<h1>Arthur C. Clarke</h1> <blockquote>Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.</blockquote>
5. <p>A diagram of the organization of a web site is called a <strong>site map</strong> or <strong>storyboard</strong>. Creating the <strong>site map</strong> is one of the initial steps in developing a web site.</p>
6. <a href="http://google.com">Google</a>
7. <a href="clients.html">Clients</a>
8. Student answers will vary. An example solution is below:
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en"> <head>
<title>Heading and List</title>
<meta charset="utf-8"> </head> <body> <header>
<h1>Beatles</h1> </header>
<p><a href="http://www.thebeatles.com/">The Beatles</a> were my first favorite rock band. I saved my allowance to buy their hit 45rpm records. It was very exciting to watch them on TV when they played on the Ed Sullivan Show.</p> <h2>Members:</h2> <ul>
<li>I have to scroll down to see what I want. There doesn't seem to be any good organization.
</li>
<li>The bottom of the home page has some policy information way off to the right side. I wonder why they did that?
</li>
<li>I can't search for what I want. Instead I'll have to start looking at other pages.</li>
</ol>
<h3>Suggestions for Improvement:</h3> <ol>
<li>I would place more information in the top portion of the web page so that is is accessible when the page is loaded. This way visitors would not have to scroll so much.
</li>
<li>I would eliminate the extra blank space on the page and move the position of the store policy information.
</li>
<li>I would add a search function to the home page so that customers could get right to the products they are looking for.
</li> </ol> </body> </html>
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And, safe enough, Hodge, t other half must be thoine: He went 'halves' in my chance, and he went shares in yours; Andhe'swontheprizeheifertomakeitallours. He don't come from Yorkshire for nothing, you see, But makes 'cock sure to win'—for you and for me".
MORAL.
Now all good youths and maidens, pray, Who this true story scan, Remember what I'm going to say. And act on't—if you can; Still on life's chequered strange highway, Whatever path you cross, Don't be too greedy, or you may Make sure to win—aloss.
WHAT
A GENTLEMAN MAY DO, AND WHAT HE MAY NOT DO.
He may carry a brace of partridges, but not a leg of mutton.
He may be seen in the omnibus-box at the Opera, but not on the box of an omnibus.
He may be seen in a stall inside a theatre, but not at a stall outside one.
He may dust another person's jacket, but mustn't brush his own.
He may kill a man in a duel, but he mustn't eat peas with his knife.
He may thrash a coalheaver, but he mustn't ask twice for soup.
He must pay his debts of honour, but he needn't trouble himself about his tradesmen's bills.
He may drive a stage-coach, but he mustn't take or carry coppers.
He may ride a horse as a jockey, but he mustn't exert himself in the least to get his living.
He must never forget what he owes to himself as a gentleman, but he need not mind what he owes as a gentleman to his tailor.
He may do anything, or anybody, in fact, within the range of a gentleman—go through the Insolvent Debtors Court, or turn billiardmarker; but he must never on any account carry a brown paper parcel, or appear in the streets without a pair of gloves.
SHIRTICULTURE.
THE GENEALOGIC AL SHIRT.
A new branch of the Fine Arts has lately flourished, which we do not know how to designate by any better name than SHIRTICULTURE. It is the art of painting on shirts—an art which cannot fail to go to the bosom of every one who enters at all into it. It was a favourite maxim of Buffon, that "Lestylec'est l'homme." With all due respect to one who dressed animals in the finest language, we beg to say, that nowadays "La chemise c'est l'homme." The shirt is the man. Depend upon it, that shortly the particular profession, trade, penchant, or weakness of every one, will be laid bare to the whole world upon his breast. The gent has nearest to his heart a balletgirl; and the sportsman is immediately detected by the last winner of the Derby peeping through his "Dickey." The noble game of cricket has been got up on a piece of lawn, no bigger than your chest; and we have seen Jack Sheppard breaking through a publican's shirtfront. Rowing matches not unfrequently run down the back of a river swell; and we know a gentleman who never appears on the turf without a whole steeple-chase galloping right over him, with a tremendous hunter jumping over each shoulder. The rage for pictorial shirts will ultimately spread over everybody in the kingdom. Men of noble descent will be drawing out their genealogical tree on a square of fine calico; and admirers of the "Fancy" will be putting their pet bull-dogs into muslin. We shall have heraldic shirts, theatrical shirts, military shirts, archæological and antiquarian shirts, temperance and convivial shirts, and shirts with portraits of puppydogs, men, parrots, and women. We shall have artists in shirts, as we have artists in hair; and every washerwoman's drying-ground will be an exhibition, to which the public will be admitted without having
to pay a shilling to witness the pictures. A catalogue, in fact, could be drawn up, and might run as follows:—
EXHIBITION OF SHIRTS IN THE WASHING ACADEMY OF MRS. TUBBS AND JACK TOWELL, ESQ., BALL'S POND.
1. Portrait of a Fat Cook, in the possession of A 1 and B 2.
2. A Lion's Head, sketched from a celebrated door-knocker in Portland Place, which was taken off on November 15, 1842, by a noble marquis.
3. Cleopatra, a beautiful pug, and Sulky Bob, a lovely terrier, belonging to the Houndsditch Stunner.
4. The Last o' Peel—Sir Robert tendering his resignation to Her Majesty.
5. Leg of mutton and trimmings the shirt of an alderman.
6. Views of Canterbury and York cathedrals—The two sleeves of a bishop.
7. A Soldier's Beer, and Relieving Guard; the shirt of two Blues The souvenirs of a housemaid.
8. "'Till so gently stealing;" Jack Sheppard helping himself in Mr. Wood's shop The shirt of a young gentleman in Field Lane.
9. The Last Man—the property of a life-pill manufacturer.
10. St. George's, Hanover Square The bosom comforter of a young lady.
11. "When hollow hearts shall wear a mask;" a view of Jullien's Masquerade
A False Front, late the property of a medical student, but now belonging to his cherished Uncle.
12. Distant view of Reading The shirt of a critic.
13. Polly, a celebrated Hampshire pig, who won the prize for short snouts and curly tails, at the Royal Agricultural Show, 1845—The chemise of Mr. Giblett.
A LONDON INTERIOR.
If you have ever been to the Casino, you must have seen young Watts O'Clock. He aspired, in his Gentish soul, to be "a Fast Man;" and certainly his ambition was gratified, for he was universally looked upon as the "Fastest of the Fast." He went so fast that eventually he disappeared altogether.
I was going home very late, one dark morning, when I heard my name called out. I looked up, and noticed before my door an immense advertising van. The name issued again from one of the little windows at the side, and, lo! I recognised the Roman nose of Watts O'Clock peeping through it. Where there is a nose, I said, there must be a face; and if there is a face, it is highly probable that there is a body somewhere to it.
"Come up, my boy," the same voice and nose continued. I needed no further invitation. In another minute I was inside the van. True enough, it was young Watts. The interior was fitted up not very stylishly, but just as good as any lodging-house. The walls were papered with a handsome pattern, at three-halfpence a yard. In one corner of the room was a turn-up bedstead, and in the other a large sofa. A table and two chairs completed the furniture—with a meerschaum and a lucifer-box.
"Glad to see you," he said; "make yourself at home."
"It's a queer place for home," I could not help saying.
"Not at all. I've been here ten days, and I can assure you it's precious comfortable. No taxes; and rent only three shillings a week; and nothing for attendance. Not an extra, except occasionally a turnpike."
"And it has one advantage, you can go wherever you like, and move as often as you please."
"Exactly. Last night I slept in Drury Lane; the night before in the Borough; to-night, you see, I honour your neighbourhood with a visit; this morning I make a call in Tottenham Court Road, and then on to Gretna Green."
"Gretna Green!" I exclaimed; "whatever is taking you in an advertising van to Gretna Green?"
"A matter of affection," he said, seriously. "Jack, did you ever see an elopement in high life? Well, then, my good fellow, you shall see one this morning. Here, I say, old slowcoach," he exclaimed, putting his head out of the door, and speaking to the driver. "The old shop, Great Russell Street; and take care of the corners, mind. The stupid fool nearly upset the van the other day, driving sharp round Percy Street. I was breakfasting at the time, and received the teapot in my bosom, besides stamping a medal with the exact copy of my features on a pound of butter."
"But how came you here?"
"Why, the constable drove me to it. We had a running match together last week. The long-legged runner of the law was gaining rapidly upon me. I saw Whitecross before me. Fear lent me the rapidity of a mad bull. Every one got out of my way. I bounded through the Little Turnstile like a pea through a tube. I found myself in Holborn. I felt the asthma of the bailiff close behind me. My left shoulder ached with the ague of a thousand writs. There is a touch in human nature which makes all mankind run; and that is the touch of a sheriff's officer. I ran across the road, but lo! an immense tower, a moving house, a mountain on wheels, in short, an advertising van, obstructed my path. Hope whispered into my ear, 'Get into it, you donkey!' In another minute I had jumped over the driver's head, and was inside these hospitable walls. I peeped through one of the eyes of 'Grimstone's Snuff' posters, and saw my pursuer looking wildly for me in every direction, wondering where I had disappeared to. I bought that good driver's silence, and I have remained his tenant ever since. We go on remarkably well together, excepting when he takes a strange turn, and upsets me by his clumsy driving. I stop
here, because it is not safe to venture out, and so I have furnished my portable apartment as comfortably as I can." Here the van stopped, and Watts said, "Now, my good fellow, I must trouble you to leave me. This is the house where my flame lives. You see it is burning now in the bedroom window. She elopes with me to-night. I have been courting her now, thanks to that long ladder, for the last week. A modern version of Romeo and Juliet. She has consented to entrust her fortune to me. She is an heiress, as I needn't tell you. But her window opens. Dear creature, how anxiously she's expecting me. Fondest Emily, I fly to you. Leave me, Jackey, and witness this elopement in high life outside my humble habitation." So saying, he ran up the ladder which was perched against the side of the interior of his lodging. I watched him from the street. The top of the monster cart was just on a level with the bedroom windows. A fair form issued out of one. A pair of arms caught the trembling figure, and they disappeared together down the hollow square of the van. The next moment a handkerchief, with a portrait of the winner of the Derby, was waved out of one of the little windows of the vehicle, and I heard Watts's voice call out, "Coachman, Gretna Green!" Whether the van ever reached its destination is a mystery which must remain in darkness for the present.
POPULAR CONTINENTAL DELUSIONS RESPECTING ENGLAND.
That Englishmen never eat anything but "biftecks" and "pomme-deterres."
That a Lord, when he is displeased with his wife, can take her to Smithfield, and putting a rope round her neck, sell her in the market for a pot of beer, or whatever a drunken drover chooses to bid for her.
That brandy is allowed to be drunk in the House of Lords.
That no daguerreotype can be taken in London, in consequence of the perpetual fogs; and that the church clocks are illuminated for the same obscure reason.
That the only pastry is plum-pudding; the only wine, ale or porter; the only fruit, baked potatoes; the only song, "God Save the Queen," and the only national amusement, boxing.
That no gentleman's establishment is complete without a bull-dog. That the ladies propose to the gentlemen; that Gretna Green is an omni-bus-ride from London, and that half the marriages in England, those of Royalty and cooks included, are celebrated by The Blacksmith.
That commissions are purchasable in the police force, and that the sons of noblemen are proud to serve in it.
That the result of every dinner-party is for the gentlemen to drop, one by one, underneath the table, after which they are carried upstairs to the ladies.
That half the population is "milors," and the other half "millionaires." That there is no English school of painting, excepting that practised by Clowns and Ethiopians.
That the Boy Jones is (if the truth was known) a member of the Royal Family.
That George the Fourth was in the habit of going to the Coal Hole.
That Watt stole his steam-engine from the French; and other absurdities by far too numerous to mention.
NEW YEAR'S GIFTS.
A LITTLE WRINKLE FOR NEXT SESSION. If the parliamentary privilege of freedom from arrest is done away with, we are afraid that the question of the Jews in a British Parliament will touch not only the prejudices but the persons of certain members too closely ever to be admitted.
CURIOUS DISCOVERY OF A SKELETON. The perfect skeleton of a goose is found in November next in Thames Tunnel by a police-officer looking for an escaped criminal. The poor animal is supposed to have taken refuge there on Michaelmas day, and to have died of starvation. This little paragraph is written to record its sagacity. Readers, if you have any sympathy, you will drop a tear to the memory of that goose!
Why do sailors serving in brigs make bad servants?
Because it's impossible for a man to serve two-masters.
A NOVELTY.—Prince Albert's pig does not get a prize this year. The law is a long Chancery Lane that hath no turning but Portugal Street.
"OUR NATURAL ENEMIES"—tailors.
"THE BOTTLE."—"Ah, my dear fellow, you're gradually drinking yourself into the grave," as the Pint Bottle said to the Quart.
PROVERB JUST IMPORTED FROM BOULOGNE.—A moustache covers a multitude of debts.
QUESTION AND ANSWER.
Shakspeare.—"What's in a name?"
Widdicombe.—"The continual nuisance of writing your autograph."
FULL-FLAVOURED SIMILE.
Men are frequently like tea—their real strength and goodness is not properly drawn out of them till they have been for a short time in hot water.
WHO SAYS IT ISN'T?—The reason so many whales are found about the North Pole is, because they supply all the Northern Lights with oil. CommunicatedbyaTraveller .
ThePreparatorySchoolforFastMen.
To teach the young idea how to shoot, smoke, drink, fight, cheat, and the various accomplishments of "regular bricks."
THE COMIC ALMANACK F
OR 1849.
PROJECTED LINES TO RUN THROUGH
ALL ALMANACKS.
MOVEABLE FEASTS.—The greatest one on record is the Barmecide Feast of Sancho Panza.
FAST-DAYS.—Greenwich Fair at Easter and Whitsuntide, the Derby, the Thames Regatta, balloon days at Cremorne, and masquerade mornings at Jullien's.
CANVASSING THE LIVERY.
MICHAELMAS DAY.—Election of the Lord Mayor—Moses takes his measure, and rushes home to cut up the goose.
LEAP YEAR.—It takes three springs to make one leap year.
PURIFICATION.—It is very curious that the very day after Candlemas should be the anniversary of a "Blaize."
HOLIDAY AT CHANCE. OFFICES.—The English of Chance. is Chancery.
LOW SUNDAY.—Boating on the Thames, or riding in the Park on a hired horse.
OLD MAY DAY.—An exiled Pole in England.
LENT.—To ascertain its beginning and end, you have only to become security for a friend at a Loan Office.
BARTHOLOMEW.—One of the reduced fairs.
CHRISTMAS. The Earl of A-db-r-gh presents all his servants with Christmas Boxes—of Holloway's pills.
OLD LADY-DAY. The only lady whose age is known to a day.
THIS IS WHAT LADIES CALL A MINIATURE BROOCH!!!
FASHIONS FOR 1849.
The rage for flounces in ladies' dresses will grow deeper and deeper. Two noble Duchesses will compete as to the greater number. They will continue each time bidding one flounce over one another, till their dresses will be nothing but flounces. The fashion is evidently borrowed from the hackney-coachman's cape.
PORTRAIT OF A LADY OF RANK AS SHE WILL APPEAR AT THE HORTICULTURAL FETE NEXT YEAR.
Gentlemen's fashions will remain just the same, that is to say, as ugly as ever.
A
DREAM OF THE YEAR. (AFTER PLANCHE'S "DÆDALUS.")
I'm in such a flutter I scarcely can utter The words to my tongue that come dancing—come dancing I've had such a dream, that it really must seem To a telegraph e'en like romancing—romancing; I must have got frisky on Kinahan's whisky, Although I don't wish you to blab it—to blab it; Or else 'twas a question of slight indigestion, Through eating too much of Welsh rabbit Welsh rabbit.
I dreamt Lord John Russell was dining with Fussell, To meet Louis Blanc and Alboni—Alboni, When Feargus O'Connor declared, on his honour, He'd only had half a polony—polony. On which all the Chartists and Suffolk Street artists Ran off to the train and got in it—got in it, In spite of their fears of the new engineers, Who blew up a boiler a minute—a minute.
On this, Ben Disraeli, who'd burnt the Old Bailey, Declined being paid for his trouble—his trouble; And ran in a funk to the Joss on the junk, To prove Schleswig-Holstein a bubble—a bubble. So Barbés and Blanqui both looked very cranky, Because Jenny Lind chose to marry-to marry; But Thackeray cried, "If you bother the bride, I'll wed her at once to John Parry—John Parry."
FOUR WARNED——FOUR ARMED.
I next had a row, I can scarcely tell how, With Van Amburgh for showing his lion—his lion, And stealing a sack from the widow Cormack, In which she had popp'd Smith O'Brien—O'Brien; When Soyer came up with a Summerley cup, Just purchased at Stowe for a shilling—a shilling, And told the inspector he'd give him some nectar, Provided they came to no killing—no killing.
Then Anstey arose, and he took off his clothes, To prepare for a six months' oration—oration; When Monsieur Dumas said he was but an ass, To bathe in the Hyde Park stagnation—stagnation. On which hurry-scurry they flew in a hurry, To shut Mrs. Gore in the Tower—the Tower With Juba and Pell, to amuse her as well, Whilst she wrote fifteen novels an hour—an hour.
But Charles Dickens caught up a plate quick as thought, And made it spin round on his finger—his finger: Till Wellington came, and observing his game, Was afraid any longer to linger—to linger. So Gilbert A'Beckett swore he would soon check it, And drew up a statement confessing—confessing, That all he had done had been nothing but fun, So Wakley might give him his blessing—his blessing.
I next heard a scream, and a whistle and gleam, A racketing noise and a humming—a humming; And then an increase of the railway police Proved Mr. G. Hudson was coming—was coming. As he aimed at my head I jumped clean out of bed, For I knew he would give me no quarter—no quarter; And a knock at the door as I fell on the floor Show'd the servant had brought my hot water—hot water.
A RAILWAY TRIP IN THE AUTUMN OF 1848 IN
SEARCH OF THE PICTURESQUE.
THE TERMINUS OF THE SOUTHWESTERN RAILWAY
It is not so easy to find the New Waterloo Terminus of the South-Western Railway, but, by dint of innumerable halfpence to innumerable little boys, and chartering several policemen, we found it at last. It is a good day's walk from Waterloo Bridge—that is to say, if you cross the river in the morning, you may reach it before the evening; even then you will require to have a guide, or else you will infallibly pass it without ever suspecting that tremendous high wall, with a lamp-post growing out of the top, is
The architecture of the terminus partakes very largely of the impromptu Band-box Order. The offices must have been designed by the architect who ran up in one day the House of Commons Committee Rooms. You imagine innumerable floors must have been torn up, for all the works published at this office are bound in strong boards. However, they look very light and airy, though hardly adapted, we should say, to stand against a strong wind. It would be a curious sight to see, some day next March, a covey of railway offices winging their way down the Strand in the direction of Birdcage Walk.
But the railway is whistling to us. Suppose we take a four-penny trip down the line to view the
SPLENDID SCENERY FROM WATERLOO BRIDGE TO NINE-ELMS.
We believe there is nothing like it in the world, excepting the Blackwall line.
We will jot down right and left the principal beauties that most enchant us on this picturesque little railway, which is certainly the most laconic line that was ever sent through the electric post by one company to another.
We are sitting with our backs (though, by-the-bye, we have but one back) to the New Cut; the fertile district of Lambeth is on one side, the milky river on the other.
We were quite taken aback with the immense forest of chimneys which the engine cuts through like so much brush wood; they seem to be the only vegetation of the place. It is easy to distinguish the chimneys that have been recently stacked from those of previous years' crops. A curious windmill, supposed to have attained the age of three hundred and twenty, meets the left eye. It is quite the Methuselah of windmills. Cockney artists come from far and near to ask it to give them a sitting.
Your right eye will not fail to light up with the group of merry pipers that are sitting on the roof of the "Duke of Wellington." Their bright tankards sparkle in the sun, with which they moisten their respective clays. They present a pleasing picture of the happy peasantry of the suburbs. One laughing fellow presents his tankard to us, but we are obliged to refuse it, from the reason that the railway will not stop to allow us to take it.
An immense volume of smoke from a supposed brewery, though the perfume from the brewery is not particularly hoppy, is at the present
moment delivered to the public in numbers. The passenger, if he is wise, will shut his eyes, and not open them again till he sees that it has quite blown over.
A magpie in a wicker cage, suspended from an attic window, is worth the passing sympathy of the third-class passenger. The first-class ditto can have no sympathy, from the obvious fact that he cannot see anything (MEM. To enjoy nature, there is nothing like the third-class; to enjoy a good snooze, there is nothing like the first.) We do not envy that poor magpie, with the engine rushing by him all day long. See how he crouches into the corner of his prison! And hark! he has learnt the railway whistle. Wretched bird! thou canst not have a pleasant life of it. How willingly, methinks, thou wouldst hop the twig, if thou couldst!
But what is that? It looks like a large game of scratch-cradle—but no, it isn't—it is merely the top of a gas factory. We wonder if they take off the lids of those immense black cauldrons, when they want to see how the pot boils?
Behold how contentedly that man is smoking his pipe, with his bare arms resting on the parapet of the railway, as if it were a cushion. The train rushes screaming by him, but not an eye winks, not a nerve shakes. The pipe still hangs from the lips of that iron man— well adapted to live so close and be, a railway sleeper. By-the-bye, it
cannot be pleasant to have an engine almost touching your bedroom window whilst you are shaving!
Look to your right, you will see the Houses of Parliament, the Barrycade of Westminster that has now been up for six years, and likely to remain up for thirty more. The bird you see on the top is a crane. It is sacred hereabouts, and is highway robbery if any one attempts to dislodge it.
The Thames is worth looking at; but you must be quick, for unless you look down that narrow street before the train passes it, you will not see it. The silver speck—like a halfcrown—you see at the end of that lane is the Thames.
Turn quick to the left; you will perceive what an Englishman most delights in—a fight.
Bah! you're too late; the Policeman has emerged from some invisible spot, and the fight is adjourned. One man in blue disperses five hundred Britons.
You will see plenty of English Interiors on each side of the country. They display all varieties of paper, mostly at a halfpenny a yard. How desolate the fireplaces look, and yet they are interesting, as the last abiding-places of the grate must always be.
How ferocious those chimneys look!—they give you quite a turn. Hurrah! now we approach Vauxhall! At night you can see the fireworks for nothing. Sometimes they drop in also upon you. A Roman wheel occasionally visits the first-class carriage, when he proves a very troublesome visitor, and which no one likes to turn out. The sticks—the departed ghosts of the short-lived rockets— think nothing of falling down upon the third-class passengers. But in the day-time you have nothing of these entertainments. All you see is the shell of the pagoda peeping through the trees, or an artist busy in veneering ham for the sandwiches; or you may get a small view of the airy abode of Il Diavolo, who led such a wire-drawn existence.
Holla! there's a cab coming over Vauxhall Bridge, and a steamer going underneath it. The horse still carries it over steam occasionally.
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