I have started reading Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome. And in it I suprisingly came across an extract written in extremely poetic language, describing the beauties of camping out and sailing down a river in a boat. And I want to quote it here.
A supportive glossary is provided for you to read it faster with better understanding.
Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent, like sorrowing children, the birds have ceased their song, and only the moorhens' plaintive cry and the harsh croak of the corncrake stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters, where the dying day breathes out her last.
From the dim woods on either bank, Night's ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rear-guard of the light, and pass, with noiseless, unseen feet, above the waving river-grass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her sombre throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.
Then we run our little boat into some quiet nook, and the tent is pitched, and the frugal supper cooked and eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years – will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we understand, though we could not tell you in mere words the story that we listen to.
And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon, who loves it too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister's kiss, and throws her silver arms around it clingingly; and we watch it as it flows, ever singing, ever whispering, out to meet its king, the sea – till our voices die away in silence, and the pipes go out till we, common-place, everyday young men enough, feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not care or want to speak till we laugh, and, rising, knock the ashes from our burnt-out pipes, and say "Good-night," and, lulled by the lapping water and the rustling trees, we fall asleep beneath the great, still stars, and dream that the world is young again – young and sweet as she used to be ere the centuries of fret and care had furrowed her fair face, ere her children sins and follies had made old her loving heart sweet as she was in those bygone days when, a new-made mother, she nursed us, her children, upon her own deep breast ere the wiles of painted civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers of artificiality had made us ashamed of the simple life we led with her, and the simple, stately home where mankind was born so many thousands [thousand – my note] years ago.
I have started reading Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome. And in it I suprisingly came across an extract written in extremely poetic language, describing the beauties of camping out and sailing down a river in a boat. And I want to quote it here.
A supportive glossary is provided for you to read it faster with better understanding.
Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent, like sorrowing children, the birds have ceased their song, and only the moorhens' plaintive cry and the harsh croak of the corncrake stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters, where the dying day breathes out her last.
From the dim woods on either bank, Night's ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rear-guard of the light, and pass, with noiseless, unseen feet, above the waving river-grass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her sombre throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.
Then we run our little boat into some quiet nook, and the tent is pitched, and the frugal supper cooked and eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years – will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we understand, though we could not tell you in mere words the story that we listen to.
And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon, who loves it too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister's kiss, and throws her silver arms around it clingingly; and we watch it as it flows, ever singing, ever whispering, out to meet its king, the sea – till our voices die away in silence, and the pipes go out till we, common-place, everyday young men enough, feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not care or want to speak till we laugh, and, rising, knock the ashes from our burnt-out pipes, and say "Good-night," and, lulled by the lapping water and the rustling trees, we fall asleep beneath the great, still stars, and dream that the world is young again – young and sweet as she used to be ere the centuries of fret and care had furrowed her fair face, ere her children sins and follies had made old her loving heart sweet as she was in those bygone days when, a new-made mother, she nursed us, her children, upon her own deep breast ere the wiles of painted civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers of artificiality had made us ashamed of the simple life we led with her, and the simple, stately home where mankind was born so many thousands [thousand – my note] years ago.
BY The High Speech
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In general, many financial experts support their clients’ desire to buy cryptocurrency, but they don’t recommend it unless clients express interest. “The biggest concern for us is if someone wants to invest in crypto and the investment they choose doesn’t do well, and then all of a sudden they can’t send their kids to college,” says Ian Harvey, a certified financial planner (CFP) in New York City. “Then it wasn’t worth the risk.” The speculative nature of cryptocurrency leads some planners to recommend it for clients’ “side” investments. “Some call it a Vegas account,” says Scott Hammel, a CFP in Dallas. “Let’s keep this away from our real long-term perspective, make sure it doesn’t become too large a portion of your portfolio.” In a very real sense, Bitcoin is like a single stock, and advisors wouldn’t recommend putting a sizable part of your portfolio into any one company. At most, planners suggest putting no more than 1% to 10% into Bitcoin if you’re passionate about it. “If it was one stock, you would never allocate any significant portion of your portfolio to it,” Hammel says.
Traders also expressed uncertainty about the situation with China Evergrande, as the indebted property company has not provided clarification about a key interest payment.In economic news, the Commerce Department reported an unexpected increase in U.S. new home sales in August.Crude oil prices climbed Friday and front-month WTI oil futures contracts saw gains for a fifth straight week amid tighter supplies. West Texas Intermediate Crude oil futures for November rose $0.68 or 0.9 percent at 73.98 a barrel. WTI Crude futures gained 2.8 percent for the week.
