash sets Common properties Union, difference, and intersection Applying functional programming to collections The imperative programming model The functional paradigm Functional programming and immutability Laziness Summary 5. Multimethods and Protocols Polymorphism in Java Multimethods in Clojure Keyword hierarchies isa? parents descendants underive A la carte dispatch functions Protocols in Clojure Records in Clojure Summary 6. Concurrency Using your Java knowledge The Clojure model of state and identity Promises Pulsar and lightweight threads Futures Software transactional memory and refs Atoms Agents Validators Watchers core.async

Why lightweight threads? Goblocks Channels Transducers Summary 7. Macros in Clojure Lisp's foundational ideas Macros as code modification tools Modifying code in Java Modifying code in Groovy The @ToString annotation The @TupleConstructor annotation The @Slf4j annotation Writing your first macro Debugging your first macro Quote, syntax quote, and unquoting Unquote splicing gensym Macros in the real world References Summary 2. Module 2 1. Performance by Design Use case classification The user-facing software Computational and data-processing tasks A CPU bound computation A memory bound task A cache bound task An input/output bound task Online transaction processing Online analytical processing Batch processing A structured approach to the performance The performance vocabulary Latency Throughput

Bandwidth Baseline and benchmark Profiling Performance optimization Concurrency and parallelism Resource utilization Workload The latency numbers that every programmer should know Summary 2. Clojure Abstractions Non-numeric scalars and interning Identity, value, and epochal time model Variables and mutation Collection types Persistent data structures Constructing lesser-used data structures Complexity guarantee O(<7) implies near constant time The concatenation of persistent data structures Sequences and laziness Laziness Laziness in data structure operations Constructing lazy sequences Custom chunking Macros and closures Transducers Performance characteristics Transients Fast repetition Performance miscellanea Disabling assertions in production Destructuring Recursion and tail-call optimization (TCO) Premature end of iteration Multimethods versus protocols Inlining Summary

3. Leaning on Java Inspecting the equivalent Java source for Clojure code Creating a new project Compiling the Clojure sources into Java bytecode Decompiling the .class files into Java source Compiling the Clojure source without locals clearing Numerics, boxing, and primitives Arrays Reflection and type hints An array of primitives Primitives Macros and metadata String concatenation Miscellaneous Using array/numeric libraries for efficiency HipHip primitive-math Detecting boxed math Resorting to Java and native code Proteus – mutable locals in Clojure Summary 4. Host Performance The hardware Processors Branch prediction Instruction scheduling Threads and cores Memory systems Cache Interconnect Storage and networking The Java Virtual Machine The just-in-time compiler Memory organization HotSpot heap and garbage collection Measuring memory (heap/stack) usage Determining program workload type

Tackling memory inefficiency Measuring latency with Criterium Criterium and Leiningen Summary 5. Concurrency Low-level concurrency Hardware memory barrier (fence) instructions Java support and the Clojure equivalent Atomic updates and state Atomic updates in Java Clojure's support for atomic updates Faster writes with atom striping Asynchronous agents and state Asynchrony, queueing, and error handling Why you should use agents Nesting Coordinated transactional ref and state Ref characteristics Ref history and in-transaction deref operations Transaction retries and barging Upping transaction consistency with ensure Lesser transaction retries with commutative operations Agents can participate in transactions Nested transactions Performance considerations Dynamic var binding and state Validating and watching the reference types Java concurrent data structures Concurrent maps Concurrent queues Clojure support for concurrent queues Concurrency with threads JVM support for threads Thread pools in the JVM Clojure concurrency support Future Promise

Clojure parallelization and the JVM Moore's law Amdahl's law Universal Scalability Law Clojure support for parallelization pmap pcalls pvalues Java 7's fork/join framework Parallelism with reducers Reducible, reducer function, reduction transformation Realizing reducible collections Foldable collections and parallelism Summary 6. Measuring Performance Performance measurement and statistics A tiny statistics terminology primer Median, first quartile, third quartile Percentile Variance and standard deviation Understanding Criterium output Guided performance objectives Performance testing The test environment What to test Measuring latency Comparative latency measurement Latency measurement under concurrency Measuring throughput Average throughput test The load, stress, and endurance tests Performance monitoring Monitoring through logs Ring (web) monitoring Introspection JVM instrumentation via JMX Profiling

OS and CPU/cache-level profiling I/O profiling Summary 7. Performance Optimization Project setup Software versions Leiningen project.clj configuration Enable reflection warning Enable optimized JVM options when benchmarking Distinguish between initialization and runtime Identifying performance bottlenecks Latency bottlenecks in Clojure code Measure only when it is hot Garbage collection bottlenecks Threads waiting at GC safepoint Using jstat to probe GC details Inspecting generated bytecode for Clojure source Throughput bottlenecks Profiling code with VisualVM The Monitor tab The Threads tab The Sampler tab Setting the thread name The Profiler tab The Visual GC tab The Alternate profilers Performance tuning Tuning Clojure code CPU/cache bound Memory bound Multi-threaded I/O bound JVM tuning Back pressure Summary 8. Application Performance Choosing libraries

Making a choice via benchmarks Web servers Web routing libraries Data serialization JSON serialization JDBC Logging Why SLF4J/LogBack? The setup Dependencies The logback configuration file Optimization Data sizing Reduced serialization Chunking to reduce memory pressure Sizing for file/network operations Sizing for JDBC query results Resource pooling JDBC resource pooling I/O batching and throttling JDBC batch operations Batch support at API level Throttling requests to services Precomputing and caching Concurrent pipelines Distributed pipelines Applying back pressure Thread pool queues Servlet containers such as Tomcat and Jetty HTTP Kit Aleph Performance and queueing theory Little's law Performance tuning with respect to Little's law Summary 3. Module 3 1. Working with Sequences and Patterns

Defining recursive functions Thinking in sequences Using the seq library Creating sequences Transforming sequences Filtering sequences Lazy sequences Using zippers Working with pattern matching Summary 2. Orchestrating Concurrency and Parallelism Managing concurrent tasks Using delays Using futures and promises Managing state Using vars Using refs Using atoms Using agents Executing tasks in parallel Controlling parallelism with thread pools Summary 3. Parallelization Using Reducers Using reduce to transform collections What's wrong with sequences? Introducing reducers Using fold to parallelize collections Processing data with reducers Summary 4. Metaprogramming with Macros Understanding the reader Reading and evaluating code Quoting and unquoting code Transforming code Expanding macros Creating macros Encapsulating patterns in macros

Using reader conditionals Avoiding macros Summary 5. Composing Transducers Understanding transducers Producing results from transducers Comparing transducers and reducers Transducers in action Managing volatile references Creating transducers Summary 6. Exploring Category Theory Demystifying category theory Using monoids Using functors Using applicative functors Using monads Summary 7. Programming with Logic Diving into logic programming Solving logical relations Combining logical relations Thinking in logical relations Solving the n-queens problem Solving a Sudoku puzzle Summary 8. Leveraging Asynchronous Tasks Using channels Customizing channels Connecting channels Revisiting the dining philosophers problem Using actors Creating actors Passing messages between actors Handling errors with actors Managing state with actors Comparing processes and actors

Summary 9. Reactive Programming Reactive programming with fibers and dataflow variables Using Reactive Extensions Using functional reactive programming Building reactive user interfaces Introducing Om Summary 10. Testing Your Code Writing tests Defining unit tests Using top-down testing Testing with specs Generative testing Testing with types Summary 11. Troubleshooting and Best Practices Debugging your code Using tracing Using Spyscope Logging errors in your application Thinking in Clojure Summary A. References Bibliography Index

Clojure: High Performance JVM Programming

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“Oh, in the old days I was rather a celebrity in the islands,—a kind of insular Lord Byron,—and of course had my followers. When I settled here, I made all my followers come also, and admitted none but young men. They brought their sweethearts and wives, so gradually the community grew up here. Recruits come from time to time, but I admit none but those who are physically perfect and passably moral. We now number, with women and children, two hundred souls, and you will not find a deformed or lame person among the lot.” “Then you have no old people?” “Oh yes. I am old myself, and many of my followers are of the same age. We were all young men in those days of colonization, but now age has come upon us, as you see. Some of my old comrades have died, but many are well and hearty, thanks to the salubrity of this climate. They are the sages of the village.” “Local rulers, I suppose?” “No,” retorted Justinian, with fiery earnestness; “there is only one ruler in Melnos—myself.” They were now walking down the principal street of the village, a broad thoroughfare, running between two rows of red limestone houses, from the foot of the grand staircase to the blue lake, the distance in all being about a quarter of a mile. On each side, between the pathways and the road itself, ran two lines of elm trees, the foliage of which formed a pleasant shade, while the houses, built in a tropical fashion, with wide verandas, were gay with flowers. Helena had evidently inoculated her father’s subjects with a love for flowers, as on every side the eye was dazzled with a profusion of bright tints. At the lower end of the street was a wide semicircle, facing the lake, and planted with lines of beech, elm, and plane trees, while in the middle of this pleasantness stood a tall pedestal of white marble, bearing a huge bronze Zeus, seated half-draped, with thunderbolt and eagle beside him. Indeed, the statues of gods and goddesses were so frequent, that Maurice began to think his eccentric host, in order to complete his revival of ancient Athens, had re-established the hierarchy of Olympus, with himself as Pontifex Maximus. Evidently his face betrayed his thoughts, for,

seeing his eyes fixed on the garlands decorating the base of the statue, the King laughed in an amused manner. “No, no, Mr. Roylands, we are not pagans, in spite of the presence of the gods,” he said, with a smile. “All my people belong to the Orthodox Church, and we have a priest, a sacred building, and everything necessary for such religion.” “Are you also of the Greek Church?” “No, I am no renegade,” replied Justinian haughtily; “but, at the same time, I am not what you would call a Christian.” “But I trust your religious principles are not those of Caliphronas?” “No; I believe in working for the good of others, as you can see. Morally speaking, I am what you call an agnostic, though truly I believe in a supreme power. I erect my altar to τὸν ἄγναστον Θεόν, Mr. Roylands, and strive to propitiate him by helping my fellow- creatures.” The conversation now becoming rather delicate in its trenching on religious beliefs, Maurice turned it dexterously by remarking on the number of mulberry trees. “Those are for the silkworms,” explained Justinian, striking the trunk of one of these trees with his staff; “we export a great number of cocoons, and do a large trade with the mainland. We also weave silks for ourselves; the factory is to the right.” There were a great number of people in the streets, all in a similar dress to their own—that is, the men, for the women were mostly arrayed in the graceful Greek dress of the Cretans, which consisted of full white trousers reaching to the ankle, brightly colored tunics, embroidered jackets, gaudy handkerchiefs twisted round the head, and long white veils, though the latter were but assumed for festive occasions. Both men and women were very fine-looking, with oval faces, olive skins, somewhat pointed chins, and aquiline noses, and their gait was remarkably graceful, with the stately bearing of a free race. The adults all saluted Justinian respectfully, and he acknowledged their greetings with haughty condescension, although he unbent somewhat towards the children, who crowded round him with cries of “Kalli imera Kyrion!”

“You are as populous as a hive of bees,” said Maurice, as they walked down to the lake; “soon the island will be too small.” “Not for many years I hope and trust,” answered Justinian, casting a look round at the now sunny sides of the mountain, which encircled them like a cup. “There is plenty of room yet; for my colony, in spite of its forty years, is only yet in its infancy. Lots of room yonder for dwellings; the soil is fertile, and affords plenty of food, and as to necessaries from the outside world, we export olives, cocoons, silks, wine, and dittany, receiving in return what we require from more advanced civilization.” “Dittany! what is that?” “I am afraid you don’t know your Virgil, Mr. Roylands. Dittany is an herb of rare medicinal power, which is found in Crete, and also in Melnos. It is excellent for illness of all kinds, especially fevers, and is as valued now as it was in the days of Pliny. Plenty of it up in the mountain yonder, as the goats are very fond of it.” “Have you goats?” “Of course! and also sheep, though I am afraid the goats are the more numerous. Indeed, I have imported here some of the rare Cretan breed—a kind of ibex, which grows to a great size. These, of course, I will not allow to be killed; but for food we have plenty of the smaller wild goats, such as exist in many places in Greece, particularly on the summits of Olympus. You probably forget we had goat’s flesh for supper last night.” “And the lake, sir?” “Artificial purely.” “Sea-water?” “Oh dear no. The level of this valley is considerably above that of the sea. I should be sorry were it otherwise, as, were it lower, we might run a chance of being swamped by the influx of waters. I am sure Alcibiades and his friends would be delighted to drown us like rats if they could. This lake comes from the snows yonder.” “The snows?” “Precisely. I have had a reservoir constructed far below the snow- line, and a shoot into it from the summit of the mountain. At certain intervals I send men up, who detach great masses of snow and send

them down the shoot into the reservoir. There the heat of the sun soon melts them to water, and from thence the water is taken down to the lake.” “But water always rises to its own level.” “Hence you think my valley should be an entire lake; but there is no danger of such a catastrophe happening, as my reservoir is filled in a purely artificial manner, and I take care to keep it within bounds. The pipes also down to this lake are contrived so as to regulate the influx of water, therefore there is no fear of a flood. Now you must come and see the theatre.” “The theatre! Have you playwrights and actors here?” “Our playwrights date from old Hellenic days, and are called Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; the actors are my Greeks. Sometimes Crispin writes us a play bearing on local events, which he satirizes after the style of Aristophanic comedy—at least he did so when he lived here, but since his departure we have fallen back on Hellas for our plays.” “How often do you give performances?” “Only once a year, at the vintage feast. Oh, we follow old customs closely here, and I hope to show you a veritable Dionysiade before you leave us. We have a three days’ festival of simple mirth, without any of the coarse elements which were introduced by the later Hellenes. The first day we have the vintage festival, the second our plays, and on the third there are Olympian games.” “With what prizes?” “As of yore, the laurel wreath. I am particularly anxious to keep up these games, as it makes my Greeks athletes, and hardens them by muscular exercises, else in this lotus-eating valley they would be apt to become indolent, and then where would Melnos be without brave men to defend her?” “You are a perfect Spartan!” “I believe in the Spartan training to a great extent, but I do not think the body should be trained exclusively and the mind neglected; therefore I have the tragedies performed which were unknown to Sparta. The Spartans were a fine nation of materialists.”

“You are right!” said Maurice earnestly; “one should never let the material nature overpower the spiritual.” “You speak warmly.” “As I was taught. My mother was a religious woman, and trained me carefully. One cannot rid one’s self of youthful teachings; we may forget them for a time, but they always force themselves before the mind sooner or later.” “Not always. I also was taught as you, but forty years of solitude— comparative solitude—and pondering have turned me into what I am —an agnostic. So your mother was a good woman? is she alive?” “No; she died many years ago.” “And your father?” “Is also dead. I am an orphan. No relations in the world—at least, none I care about.” Justinian gazed at the young man as if he would read his very soul, then, turning away with a half-suppressed sigh, entered the theatre. It was modelled on that of Athens,—a large semicircle hewn out of the volcanic rock, with seats of the red limestone so frequent in Melnos. The stage faced the mountain, and had an altar beautifully sculptured in front of it, and life-sized statues of Dionysius and Phœbus on either side. “This is our Temple of Thespis,” said Justinian, as they stood in the centre of the semicircle, which was at a moderate distance from the stage. “You see it is not very large, and suitable to the size of the island and the number of population; so, as the actors can easily be seen, we need neither cothurnus nor mask. Our plays, I am afraid, are not so gigantic as those of ancient Hellas; but there is one advantage, the face is seen, and the Greeks are wonderfully expressive in revealing their feelings by the countenance.” “All Melnos seems to be built of this red stone.” “Yes; I get it from the cliffs of the island. The tint is pleasing, and warms up the landscape. I am sorry we cannot see the ocean from the theatre, as I am very fond of the sea; but, shut in by this circle of mountains, of course that is impossible. Now we must go and see the silk factory.”

After they had gone through this thoroughly,—for Justinian insisted upon Maurice taking notice of every detail,—the King showed him some hot springs just outside the village, which bubbled up from the earth, amid rugged blocks of black lava, streaked fantastically with sulphur. “These springs are full of medicinal properties, which are useful for the cure of many diseases,” he said, as they watched the light clouds of steam rising; “but we of Melnos are so healthy, that we rarely use them. Plenty of work, plenty of physical exercise, careful attention to births, and fresh air and water in abundance, keep the whole population in splendid health. It is a case of quality, not quantity.” “Have you any poets, painters, sculptors?” “Not yet. True, sometimes rude songs are made, and rude pictures painted, but I am afraid centuries of slavery have crushed all the creative power out of the Hellenic race. However, they are free here, and have a city of refuge in this island; so, in the future, who knows but what Melnos may become a second Attica, and have her Plato, her Sophocles, her Phidias!” “It will take years to develop all that genius,” said Maurice, as they once more began to climb up the staircase. “I am afraid so. And I dread who may come after me. I am old, and cannot live long; so when I die, unless my successor is actuated by the same desire to found a miniature Attica, as I have been, he may turn this place into a nest of robbers, in which case, I am afraid, King George’s Government would interfere, and the aspirations of Melnos to revive Hellenic culture would be at an end.” “Who is to be your successor?” “That I do not know. True, I have a daughter, but it needs a man to manage my Greeks. I took Crispin and Andros, in order to train them up as my heirs, but Crispin has become wealthy, and prefers to live in England; while Andros, or, as he now calls himself, Caliphronas, is nothing but a scamp. If he succeeded me, all my work would go for nothing. He would be a tyrant, a robber, a selfish seeker after pleasure, who would destroy the simplicity of Melnos, break all my laws, and transform it into a nest of criminals.”

“Surely you have some clever men among your people?” “Clever to serve, but bad to rule. None of them have the administrative power required for even so small a community as this. No; to succeed me, I must have an Englishman. We are a dominating race, fit to rule; and a glance round the world will show you our colonizing capabilities. By a cool head and a firm hand, I have transformed a barren island into a centre of prosperity; and if my successors only follow my policy, in a few hundred years, this little unknown island may become the centre of a great intellectual power. The Athenians, you know, were small in number, yet see the intellectual effect they produced in the world’s history. These Greeks of mine are descendants of the ancient Hellenes, and the spark of genius, nearly trampled out by centuries of Turkish misrule, is still within them. Place a plant in the dark, and it grows not; give it plenty of air and sunlight, and first the green leaves appear, then the bud, lastly the flower. These are my green leaves, which I have placed in the light; and let them be tended and looked after, who knows but what a glorious flower may be produced.” “It is a splendid—dream!” “A dream which may yet turn out truth,” answered Justinian, with energy. “See how well I have prepared the ground. My people here are physically perfect; their morality is much above what is to be found in the islands of the Ægean. I have taught them to love work and loathe idleness. The island they dwell in contains all the beauties of nature in a small space. ‘Infinite riches in a little room,’ to quote Marlowe. They are starting fairly under my guidance, and they will develop, as their prototypes of Athens, into a keen, cultured, intellectual race, who may give this modern world as splendid gifts of genius as did their fathers of old. But the plant needs fostering, and I, the gardener, alas! am growing old; so when I die, who will attend to this delicate flower of artificiality. What I want is to find a successor who will do as I have done.” “He will be difficult to find.” “I fear so; unless”— Here Justinian paused abruptly, and walked rapidly along the mulberry avenue, in which they were now. Maurice waited to hear

him speak, but he said nothing until he stood under the graceful Corinthian capitals of the temple pillars, when he suddenly came to a full stop, and looked at Maurice keenly. “Mr. Roylands, do you know what I think?” “No, sir.” “That it would be an excellent thing for you to give up your country-gentleman life in England, and come here.” “But for what reason?” “To be my successor.” Maurice stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment, but in another moment Justinian vanished.

CHAPTER XX. A DIFFICULT QUESTION. If you this question strange decide, This way, that way, at your pleasure, It surely cannot be denied, If you this question strange decide, That Fate’s prerogative’s defied, And thus may grudge your self-won treasure, If you this question strange decide, This way, that way, at your pleasure. Certainly Maurice felt in a somewhat embarrassing position, on hearing of Justinian’s offer to instal him as future King of Melnos, and he hardly knew what decision to make in the matter. At present the affair was so unexpected and bewildering that he hardly grasped the fact of its reality, and remained where he was, leaning against a pillar, wondering if he was asleep or awake. He had come to an unknown island of the Ægean Sea, and therein had beheld a miniature civilization of a most unique character, which in itself by its very fancifulness was enough to unsettle his calm reasoning powers, when lo! the man who had created this vision of dead classicism proposed to bestow it on him as a gift. There was something singularly tempting in this offer, especially to a man of Roylands’ artistic temperament; for here, in this sea-girt island, he could lead a life of dreamy seclusion, and work at his art amid these rejuvenated Hellenic times, which breathed all the serenity and calm necessary to foster the craving soul of genius. In the riotous modern world of

England he had often felt like an alien, and his work, imbued with modernisms, seemed feeble and meretricious after those masterpieces of Greek art which still remain to remind us of the supremacy of Attic sculptors in delineating the human figure. Devoted to his art, had Maurice been asked by some fairy to name his desire, he would certainly have demanded to be placed in kindred circumstances, calm, untroubled, serene, to those masterly Athenian creators who adorned the Parthenon with god-like forms. Lo! without the intervention of an unseen power, his wish had been unexpectedly gratified, yet, now that the boon long dreamed of was gratified, he hesitated as to the advisability of accepting it. It was difficult for him to make up his mind, from the very contrast of the two existences which lay before him, either of which he could begin from that moment, by a mere acceptance of the one or the other. On the one hand was the turbulent nineteenth century, full of invention, discovery, feverishness, anguish, ambition, like a terrible yet fascinating dream, which involved the straining of every nerve to attain a thankless end; and on the other hand were years of quietness, of dwelling in a modern paradise under a serene sky, with all the incentives to awaken and foster his artistic soul, a reconstruction of that calm Attic existence which seemed so far off and mist-like beyond the stormy waters of mediævalism and modern restlessness. Maurice, always impressionable to his surroundings, felt as did the Ulyssean sailors in the lotus-land, when they were loath to leave the drowsy island for fruitless toilings on the main; he thought this serene existence of Melnos, unvexed by the tumults of nations, was perfect: yet the ambitious spirit of the nineteenth- century interest in his being called out to him to come forward and take his place in the fierce fight for fame, for gold, for bread, which vexed the world of to-day. Peace or war—for social war it was in this modern struggle for existence—he did not know which to choose, and, leaning against that relic of the old classic times, when earth was young, fresh, and joyous, he dreamily pondered over the choice offered to him. Had Keats, that born Greek, been offered the chance of dwelling in this Hellenic Elysium, how eagerly would he have accepted, and

revelled in the serenity of the life, like one of his own young deities, who live so joyously in his delicate verse. Perhaps Heine, longing for the infinite charm of the antique on his mattress-grave in the Rue d’Amsterdam, might have accepted with joy this opportunity to dwell in the placid Greek world he loved so well, and of which he sang so mournfully, so exquisitely. But no!—Heine, bitter, dual soul as he was, had too much of Judaism in his soul to accept gladly a serene existence, unflavored by that bitter irony, those pen and ink wars, those modern sophistries in which his spirit delighted. Keats—yes! for he was a born Hellene. Heine—no! for the genius of the Jew fought ever with the genius of the Greek to master his soul, and his irony, his orientalism, his Shiraz roses, and blue Ganges, would have rendered him restless even under the changeless blue of the Attic skies, amid the divine beauty of serene Hellenic art. Maurice was neither Keats nor Heine, yet partook of the nature of both. He was not a genius, having just escaped the fatal gift of artistic supremacy, still, he had a strong craving for the beautiful, a wish to create, a desire to know; but in his soul the blind craving of Keats for Beauty and Truth was marred by that fatal scepticism which blighted the genius of Heine. He had the faith of the one, the doubt of the other, and, drawn strongly either way by these opposing forces, paused irresolutely between the two. First he would accept and live the old Hellenic life, then he would refuse, lest such life should lack the sharp, salt flavor of modern existence. An ass between two bundles of hay was Maurice, but, unlike that animal, he knew that each bundle contained what the other lacked, and, greedy of both, doubtful of both, afraid of both, he was quite unable to make up his extremely unstable mind. A man in such an embarrassing position always makes up his otherwise wavering mind to one thing, and that is, to ask advice, though in nine cases out of ten he never means to take it when given. Maurice was not sure if he would accept advice, yet nevertheless went to seek Crispin, in order to lay the matter before him, and ask what he thought was the best course for him to pursue. Crispin was wise, Crispin was friendly, and, moreover, had tried both the ancient and the modern modes of existence, as his

youth had been spent in Melnos, his early manhood in civilized Europe; so surely Crispin, with a knowledge of both sides of the question, was the best to decide for the one or the other. All the morning Crispin had been hard at work on a formidable- looking epistle to Eunice, in which he told all his perils and adventures, the departure from Southampton, the voyage down the Mediterranean, the wreck of The Eunice, and their safe arrival at Melnos. In addition to this narrative, worthy of Marco Polo at his best, he related the comforts in which he and Maurice were now dwelling, in order to set the mind of that gentleman’s friends at rest; but, with considerable craft, the wily poet did not put in any words of loverly affection, as he knew well the Hon. Mrs. Dengelton would read the letter before giving it to her submissive daughter. In order to circumvent his future mother-in-law, Crispin intended to write a separate letter to Eunice, full of his passion, and then slip it into an epistle by Maurice, whom he intended to get to write to the Rector. Mr. Carriston was a friend to the lovers, and would doubtless be able to deliver the letter unseen by the dragon; thus Mrs. Dengelton would be thwarted should she try to destroy Eunice’s affection for the poet by keeping back his letters. Near Crispin sat Gurt, at the open window, chewing the quid of reflection, and looking excessively dismal, as he found this semi- classical existence somewhat dull, and moreover, true seaman as he was, viewed a prolonged sojourn on land with much disgust. He brightened up, however, when Maurice came in, and twisted his forelock in approved forecastle fashion with a scrape of his foot. “Which I ses t’ this ’ere gent,” growled Gurt in his raucous voice, “‘w’ere is he?’ meanin’ you, sir, and Mr. Crispin ses he, ‘Oh, he’s gone down t’ valley,’ so ses I, ‘He’ll see the crew,’ and ses he, ‘It’s werry likely.’“ “I’m very sorry, Gurt,” said Maurice in some dismay, “but the fact is, I’ve been exploring the village with Justinian, and quite forgot to see after our mariners.” “I wish you had done so, Maurice,” said Crispin in a vexed tone, looking up from his writing; “the poor fellows will think we have forgotten all about them.”

“Oh, we will go down this afternoon,” replied Maurice hastily. “I’ve no doubt they are all right down there. Lots of food and liquor and pretty girls! eh, Gurt?” Crispin laughed and stroked his chin thoughtfully, while a gleam of humor shone in the solitary eye of the mariner. “I seed,” said Gurt, addressing no one in particular, “as light a little craft as I ever clapped eyes on, gents. Her deck lights raked me fore and aft, they did.” “Justinian will rake you fore and aft,” observed Crispin dryly, “especially if you make eyes at his womankind. This is a virtuous island, Gurt.” “Well, sir, I ain’t a-goin’ agin’ it, sir,” growled Gurt reproachfully. “I care nothin’ for the petticoats. I don’t. Now if it was Dick, now”— here the old sinner cast up his eyes, as if unable to guess at Dick’s enormities. “Oh, that is the smart young boatswain,” said Maurice quickly. “I’m glad he is all right. Why don’t you go down and see him, Gurt?” “Beggin’ your pardon, gents both, but I dunno the bearin’s of this ’ere island.” “Go along the mulberry avenue,” said Crispin, as Gurt waited for an explanation, “and when you come to a flight of steps near the tunnel, go down them. When you’re in the village, you’ll soon find out your comrades, and tell them Mr. Roylands and myself will come down to see them this afternoon.” “Right y’ are, sir,” answered the seaman, going to the door with another nautical salutation. “I don’t want Dick a-comin’ up here to cast anchor aside my little craft.” “You’ve begun early, Gurt,” observed Maurice, taking a seat. “What is the name of your little craft?” “Zoe, sir; she’s maid to Miss Helena.” “Well, you can go away with a contented heart, Gurt,” said Crispin, laughing. “Dick won’t see her if he comes here in your absence. She’s gone up the mountain with her mistress.” “Right y’ are, sir,” said Gurt again, all of him except his head behind the curtains of the doorway. “I don’t trust Dick. He’s a fly-

away chap, gents both, and a deal sight too handsome for my idea, sirs.” The head vanished, and Crispin laughed uproariously. “That mahogany image is jealous, Maurice,” he said, throwing himself back in his chair. “Behold the power of love! Why, Zoe wouldn’t look at him; and if that good-looking young bo’swain comes on the scene, I’m afraid old Cyclops’ chance will be but a poor one.” “Zoe’s gone up the mountain with Helena?” “Yes; on some flower-gathering expedition. They have been absent some hours, so Caliphronas has gone to look for them.” “Confound his impudence!” “Why, you are as jealous of the mistress as Cyclops is of the maid! However, you need not be afraid, for Helena hates our Greek friend, and I shrewdly suspect she has taken an uncommon liking to you.” “Nonsense!” “It’s a fact, I assure you. Love in her eyes sits playing, so if you love her, and she loves you, no power can cut your love in two.” “Except Caliphronas.” “Yes, he is rather in the way; but I’ve no doubt Justinian will settle him. By the way, where is Justinian?” “He left me at the steps, after making me a most extraordinary proposal.” “Indeed! and this proposal?” “I’ll tell you all about it shortly. What are you doing?” “Writing to Eunice. This,” laying his hand on the letter, “is a proper epistle which might be published to all the world, and is prepared especially for the pacification of my dear mother-in-law that is to be. I, however, want you to write to our mutual friend, Mr. Carriston, and enclose a note of mine meant for the eyes of Eunice alone. The Rector is our friend, and will manage to give it to her unknown to Mrs. Dengelton.” “Oh, I will write with the greatest of pleasure, and enclose your letter. Besides, I wish to ask the Rector’s advice on a very important matter.” “I can guess what that important matter is,” said Crispin gayly; “but why not ask my advice?”

“I am going to, in a few minutes. By the way, to revert to the letters, how are you going to get them posted?” “Oh, Justinian has a felucca laden with currants, silks, and what not, going to Syra to-morrow,—Syra, you know, is the great mercantile station of the Cyclades,—and these letters will go in charge of the skipper. From Syra they will easily go to England by the French packet, via Marseilles.” “Have you any other letters to write—I mean about the shipwreck?” “Of course; I have written to my solicitors, telling them all about the wreck, and instructing them to see the insurance people; but I suppose nothing can be done till I go back to town myself, and take all the survivors with me. They, I suppose, will have to give all kinds of evidence about the smash-up of The Eunice before the insurance money will be paid.” “What about Martin’s relations and the dead sailors’?” “I am writing about that also. By the way, Maurice, we must get Justinian this afternoon to take his men and go down to the sea- shore to look after the bodies of those poor fellows. It seems horribly heartless of us talking and laughing like we did last night, when so many human beings have lost their lives.” “It does rather, Crispin; but if we had mourned it would not have made much difference. Hang it! that sounds rather cruel. Crispin, I am afraid a semi-barbaric life is making me heartless.” The poet said nothing, but, with a sad expression on his face, stared at the table. It did seem heartless for them both to be light- hearted and merry when Martin and the majority of his brave crew had gone to the bottom; but there was some excuse, for they themselves had narrowly escaped a similar fate, and that in itself was enough to make them buoyant. After all, the dead are dead, and crying will not bring them back; but both the Englishmen determined to search for the bodies that very afternoon, and give them Christian burial, which was the only thing they could really do for their lost comrades. “What about those sailors?” asked Maurice, suddenly looking up.

“Oh, they must remain here until we can find some chance of sending them to Syra. In fact, I’m not sure if I won’t tell my agents to send me out another yacht to replace The Eunice, and then they can all ship on board of her.” “You extravagant fellow; another yacht! Even twelve thousand a year will not stand such reckless use of money.” “Oh, I won’t lose anything,” replied Crispin cheerfully. “I am not too much of a poet to neglect business, and The Eunice was heavily insured. When the money is paid by the underwriters, as it must be on my return to England, it will go a long way towards the purchase of another boat.” “So much for the buying; but can you trust your agents to get you a yacht as good as the one you have lost?” “Perhaps not in an ordinary case, but fortunately the twin ship to The Eunice is in the market, and resembles her in all respects. That was a few months ago, so if she is still to be had, I will instruct Danton & Slabe to purchase her on my behalf, and send her to the Piræus. Then, when we are tired of Melnos, we can cross over to the mainland, and have a cruise up the Black Sea before returning to England.” “That does not sound as if you were anxious to see Eunice,” said Maurice dryly. “I will be very glad to see Eunice again,” answered Crispin, reddening slightly; “but the fact is, I have a small scheme in my head to get Eunice and her mother, in company with Mr. Carriston, to come out to Athens in my new yacht.” “But with what idea?” “Well,” said Crispin, looking down, “the fact is, Maurice, I do not trust your aunt.” “As to that, I don’t blame you,” answered that lady’s affectionate nephew quietly. “If she sees a better match for Eunice than I am,” resumed Crispin calmly, “she will force the poor child into a marriage, and give me the go-by. Mind you, Maurice, I love Eunice dearly, and in my eyes she is nearly perfect, but I cannot conceal from myself that she has a somewhat weak nature, and is dominated by her terrible mother.

Once she is my wife, and away from that influence, she will learn to be more self-reliant, and less biassed by other people. Now, I see perfectly well that there is going to be trouble here about Caliphronas.” “I agree with you there. Caliphronas evidently wants to marry Helena, who does not like him; and, moreover, Justinian refuses to favor the marriage in any marked degree, so Caliphronas is just the kind of sneaking scamp to go over to Alcibiades, and, if possible, make trouble.” “If that is the case, we are here for some time, and as I see you take the same view of it as I do, you must perceive that we are here for some months. If, then, I am away from England all that time, Mrs. Dengelton will certainly try to persuade Eunice that I will not come back, and marry her to some one else. However, if I can get Eunice out here, I think I can trump Mrs. Dengelton’s best trick. Do you think, if I instruct my agents about the yacht, and write to Mrs. Dengelton and the Rector, that they will come out to Athens?” “As to that, I am not sure,” replied Maurice slowly, “but I trust so, with all my heart, as I wish to ask the Rector’s advice.” “So you mentioned before, and promised to ask mine. I will be delighted to give it to you, so tell me what is the matter. Helena?” “Partly.” “Hum! Caliphronas?” “Partly.” “Ho, ho! and Justinian?” “Yes.” “A very pretty trinity,” said Crispin, lighting a cigarette. “Well, what’s to do?” Maurice tilted his chair back against the wall, and followed Crispin’s example with regard to tobacco, and prepared for a long talk on—to him—a serious subject, viz. the settlement of his future life in one way or the other. “First of all,” said Maurice slowly, “I have been all over the village with Justinian, and I cannot tell you how amazed I am. That such a community, that such great works, should owe their origin to one man, is, I think, a miracle. This dream of Justinian’s regarding a new

Hellas may or may not come to pass, but he has certainly laid the foundations of a small independent state in a wonderfully judicious manner. What his real name is, I, of course, do not know, but the one he has taken certainly suits him admirably; he is a Justinian—a born law-giver, and his system meets all the requirements of this simple community. As he says himself, so long as he is at the helm, things will go on all right, but should he die—which at his age is not unlikely—the success or failure of this infant intellectual state depends on his successor. A wise, clear-headed man will carry out the scheme to a successful issue; but a hot-tempered, selfish ruler would doom the whole thing to destruction. Justinian told me that he had brought up both you and Caliphronas as his successors; but as to yourself, you went in search of fame and love in England, and severed yourself entirely from his island community.” “I did not know Justinian desired me to succeed him,” said Crispin in a tone of wonderment; “but even had I known, I hardly think things would have gone differently. I am a poet, not a ruler; and Napoleons are made of stronger stuff than mere bards piping their idle song, and letting the world go by. No; Justinian never hinted at such a thing; and I always thought that he favored Caliphronas as the heir to his island throne.” “Caliphronas!” echoed Maurice in a tone of deep disdain. “No; Justinian is too keen a judge of character to mistake our Greek goose for a swan. He told me himself that he does not trust Caliphronas, and more than suspects him of having an understanding with that rascal Alcibiades regarding the capture of Melnos.” “The deuce!” “Yes; you may well be astonished; but, from what I have seen of Caliphronas, I believe it is quite likely to happen, the more so as this handsome Greek’s vanity will receive a severe blow when he is refused—as he certainly will be—by Helena. Well, you can see that Justinian will not have Caliphronas to succeed him on his island throne, so, you two candidates for the purple being thus disposed of”— “Yes?” asked Crispin curiously, as Roylands hesitated.

“He wants me to ascend the throne when vacant.” “You?” “Myself! Are you not astonished?” Crispin twirled his cigarette in his fingers, looked thoughtfully at the red tip as if consulting it as an oracle, and then made slow reply. “Yes, and no. Justinian evidently sees in you a clear-headed man, who would carry out his scheme if you honorably promised to do so. He is English, you are English, and he trusts none but his own countrymen, so I cannot say that his offer to make you his successor startles me very much.” “But, my dear Crispin, granted I have these capabilities you so kindly gift me with, of which I am doubtful, Justinian has only known me two days, and a clever man as he is could scarcely come to a conclusion so quickly.” “Justinian is a good judge of character, and can tell the nature of a man in five minutes, where you or I would take five years in the search. Besides,” added the poet, with an imperceptible smile, “he may have another and stronger reason.” “You mean Helena, I suppose?” Now Crispin did not mean Helena at all; but as what he did allude to was not his own secret, he let Maurice believe that his supposition regarding Helena was the right one. “Well, yes; I suppose Helena is a reason.” “Do you think he would let me marry her?” asked Maurice breathlessly. “I am certain he would,” answered Crispin, looking straight at his companion; “quite positive. But you—what about yourself?” “I love her dearly.” “Two days’ acquaintance—you love her dearly! Is that not rather sharp work?” “Two days!” echoed Maurice contemptuously. “I have known her longer than that. I fell in love with her portrait, as you know, and resolved, if she had the qualities I thought she had from her face, I would marry her. From what I have seen of her, I am certain she has those qualities, and would make me a good wife, provided always she consents to marry me. Beautiful, pure, charming, simplicity

itself; oh, my friend, she is indeed a prize I may think myself lucky in winning!” “When a man is in love,” said Crispin intensively, “it is no use reasoning with him; and, as regards Helena, I quite approve of all you say. She will make you an admirable wife; but, think to yourself, how will this uncultured, simple girl look beside the cultured ladies of England?” “That is the very point about which I desire to ask your and the Rector’s advice,” said Maurice eagerly. “Will I marry Helena, and accept the post of governing this island? or will I marry Helena, and go back to Roylands?” “In any case, I see it is ‘marry Helena,’” rejoined his companion dryly; “but really I hardly know what to say. Life here is charming and indolent. You like charm and indolence, so why not stay here? On the other hand, you have your ancestral acres, your position in the world, to think of, and if you value these more than a life in this delightful Castle of Indolence—well, go back.” “I don’t know what to do.” “Well, I have given you my advice, and, as is usual in such cases, you will not take it.” “It is such a difficult question.” “Granted! but you will have to decide one way or the other shortly. One thing is certain, that it would be beneficial to your art.” “That is true enough.” “After all,” said Crispin seductively, “what better life can you desire? A ready-made kingdom, small and compact—a delightful climate—obedient subjects—a lotus-eating existence—and Helena!” “It is delightful—but duty?” “Oh!” cried Crispin, shrugging his shoulders, “of course, if you are going to invoke that bogie, I have nothing further to say. Ask the Rector.” “What do you think he will say?” Crispin burst out laughing, and, sauntering to the window, threw his burnt-out cigarette into the green grass beyond. “Did ever any one hear such a man? My dear fellow, I cannot tell you what the Rector will say. He is an ardent Hellenist, with his

Aristophanic studies, and may say, ‘Stay, by all means!’ On the other hand, he is an English Church clergyman, with strong opinions as to the absenteeism of landlords, and the duties they owe their tenants, in which case he will certainly make you come back. But in either event you will have your dear Helena.” “I’m not so sure of that, Crispin. If I refuse Justinian’s request, he may refuse me Helena.” “Certainly; that is not impossible,” replied Crispin, returning to his writing. “However, I will write to my agents about the yacht, to Mrs. Dengelton and the Rector about their joining us at Athens. At my invitation the Rector may not come, at yours he will.” “Why?” “Because you, my dear, simple old Maurice, are the apple of his eye; and if you write him on the question of your staying here, he will certainly hurry out at once, so as to see for himself how matters stand, and advise you for the best.” “Will you write as you intend? and I will also send a letter to Carriston.” “Don’t forget to enclose mine,” said Crispin warningly. “Remember you are to that extent responsible for my wooing with Eunice. Will you write your letter now?” A delicious burst of girlish laughter sounded from the court. “Helena!” cried Maurice, rising up so quickly as to upset his chair. “Go away! go away!” said Crispin resignedly; “no chance of your writing now with that sound in your ears. But, as the boat does not go till to-morrow, you can have a holiday with Helena this afternoon; therefore, go away.” “Caliphronas is with her,” said Maurice, hesitating. “And has been all the morning. Faint heart never won fair lady, so if you don’t oust your rival, I am afraid she will be married by him under your nose.” “I’m hanged if she will!” cried Maurice angrily. There was a second burst of laughter, upon which Crispin, with raised eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, pointed to the door, and resumed his writing.

Maurice paused irresolutely, looked at the poet, and then darted out of the door like a swallow, to find Helena standing alone in the court, with her arms full of flowers. “I have been flower-hunting on the mountains,” said Helena graciously; “and this wild rose is for you.”

CHAPTER XXI. CAPTAIN ALCIBIADES. Sir! there are three degrees of robbery, With different names, but meanings similar: For he who does his thievish work himself Is but a common foot-pad! quite unfit To mix in gentlemen’s society. A bandit, brigand, robber chief, is he Who has a dozen men or so to rule, And steals your daughter, burns your tenement, Or holds you prisoner till a ransom’s paid. But he who, having armies at command, Robs brother monarchs of their territories, Is called a conqueror, because he thieves Upon a large and comprehensive scale. Thief, brigand, conqueror! believe me, sir, The size o’ the theft is all the difference; For, call them what you please, they’re criminals. Justinian, having ascertained all particulars about the wreck of The Eunice the previous day, had sent a number of men to look after the bodies of those unfortunates who had been cast up on the beach of Melnos, and now, in company with the three young men, and the surviving sailors, went to the sea-shore in order to give the corpses decent burial. Conducted by a body of his Greeks, bearing torches, he went down through the tunnel, and speedily arrived at the outer entrance, from which a sandy beach sloped down to the harbor. Not

that it was exactly a harbor, but Justinian had aided Nature to form one, by erecting a breakwater from the end of a jutting promontory, which breakwater, built of huge undressed stones, ran out in a curve into the tideless sea, and thus embraced a calm pool of water, which sufficiently protected ships at anchorage. Beyond, the ocean at times was rough enough, and at stormy seasons dashed its white waves over the rocky mole, but within that charmed circle there was no danger, and the smallest boat was as safe there as it would have been on the serene waters of a mountain lake. This was the work of the English engineer who had planned and carried out the piercing of the tunnel, and Maurice could not withhold his admiration at the perfection of the whole scheme, for without this breakwater it would have been impossible for any sized craft to cast anchor off the craggy coast of the island. “I have two harbors of this kind,” said Justinian, as they looked at the small boats, feluccas, and caïques which filled the pool; “one you see, the other is on the opposite side of the island. As it faces to the west, of course it suffers more from storms than this one, but I built it in order to facilitate escape in time of trouble should the tunnel be taken by assault.” “I hardly understand.” “There are only two ways of getting into the interior of Melnos. The one is by this tunnel, the other is a pass which cuts through the western side of the mountain where it falls away in a semicircle, as I showed you. Owing to the height of the peaks around, their ruggedness, their being covered all the year round with snow, it is impossible for any outside enemy to climb over them. This tunnel and the western pass are the only modes of ingress and egress, as I have explained. Should this tunnel therefore be forced, and we find ourselves unable to defend the island, all we have to do is to retreat through the pass I told you of, down to the harbor on the other side, where there are plenty of boats ready to take us to a place of safety. Of course I trust in the courage of my Greeks, and the difficulties an enemy would encounter in capturing the tunnel, so I hardly expect such a contingency as flight by the western pass would occur; still, it is always as well to be prepared for emergencies.”

“You have thought of everything,” said Maurice admiringly. “Danger sharpens a man’s wits,” replied Justinian coolly; “and when I first came to Melnos, I was surrounded on all sides by rascals of the Alcibiades type.” “Alcibiades is only a smuggler,” observed Caliphronas, who was listening to this discourse. “Alcibiades is whatever pays him best,” retorted the king in great ire; “it is only fear of King George’s Government that keeps him from hoisting the black flag, and making these islands of the Ægean a nest of iniquity. I believe you are a filibuster at heart yourself, Andros.” The Greek laughed consciously, but did not contradict the old man. “I am like Alcibiades, sir,” he said at length, “and go in for what pays me best—Mr. Maurice there knows my sentiments regarding life.” “I do; and very bad sentiments they are!” “I wonder what you would say to the views of Alcibiades!” “He may carry his views more into practice than you do,” retorted Maurice warmly, “but I defy them to be worse.” Justinian laughed at the blunt way in which Maurice spoke, so Caliphronas, having his own reasons for keeping a fair face to the old man, discreetly held his peace, and they all trudged along the beach, towards the place where the bodies of the ill-fated sailors lay. The mast of The Eunice was still above water, but the yacht herself lay far below the blue sea, where she would probably remain until there remained nothing of her save the engines, which would of course defy time and the ocean, until between them these mighty destroyers rusted them to nothing. From the position in which she lay, and the general calmness of the water, it is probable the yacht could have been set afloat again; but the Greeks of the Cyclades have not sufficient energy for such a task, and the underwriters would no doubt rather pay the insurance money than waste more in an attempt to raise the wreck from the depths below. Twelve bodies had been thrown up by the sea, but the rest of the crew—with the exception of the ten sailors, including Gurt—were

buried deep in the ocean. Far up in a sheltered nook, under the red cliffs, twelve graves had been dug in the soft sand, and in these were the ill-fated seamen laid. Martin’s body was not among them, and it doubtless lay in a sailor’s grave nigh the island, encircled by sand, seaweed, and many-colored shells. The funeral ceremony did not take long, but, as Justinian refused the office, Maurice undertook the task of chaplain, and, with a voice full of emotion, read the beautiful burial service of the Church of England over the remains of the dead sailors, which were then covered up, and roughly-made wooden crosses placed at the head of each humble grave, with the name of each and date of death carved thereon. All those present stood bareheaded during the ceremony, even the Melnosians, who were gentlemen enough not to offend the prejudices of the strangers wrecked on their rugged shores. Everything having thus been done, in order to show respect to the dead, Justinian and his party returned to the entrance of the tunnel, and Dick, the smart young boatswain before mentioned, attached himself to Maurice, for whom he had a great admiration. Dick had received an education much above that of the average British tar, and Maurice found him a very companionable fellow, but one who bore a great hatred for Caliphronas, as he seemed to think the lively Greek was the cause of all the misfortunes which had overtaken The Eunice. “A kind of Jonah, sir!” said Dick in a whisper, for Caliphronas was walking just ahead of them with Justinian; “if we’d a-chucked him overboard, I don’t believe the boat would have gone ashore.” “Come, Dick, you cannot say the Count had anything to do with the storm.” “Well, I don’t know, sir,” replied Dick doubtfully, “but I don’t believe in him one bit. Why, sir, he cut that rope on purpose!” “I know he did!” “D—n him!” muttered the boatswain in a tone of suppressed rage; “why don’t you have it out with him, sir?” “I can’t very well, Dick. Doubtless he cut that rope, as you say, on purpose; but he was so overcome by terror that he might not have known what he was doing.”

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Clojure High Performance JVM Programming 1st Edition Eduardo Diaz

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Clojure High Performance JVM Programming 1st Edition Eduardo Diaz