No More Learning

None so
able to investigate details; to set off and embellish minute and
apparently trifling points; none throw so beautiful a light on
separate parts; but the connecting link escapes him. His works
resemble a magnificent encyclopaedia, unclassified. He has felt
everything but he has never felt the whole. Happy in detecting a ray
of the beautiful upon the humblest blade of grass gemmed with dew;
happy in seizing the poetic elements of an incident the most prosaic
in appearance--he was incapable of tracing all to a common source,
and recomposing the grand ascending scale in which, to quote a
beautiful expression of Herder's "every creature is a numerator of
the grand denominator, Nature. " How, indeed, should he comprehend
these things, he who had no place in his works or in his poet's
heart for humanity, by the light of which conception only can the
true worth of sublunary things be determined? "Religion and
politics," [Footnote: Goethe and his Contemporaries. ] said he, "are
a troubled element for art. I have always kept myself aloof from
them as much as possible. " Questions of life and death for the
millions were agitated around him; Germany re-echoed to the war
songs of Korner; Fichte, at the close of one of his lectures, seized
his musket, and joined the volunteers who were hastening (alas! what
have not the Kings made of that magnificent outburst of
nationality! ) to fight the battles of their fatherland. The ancient
soil of Germany thrilled beneath their tread; he, an artist, looked
on unmoved; his heart knew no responsive throb to the emotion that
shook his country; his genius, utterly passive, drew apart from the
current that swept away entire races. He witnessed the French
Revolution in all its terrible grandeur, and saw the old world
crumble beneath its strokes; and while all the best and purest
spirits of Germany, who had mistaken the death-agony of the old
world for the birth-throes of a new, were wringing their hands at
the spectacle of dissolution, he saw in it only the subject of a
farce. He beheld the glory and the fall of Napoleon; he witnessed
the reaction of down-trodden nationalities--sublime prologue of the
grand epopee of the peoples destined sooner or later to be unfolded-
-and remained a cold spectator. He had neither learned to esteem
men, to better them, nor even to suffer with them. If we except the
beautiful type of Berlichingen, a poetic inspiration of his youth,
man, as the creature of thought and action; the artificer of the
future, so nobly sketched by Schiller in his dramas, has no
representative in his works. He has carried something--of this
nonchalance even into the manner in which his heroes conceive love.
Goethe's altar is spread with the choicest flowers, the most
exquisite perfumes, the first-fruits of nature; but the Priest is
wanting. In his work of second creation--for it cannot be denied
that such it was--he has gone through the vast circle of living and
visible things; but stopped short before the seventh day. God
withdrew from him before that time; and the creatures the poet has
evoked wander within the circle, dumb and prayerless; awaiting until
the man shall come to give them a name, and appoint them to a
destination.

No, Goethe is not the poet of Pantheism; he is a polytheist in his
method as an artist; the pagan poet of modern times. His world is,
above all things, the world of forms: a multiplied Olympus. The
Mosaic heaven and the Christian are veiled to him. Like the pagans,
he parcels out Nature into fragments, and makes of each a divinity;
like them, he worships the sensuous rather than the ideal; he looks,
touches, and listens far more than he feels. And what care and labor
are bestowed upon the plastic portion of his art! what importance is
given--I will not say to the objects themselves--but to the external
representation of objects! Has he not somewhere said that "the
beautiful is the result of happy position? "[Footnote: In the Kunst
und Alterthum, I think. ]

Under this definition is concealed an entire system of poetic
materialism, substituted for the worship of the ideal; involving a
whole series of consequences, the logical result of which was to
lead Goethe to indifference, that moral suicide of some of the
noblest energies of genius. The absolute concentration of every
faculty of observation on each of the objects to be represented,
without relation to the ensemble; the entire avoidance of every
influence likely to modify the view taken of that object, became in
his hands one of the most effective means of art. The poet, in his
eyes, was neither the rushing stream a hundred times broken on its
course, that it may carry fertility to the surrounding country; nor
the brilliant flame, consuming itself in the light it sheds around
while ascending to heaven; but rather the placid lake, reflecting
alike the tranquil landscape and the thunder-cloud; its own surface
the while unruffled even by the lightest breeze. A serene and
passive calm with the absolute clearness and distinctness of
successive impressions, in each of which he was for the time wholly
absorbed, are the peculiar characteristics of Goethe. "I allow the
objects I desire to comprehend, to act tranquilly upon me," said he;
"I then observe the impression I have received from them, and I
endeavor to render it faithfully. " Goethe has here portrayed his
every feature to perfection. He was in life such as Madame Von Arnim
proposed to represent him after death; a venerable old man, with a
serene, almost radiant countenance; clothed in an antique robe,
holding a lyre resting on his knees, and listening to the harmonies
drawn from it either by the hand of a genius, or the breath of the
winds. The last chords wafted his soul to the East; to the land of
inactive contemplation. It was time: Europe had become too agitated
for him.

Such were Byron and Goethe in their general characteristics; both
great poets; very different, and yet, complete as is the contrast
between them, and widely apart as are the paths they pursue,
arriving at the same point. Life and death, character and poetry,
everything is unlike in the two, and yet the one is the complement
of the other. Both are the children of fatality--for it is
especially at the close of epochs that the providential law which
directs the generations assumes towards individuals the semblance of
fatality--and compelled by it unconsciously to work out a great
mission. Goethe contemplates the world in parts, and delivers the
impressions they make upon him, one by one, as occasion presents
them. Byron looks upon the world from a single comprehensive point
of view; from the height of which he modifies in his own soul the
impressions produced by external objects, as they pass before him.
Goethe successively absorbs his own individuality in each of the
objects he reproduces. Byron stamps every object he portrays with
his own individuality. To Goethe, nature is the symphony; to Byron
it is the prelude. She furnishes to the one the entire subject; to
the other the occasion only of his verse. The one executes her
harmonies; the other composes on the theme she has suggested. Goethe
better exgresses lives; Byron life. The one is most vast; the other
more deep. The first searches everywhere for the beautiful, and
loves, above all things, harmony and repose; the other seeks the
sublime, and adores action and force. Characters, such as Coriolanus
or Luther, disturbed Goethe. I know not if, in his numerous pieces
of criticism, he has ever spoken of Dante; but assuredly he must
have shared the antipathy felt for him by Sir Walter Scott; and
although he would undoubtedly have sufficiently respected his genius
to admit him into his Pantheon, yet he would certainly have drawn a
veil between his mental eye and the grand but sombre figure of the
exiled seer, who dreamed of the future empire of the world for his
country, and of the world's harmonious development under her
guidance. Byron loved and drew inspiration from Dante. He also loved
Washington and Franklin, and followed, with all the sympathies of a
soul athirst for action, the meteor-like career of the greatest
genius of action our age has produced, Napoleon; feeling indignant--
perhaps mistakenly--that he did not die in the struggle.

When travelling in that second fatherland of all poetic souls--
Italy--the poets still pursued divergent routes; the one experienced
sensations; the other emotions; the one occupied himself especially
with nature; the other with the greatness dead, the living wrongs,
the human memories. [Footnote: The contrast between the two poets is
nowhere more strikingly displayed than by the manner in which they
were affected by the sight of Rome. In Goethe's Elegies and in his
Travels in Italy we find the impressions of the artist only. He did
not understand Rome. The eternal synthesis that, from the heights of
the Capitol and St. Peter, is gradually unfolded in ever-widening
circles, embracing first a nation and then Europe, as it will
ultimately embrace humanity, remained unrevealed to him; he saw only
the inner circle of paganism; the least prolific, as well as least
indigenous. One might fancy that he caught a glimpse of it for an
instant, when he wrote: "History is read here far otherwise than in
any other spot in the universe; elsewhere we read it from without to
within; here one seems to read it from within to without; "but if
so, he soon lost sight of it again, and became absorbed in external
nature. " Whether we halt or advance, we discover a landscape ever
renewing itself in a thousand fashions. We have palaces and ruins;
gardens and solitudes: the horizon lengthens in the distance, or
suddenly contracts; huts and stables, columns and triumphal arches,
all lie pell-mell, and often so close that we might find room for
all on the same sheet of paper. "

At Rome Byron forgot passions, sorrows, his own individuality, all,
in the presence of a great idea; witness this utterance of a soul
born for devotedhess:--

"O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery. "

When at last he came to a recollection of himself and his position,
it was with a hope for the world (stanza 98) and a pardon for his
enemies. From the fourth canto of Childe Harold, the daughter of
Byron might learn more of the true spirit of her father than from
all the reports she may have heard, and all the many volumes that
have been written upon him. ]

And yet, notwithstanding all the contrasts, which I have only hinted
at, but which might be far more elaborately displayed by extracts
from their works; they arrived--Goethe, the poet of individuality in
its objective life--at the egotism of indifference; Byron--the poet
of individuality an its subjective life--at the egotism (I say it
with regret, but it, too, is egotism) of despair: a double sentence
upon the epoch which it was their mission to represent and to close!

Both of them--I am not speaking of their purely literary merits,
incontestable and universally acknowledged--the one by the spirit of
resistance that breathes through all his creations; the other by the
spirit of sceptical irony that pervades his works, and by the
independent sovereignty attributed to art over all social relations-
-greatly aided the cause of intellectual emancipation, and awakened
in men's minds the sentiment of liberty. Both of them--the one,
directly, by the implacable war he waged against the vices and
absurdities of the privileged classes, and indirectly, by investing
his heroes with all the most brilliant qualities of the despot, and
then dashing them to pieces as if in anger;--the other, by the
poetic rehabilitation of forms the most modest, and objects the most
insignificant, as well as by the importance attributed to details--
combated aristocratic prejudices, and developed in men's minds the
sentiment of equality. And having by their artistic excellence
exhausted both forms of the poetry of individuality, they have
completed the cycle cf its poets; thereby reducing all followers in
the same sphere to the subaltern position of imitators, and creating
the necessity of a new order of poetry; teaching us to recognize a
want where before we felt only a desire. Together they have laid an
era in the tomb; covering it with a pall that none may lift; and, as
if to proclaim its death to the young generation, the poetry of
Goethe has written its history, while that of Byron has graven its
epitaph.

And now farewell to Goethe; farewell to Byron! farewell to the
sorrows that crush but sanctify not--to the poetic flame that
illumines but warms not--to the ironical philosophy that dissects
without reconstructing--to all poetry which, in an age where there
is so much to do, teaches us inactive contemplation; or which, in a
world where there is so much need of devotedness, would instil
despair. Farewell to all types of power without an aim; to all
personifications of the solitary individuality which seeks an aim to
find it not, and knows not how to apply the life stirring within it;
to all egotistic joys and griefs:

"Bastards of the soul;
O'erweening slips of idleness: weeds--no more-
Self-springing here and there from the rank soil;
O'erflowings of the lust of that same mind
Whose proper issue and determinate end,
When wedded to the love of things divine,
Is peace, complacency, and happiness. "

Farewell, a long farewell to the past! The dawn of the future is
announced to such as can read its signs, and we owe ourselves wholly
to it.

The duality of the Middle Ages, after having struggled for centuries
under the banners of emperor and pope; after having left its trace
and borne its fruit in every branch of intellectual development; has
reascended to heaven--its mission accomplished--in the twin flames
of poesy called Goethe and Byron. Two hitherto distinct formulae of
life became incarnate in these two men. Byron is isolated man,
representing only the internal aspect of life; Goethe isolated man,
representing only the external.

Higher than these two incomplete existences; at the point of
intersection between the two aspirations towards a heaven they were
unable to reach, will be revealed the poetry of the future; of
humanity; potent in new harmony, unity, and life.

But because, in our own day, we are beginning, though vaguely, to
foresee this new social poetry, which will soothe the suffering soul
by teaching it to rise towards God through humanity; because we now
stand on the threshold of a new epoch, which, but for them, we
should not have reached; shall we decry those who were unable to do
more for us than cast their giant forms into the gulf that held us
all doubting and dismayed on the other side? From the earliest times
has genius been made the scapegoat of the generations. Society has
never lacked men who have contented themselves with reproaching the
Chattertons of their day with not being patterns of self-devotion,
instead of physical or moral suicides; without ever asking
themselves whether they had, during their lifetime, endeavored to
place aught within the reach of such but doubt and destitution. I
feel the necessity of protesting earnestly against the reaction set
on foot by certain thinkers against the mighty-souled, which serves
as a cloak for the cavilling spirit of mediocrity. There is
something hard, repulsive, and ungrateful in the destructive
instinct which so often forgets what has been done by the great men
who preceded us, to demand of them merely an account of what more
might have been done. Is the pillow of scepticism so soft to genius
as to justify the conclusion that it is from egotism only that at
times it rests its fevered brow thereon? Are we so free from the
evil reflected in their verse as to have a right to condemn their
memory? That evil was not introduced into the world by them. They
saw it, felt it, respired it; it was around, about, on every side of
them, and they were its greatest victims. How could they avoid
reproducing it in their works? It is not by deposing Goethe or Byron
that we shall destroy either sceptical or anarchical indifference
amongst us. It is by becoming believers and organizers ourselves. If
we are such, we need fear nothing. As is the public, so will be the
poet. If we revere enthusiasm, the fatherland, and humanity; if our
hearts are pure, and our souls steadfast and patient, the genius
inspired to interpret our aspirations, and bear to heaven our ideas
and our sufferings, will not be wanting. Let these statues stand.
The noble monuments of feudal times create no desire to return to
the days of selfdom.

But I shall be told, there are imitators. I know it too well; but
what lasting influence can be exerted on social life by those who
have no real life of their own? They will but flutter in the void,
so long as void there be. On the day when the living shall arise to
take the place of the dead, they will vanish like ghosts at cock-
crow. Shall we never be sufficiently firm in our own faith to dare
to show fitting reverence for the grand typical figures of an
anterior age? It would be idle to speak of social art at all, or of
the comprehension of humanity, if we could not raise altars to the
new gods, without overthrowing the old. Those only should dare to
utter the sacred name of progress, whose souls possess intelligence
enough to comprehend the past, and whose hearts possess sufficient
poetic religion to reverence its greatness. The temple of the true
believer is not the chapel of a sect; it is a vast Pantheon, in
which the glorious images of Goethe and Byron will hold their
honored place, long after Goetheism and Byronism shall have ceased
to be.

When, purified alike from imitation and distrust, men learn to pay
righteous reverence to the mighty fallen, I know not whether Goethe
will obtain more of their admiration as an artist, but I am certain
that Byron will inspire them with more love, both as man and poet--a
love increased even by the fact of the great injustice hitherto
shown to him. While Goethe held himself aloof from us, and from the
height of his Olympian calm seemed to smile with disdain at our
desires, our struggles, and our sufferings--Byron wandered through
the world, sad, gloomy, and unquiet; wounded, and bearing the arrow
in the wound. Solitary and unfortunate in his infancy; unfortunate
in his first love, and still more terribly so in his ill-advised
marriage; attacked and calumniated both in his acts and intentions
without inquiry or defence; harassed by pecuniary difficulties;
forced to quit his country, home, and child; friendless--we have
seen it too clearly since his death--pursued even on the Continent
by a thousand absurd and infamous falsehoods, and by the cold
malignity of a world that twisted even his sorrows into a crime; he
yet, in the midst of inevitable reaction, preserved his love for his
sister and his Ada; his compassion for misfortune; his fidelity to
the affections of his childhood and youth, from Lord Clare to his
old servant Murray, and his nurse Mary Gray. He was generous with
his money to all whom he could help or serve, from his literary
friends down to the wretched libeller Ashe. Though impelled by the
temper of his genius, by the period in which he lived, and by that
fatality of his mission to which I have alluded, towards a poetic
individualism, the inevitable incompleteness of which I have
endeavored to explain, he by no means set it up as a standard. That
he presaged the future with the prevision of genius is proved by his
definition of poetry in his journal--a definition hitherto
misunderstood, but yet the best I know: "Poetry is the feeling of a
former world and of a future. " Poet as he was, he preferred activity
for good, to all that his art could do. Surrounded by slaves and
their oppressors; a traveller in countries where even remembrance
seemed extinct; never did he desert the cause of the peoples; never
was he false to human sympathies. A witness of the progress of the
Restoration, and the triumph of the principles of the Holy Alliance,
he never swerved from his courageous opposition; he preserved and
publicly proclaimed his faith in the rights of the peoples and in
the final

[Footnote:
Yet, Freedom! yet, thy banner torn, but flying,
Streams, like the thunder-storm, against the wind:
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying,
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind.
The tree hath lost its blossomes, and the rind,
Chopped by the axe, looks rough and little worth,
But the sap lasts--and still the seed we find
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North,
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. "]

triumph of liberty. The following passage from his journal is the
very abstract of the law governing the efforts of the true party of
progress at the present day: "Onwards! it is now the time to act;
and what signifies self, if a single spark of that which would be
worthy of the past [Footnote: Written in Italy. ] can be bequeathed
unquenchably to the future? It is not one man, nor a million, but
the SPIRIT of liberty which must be spread. The waves which dash on
the shore are, one by one, broken; but yet the OCEAN conquers
nevertheless. It overwhelms the armada; it wears the rock; and if
the Neptunians are to be believed, it has not only destroyed but
made a world. " At Naples, in the Romagna, wherever he saw a spark of
noble life stirring, he was ready for any exertion; or danger, to
blow it into a flame. He stigmatized baseness, hypocrisy, and
injustice, whencesoever they sprang.

Thus lived Byron, ceaselessly tempest-tossed between the ills of the
present and his yearnings after the future; often unequal; sometimes
sceptical; but always suffering--often most so when he seemed to
laugh;

[Footnote:
"And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep. "]
and always loving, even
when he seemed to curse.

Never did "the eternal spirit of the chainless mind" make a brighter
apparition amongst us. He seems at times a transformation of that
immortal Prometheus, of whom he has written so nobly; whose cry of
agony, yet of futurity, sounded above the cradle of the European
world; and whose grand and mysterious form, transfigured by time,
reappears from age to age, between the entombment of one epoch and
the accession of another; to wail forth the lament of genius,
tortured by the presentment of things it will not see realized in
its time. Byron, too, had the "firm will" and the "deep sense;" he,
too, made of his "death a victory. " When he heard the cry of
nationality and liberty burst forth in the land he had loved and
sung in early youth, he broke his harp and set forth. While the
CHRISTIAN Powers were protocolizing or worse--while the CHRISTIAN
nations were doling forth the alms of a few piles of ball in aid of
the CROSS struggling with the Crescent; he, the poet, and pretended
sceptic, hastened to throw his fortune, his genius, and his life at
the feet of the first people that had arisen in the name of the
nationality and liberty he loved.

I know no more beautiful symbol of the future destiny and mission of
art than the death of Byron in Greece. The holy alliance of poetry
with the cause of the peoples; the union--still so rare--of thought
and action--which alone completes the human Word, and is destined to
emancipate the world; the grand solidarity of all nations in the
conquest of the rights ordained by God for all his children, and in
the accomplishment of that mission for which alone such rights
exist--all that is now the religion and the hope of the party of
progress throughout Europe, is gloriously typified in this image,
which we, barbarians that we are, have already forgotten.

The day will come when democracy will remember all that it owes to
Byron. England, too, will, I hope, one day remember the mission--so
entirely English, yet hitherto overlooked by her--which Byron
fulfilled on the Continent; the European role given by him to
English literature, and the appreciation and sympathy for England
which he awakened amongst us.

Before he came, all that was known of English literature was the
French translation of Shakespeare, and the anathema hurled by
Voltaire against the "intoxicated barbarian. " It is since Byron that
we Continentalists have learned to study Shakespeare and other
English writers. From him dates the sympathy of all the true-hearted
amongst us for this land of liberty, whose true vocation he so
worthily represented among the oppressed. He led the genius of
Britain on a pilgrimage throughout all Europe.

England will one day feel how ill it is--not for Byron but for
herself--that the foreigner who lands upon her shores should search
in vain in that temple which should be her national Pantheon, for
the poet beloved and admired by all the nations of Europe, and for
whose death Greece and Italy wept as it had been that of the noblest
of their own sons.

In these few pages--unfortunately very hasty--my aim has been, not
so much to criticise either Goethe or Byron, for which both time and
space are wanting, as to suggest, and if possible lead, English
criticism upon a broader, more impartial, and more useful path than
the one generally followed. Certain travellers of the eleventh
century relate that they saw at Teneriffe a prodigiously lofty tree,
which, from its immense extent of foliage, collected all the vapors
of the atmosphere; to discharge them, when its branches were shaken,
in a shower of pure and refreshing water. Genius is like this tree,
and the mission of criticism should be to shake the branches. At the
present day it more resembles a savage striving to hew down the
noble tree to the roots.




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS ***

This file should be named litpe10. txt or litpe10. zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, litpe11. txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, litpe10a. txt

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg. net or
http://promo. net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free! ).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www. ibiblio. org/gutenberg/etext04 or
ftp://ftp. ibiblio. org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04

Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

1 1971 July
10 1991 January
100 1994 January
1000 1997 August
1500 1998 October
2000 1999 December
2500 2000 December
3000 2001 November
4000 2001 October/November
6000 2002 December*
9000 2003 November*
10000 2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www. gutenberg. net/donation. html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox. com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT! **FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print! " statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print! " statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE! * YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print! " statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you! ) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print! " and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print! " statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:

[*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR

[*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR

[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print! " statement.

[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. "

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox. com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission. ]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.