# data[].attributes.headline
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change. It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor.

# data[].attributes.subject
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change. It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor.

# data[].attributes.body
It It It It It It It It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor. was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor.

# data[].attributes.body
so is this dead then

# data[].attributes.body
"I like big butts and I cannot lie."

# data[].attributes.headline
cover it in chocolate and a mica cal or two 

# data[].attributes.subject
cover it in chocolate and a mica cal or two 

# data[].attributes.body
Yo In west Philadelphia born an' raised
On da playground wuz where ah spent most o' muh motha fuckin days
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all tight
an' all shooting some b-ball outside o' da skoo
When uh couple o' pimpz who wuz up ta nahh pimp-tight
Started making static in muh motha fuckin hood
ah gots in one little fight an' muh motha fuckin mom gots scared
She said, "you movin' wif yo' auntie an' uncle in Bel-Air." what 'chew trippin foo'

# data[].attributes.body
SHAKE THAT

# data[].attributes.body
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. | It was one of the best and worst times in history. It was a time of great intelligence and ignorance, belief and disbelief, good and evil, hope and hopelessness. We had everything to live for, and we had nothing to live for. Everyone was going straight to Heaven and straight to hell. Basically, it was just like THE PRESENT1859, the time at which Dickens was writingthe present, with experts of the time insisting on seeing its events only in terms of contrasting extremes.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. | A stern-looking king and a plain-looking queen ruled England. A stern-looking king and a beautiful queen ruled France. In both countries, it seemed obvious to the people managing the royal food supplies that things were stable and nothing would ever change.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood. | It was 1775. People in England were as superstitious then as they are now. MRS. SOUTHCOTTa woman who claimed to be a prophetMrs. Southcott had just turned twenty-five, and a private in the British army who claimed he could tell the future announced her appearance by saying that London and Westminster would be destroyed. Even the COCK LANE GHOSTthe ghost of a woman believed to haunt a house on Cock LaneCock Lane Ghost had only been gone twelve years since last tapping out its messages, as the very unoriginal ghosts of last year tapped out theirs. A GROUP OF BRITISH SUBJECTS IN THE AMERICAN COLONIESthe First Continental Congressgroup of British subjects in the American colonies had recently sent messages to the King of England, and oddly enough, these earthly messages proved more important than any of the supernatural ones from Cock Lane.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. | France, which was less interested in spiritual matters than England, was headed straight toward disaster, printing lots of paper money and spending all of it. Under the leadership of the clergy, the French government entertained itself with such activities as cutting off a young man’s hands, pulling his tongue out with pliers, and burning him alive. The French government did this because the man didn’t kneel down in the rain to pay tribute to a group of dirty monks walking by fifty or sixty yards away. While this young man was being put to death, trees were growing in the forests of France and Norway that Fate had decided would one day be used to make the guillotines that would play a terrible role in history. It’s likely too that on the crude farms near Paris sat rough, filthy carts, which pigs snuffed around and poultry roosted in, that Death had decided would be used during the Revolution to cart people to the guillotine. Though Fate and Death work constantly, they also work quietly, so no one heard them as they went sneaking around. Instead, if a person even suggested that bad times were on the way, he would be accused of being an atheist and a traitor.

# data[].attributes.body
what even is this anymore 😭

# data[].attributes.body
get freaky

# data[].attributes.body
ITS A PARTY

# data[].attributes.body
"So what we get drunk, so what we smoke tree, we are just having fun, and we don't care who sees"- The Best Rapper Of 2016

# data[].attributes.body
Get serious

# data[].attributes.body
Blessed is he who, in the name of the charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers

# data[].attributes.body
"Ive got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine"

# data[].attributes.body
"Bet you can't whip like me, can't milly rock like me,"

# data[].attributes.body
The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.

# data[].attributes.body
what's good

# data[].attributes.body
"North side cooling shorty, yes thats where I stay, I Heard that you were a lame boy, get up out of my face."

# data[].attributes.body
2K17

# data[].attributes.body
In west Philadelphia born and raised
On the playground was where I spent most of my days
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
She said, "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air."

# data[].attributes.body
My mother says that the coosers around the corner are very "inca siderite" and they always keep their "warshers runnin" Why she knows that, I don't know. I don't ask. I just go with the flow. Not like salmon .... "Baw Doom Pshh."

# data[].attributes.body
"gang gang gang gang
all up in my block facts B"
The bricks, up top, yown town

# data[].attributes.body
My mom says "Has" instead of house

# data[].attributes.body
being from different neighborhoods, we've heard different slang

# data[].attributes.body
There's no success story. Everybody's got a ghetto story. You always want to make it bigger than what it is.

# data[].attributes.body
I am the ripper, I am the tearer, I am the gouger, I AM BEOWULF!!

# data[].attributes.body
I've learned from watching different movies, non-fiction or fiction that in different places different people will say different things. words like , yinz, or bloody. things like that.

# data[].attributes.body
Whoever decided to call soda "pop" deserves a noble prize

# data[].attributes.headline
Sydney told me They call different parts of Lincoln names Iracc is down bottom of Lincoln,226 is Paulson and Lemington area of Lincoln ,1300 is up by the park and Afghanistan is up top 

# data[].attributes.subject
Sydney told me They call different parts of Lincoln names Iracc is down bottom of Lincoln,226 is Paulson and Lemington area of Lincoln ,1300 is up by the park and Afghanistan is up top 

# data[].attributes.body
Chanice .C

# data[].attributes.body
i am the danger
i am the one who knocks
now open
for i await

# data[].attributes.body
1.     I talked with Chanice and she told me they say wez side instead of Westside

# data[].attributes.body
I realized somethings I grew up saying I don't say anymore. And things I thought people outside of Pittsburgh say they don't, like jumbo and pop. And other things I thought just Pittsburgh said isn't.

# data[].attributes.body
ashantays grandma went to Jamaica and came back with an accent

# data[].attributes.body
dejah told me instead of saying pittsburgh she says picks-burgh

# data[].attributes.body
1.)
Growing up on the west side of town you notice certain terms such as;  yinz (you all)
pop (soda)
treck ( a long way to go)
mack ( a long time)
a grip ( a long time)
2.)
I knew someone how grew up in st. louis and she pronounced words like “pillow” and “tour” with a slightly southern accent. I can only describe her accent as southern and my accent as Pittsburghies. its hard to point out the exact distinctions because I have lived her all my live.

3.)
What I noticed while talking to the person next to me is that we shared similar basic regional terms but differed in the terms used in our neighborhoods such as “neffs”

# data[].attributes.body
" My cousins have a little bit of slang. Their grammar is less dignified. They say y’all and slur all of their words together." - Amaru

# data[].attributes.body
I learned that when Louis goes to Maryland his family up there has hard R's and talks really smooth

# data[].attributes.body
i learned that stevens aunt is from the dominican republic and she rolls her R's

# data[].attributes.body
I found out from runa shud a  that because of the large mixtures of cultures and ethnicities in this country. an area can not totally have a certain dialect because there will always be people who are new to an area or foreign to the area.

# data[].attributes.body
I found out that a lot of dialect rather than adding words is the way people pronounce words. For example, people in Pittsburgh pronounce down as dahn. Much American dialect is also based on the nation of origin that the people use.

# data[].attributes.body
All areas say things different or also people say words with accents. For example Texas says y'all and in Pittsburgh a lot of people say yinz.

# data[].attributes.body
I learned that Pittsburgh has some weird slang. One of those examples being using pop instead saying soda. Like my brother is up at Slippery Rock and he said some people never heard yinz.

# data[].attributes.body
Pretty much every area has terms and ways of speaking that are specific to that area only. For example, Kelly has hard t's in words like "button" and "important" while I completely skip those sounds and focus less on them.

# data[].attributes.body
I learned from Pierce and other classmates that dialects are universal. Growing up in Japan, I was familiar with dialects in different regions of the area. However, I was not aware that it existed in the U.S, and that had to do with different accents and pronunciation.

# data[].attributes.body
I learned that dialect isn't just slang or made up words, but also the way people pronounce words. For example my family in NY say things like walk, ball, talk, call, etc. with almost a 'U' sound in them.

# data[].attributes.body
Almost all areas have specific words or accents used there but we often don't realize it because we don't speak to people in all of these areas orally or visit their to see what they say.

# data[].attributes.body
never really grew up with a distinctive accent in my neiborhood

# data[].attributes.body
I learned that LeeAnrew's cousin BillBill (from New York) says things like "You bugging". I guess New York slang is just as bizarre as Pittsburgh.

# data[].attributes.body
Typically most speak in a combination of dialects, a main one and a few other slang words from mixed cultures. (Ex: Irish immigrants surrounded their children with Irish dialect at home but their children also absorbed various American slang, or perhaps even the accent from their American schools and the new culture they were living in) Personally, I've picked up some British dialect from watching various films.

# data[].attributes.headline
Lee Andrew (Virgo) (Bass God) (Wesley Pipes) (GAYNGANG) (One hunnit)

# data[].attributes.subject
Lee Andrew (Virgo) (Bass God) (Wesley Pipes) (GAYNGANG) (One hunnit)

# data[].attributes.body
I learned that in a lot of different places its all about the trending word choice. Like how some people use to say Clutch now some say Tough what ever is trending effect a lot of peoples word choice.

# data[].attributes.body
all english spoken in the USA is techcnicaly a dialect of european english.