He laid him squat as a flounder.
He slowly crossed the barn to squat down in front of her, never once looking away. His callused palm was warm around her icy fingers. “You must never lie to me,” he said softly. “Whatever your story, be it good or bad, I will accept. I am not your father, who will storm and rage at you when disappointed.” And the warmth in his eyes made her believe every word he spoke was true. “You are perfectly and beautifully made,” Michael continued. “You are exactly as God intended for you to be, and I love you precisely as you are.
The basic idea behind malls is that they are more convenient than cities. Cities contain streets, which are dangerous and crowded and difficult to park in. Malls, on the other hand, have parking lots, which are also dangerous and crowded and difficult to park in, but -- here is the big difference -- in mall parking lots, THERE ARE NO RULES. You're allowed to do anything. You can drive as fast as you want in any direction you want. I was once driving in a mall parking lot when my car was struck by a pickup truck being driven backward by a squat man with a tattoo that said "Charlie" on his forearm, who got out and explained to me, in great detail, why the accident was my fault, his reasoning being that he was violent and muscular, whereas I was neither. This kind of reasoning is legally valid in mall parking lots. -- Dave Barry, "Christmas Shopping: A Survivor's Guide"
There's amnesia in a hangknot, And comfort in the ax, But the simple way of poison will make your nerves relax. There's surcease in a gunshot, And sleep that comes from racks, But a handy draft of poison avoids the harshest tax. You find rest on the hot squat, Or gas can give you pax, But the closest corner chemist has peace in packaged stacks. There's refuge in the church lot When you tire of facing facts, And the smoothest route is poison prescribed by kindly quacks. Chorus: With an *ugh!* and a groan, and a kick of the heels, Death comes quiet, or it comes with squeals -- But the pleasantest place to find your end Is a cup of cheer from the hand of a friend. -- Jubal Harshaw, "One For The Road"
This rough, squat, heavy, hard, austere, almost misshapen, but assuredly majestic monument, stamped with a sort of magnificent and savage gravity, has disappeared, and left to reign in peace, a sort of gigantic stove, ornamented with its pipe, which has replaced the sombre fortress with its nine towers, very much as the bourgeoisie replaces the feudal classes. It is quite natural that a stove should be the symbol of an epoch in which a pot contains power. This epoch will pass away, people have already begun to understand that, if there can be force in a boiler, there can be no force except in the brain; in other words, that which leads and drags on the world, is not locomotives, but ideas. Harness locomotives to ideas,--that is well done; but do not mistake the horse for the rider.
“Comrades!” he cried, “Comrade Krylenko is here and wants to speak to us.” An outburst of cheers, whistlings, yells of _“Prosim! Prosim! Dolby!_ Go ahead! Go ahead! Down with him!” in the midst of which the People’s Commissar for Military Affairs clambered up the side of the car, helped by hands before and behind, pushed and pulled from below and above. Rising he stood for a moment, and then walked out on the radiator, put his hands on his hips and looked around smiling, a squat, short-legged figure, bare-headed, without insignia on his uniform.
Has any man, or any society of men, a truth to speak, a piece of spiritual work to do; they can nowise proceed at once and with the mere natural organs, but must first call a public meeting, appoint committees, issue prospectuses, eat a public dinner; in a word, construct or borrow machinery, wherewith to speak it and do it. Without machinery they were hopeless, helpless; a colony of Hindoo weavers squatting in the heart of Lancashire.
There is something indescribable there which exhales grace, a green meadow traversed by tightly stretched lines, from which flutter rags drying in the wind, and an old market-gardener's house, built in the time of Louis XIII., with its great roof oddly pierced with dormer windows, dilapidated palisades, a little water amid poplar-trees, women, voices, laughter; on the horizon the Pantheon, the pole of the Deaf-Mutes, the Val-de-Grace, black, squat, fantastic, amusing, magnificent, and in the background, the severe square crests of the towers of Notre Dame.
A little later, as we sat at the press table in the big hall, an Anarchist who was writing for the bourgeois papers proposed to me that we go and find out what had become of the presidium. There was nobody in the _Tsay-ee-kah_ office, nor in the bureau of the Petrograd Soviet. From room to room we wandered, through vast Smolny. Nobody seemed to have the slightest idea where to find the governing body of the Congress. As we went my companion described his ancient revolutionary activities, his long and pleasant exile in France.... As for the Bolsheviki, he confided to me that they were common, rude, ignorant persons, without aesthetic sensibilities. He was a real specimen of the Russian _intelligentzia_.... So he came at last to Room 17, office of the Military Revolutionary Committee, and stood there in the midst of all the furious coming and going. The door opened, and out shot a squat, flat-faced man in a uniform without insignia, who seemed to be smiling--which smile, after a minute, one saw to be the fixed grin of extreme fatigue. It was Krylenko.
I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive with the tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour's rest proved full as much as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank what we had with us, and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim horizon; while the winding river turned and turned, and the great floating buoys upon it turned and turned, and everything else seemed stranded and still. For now the last of the fleet of ships was round the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, straw-laden, with a brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters, shaped like a child's first rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud; and a little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles stood crippled in the mud on stilts and crutches; and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy stones stuck out of the mud, and red landmarks and tidemarks stuck out of the mud, and an old landing-stage and an old roofless building slipped into the mud, and all about us was stagnation and mud.
If a squatter, living ten miles away from any neighbour, chooses to burn his house down to get rid of vermin, there may be no necessity (in the absence of insurance offices) that the law should interfere with his freedom of action; his act can hurt nobody but himself. But if the dweller in a street chooses to do the same thing, the State very properly makes such a proceeding a crime, and punishes it as such. He does meddle with his neighbour's freedom, and that seriously. So it might, perhaps, be a tenable doctrine, that it would be needless, and even tyrannous, to make education compulsory in a sparse agricultural population, living in abundance on the produce of its own soil; but, in a densely populated manufacturing country, struggling for existence with competitors, every ignorant person tends to become a burden upon, and, so far, an infringer of the liberty of, his fellows, and an obstacle to their success. Under such circumstances an education rate is, in fact, a war tax, levied for purposes of defence.
I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.
Slowly the marchers came with their coffins to the entrance of the grave, and the bearers clambered up with their burdens and went down into the pit. Many of them were women--squat, strong proletarian women. Behind the dead came other women--women young and broken, or old, wrinkled women making noises like hurt animals, who tried to follow their sons and husbands into the Brotherhood Grave, and shrieked when compassionate hands restrained them. The poor love each other so!
There passed Podvoisky, the thin, bearded civillian whose brain conceived the strategy of insurrection; Antonov, unshaven, his collar filthy, drunk with loss of sleep; Krylenko, the squat, wide-faced soldier, always smiling, with his violent gestures and tumbling speech; and Dybenko, the giant bearded sailor with the placid face. These were the men of the hour--and of other hours to come.
The 18th century was, indeed, the golden age of the chair, especially in France and England, between which there was considerable give and take of ideas. Even Diderot could not refrain from writing of them in his _Encyclopédie_. The typical Louis Seize chair, oval-backed and ample of seat, with descending arms and round-reeded legs, covered in Beauvais or some such gay tapestry woven with Boucher or Watteau-like scenes, is a very gracious object, in which the period reached its high-water mark. The Empire brought in squat and squabby shapes, comfortable enough no doubt, but entirely destitute of inspiration. English Empire chairs were often heavier and more sombre than those of French design. Thenceforward the chair in all countries ceased to attract the artist. The _art nouveau_ school has occasionally produced something of not unpleasing simplicity; but more often its efforts have been frankly ugly or even grotesque. There have been practically no novelties, with the exception perhaps of the basket-chair and such like, which have been made possible by modern command over material. So much, indeed, is the present indebted to the past in this matter that even the revolving chair, now so familiar in offices, has a pedigree of something like four centuries Entry: CHAIR
LAPWING (O.Eng. _hleápewince_ = "one who turns about in running or flight"),[1] a bird, the _Tringa vanellus_ of Linnaeus and the _Vanellus vulgaris_ or _V. cristatus_ of modern ornithologists. In the temperate parts of the Old World this species is perhaps the most abundant of the plovers, _Charadriidae_, breeding in almost every suitable place from Ireland to Japan--the majority migrating towards winter to southern countries, as the Punjab, Egypt and Barbary--though in the British Islands some are always found at that season. As a straggler it has occurred within the Arctic Circle (as on the Varanger Fjord in Norway), as well as in Iceland and even Greenland; while it not unfrequently appears in Madeira and the Azores. Conspicuous as the strongly contrasted colours of its plumage and its very peculiar flight make it, it is remarkable that it maintains its ground when so many of its allies have been almost exterminated, for the lapwing is the object perhaps of greater persecution than any other European bird that is not a plunderer. Its eggs are the well-known "plovers' eggs" of commerce,[2] and the bird, wary and wild at other times of the year, in the breeding-season becomes easily approachable, and is shot to be sold in the markets for "golden plover." Its growing scarcity in Great Britain was very perceptible until the various acts for the protection of wild birds were passed. It is now abundant and is of service both for the market and to agriculture. What seems to be the secret of the lapwing holding its position is the adaptability of its nature to various kinds of localities. It will find sustenance equally on the driest of soils as on the fattest pastures; upland and fen, arable and moorland, are alike to it, provided only the ground be open enough. The wailing cry[3] and the frantic gestures of the cock bird in the breeding-season will tell any passer-by that a nest or brood is near; but, unless he knows how to look for it, nothing save mere chance will enable him to find it. The nest is a slight hollow in the ground, wonderfully inconspicuous even when deepened, as is usually the case, by incubation, and the black-spotted olive eggs (four in number) are almost invisible to the careless or untrained eye. The young when first hatched are clothed with mottled down, so as closely to resemble a stone, and to be overlooked as they squat motionless on the approach of danger. At a distance the plumage of the adult appears to be white and black in about equal proportions, the latter predominating above; but on closer examination nearly all the seeming black is found to be a bottle-green gleaming with purple and copper; the tail-coverts, both above and below, are of a bright bay colour, seldom visible in flight. The crest consists of six or eight narrow and elongated feathers, turned slightly upwards at the end, and is usually carried in a horizontal position, extending in the cock beyond the middle of the back; but it is capable of being erected so as to become nearly vertical. Frequenting parts of the open country so very divergent in character, and as remarkable for the peculiarity of its flight as for that of its cry, the lapwing is far more often observed in nearly all parts of the British Islands than any other of the group Limicolae. The peculiarity of its flight seems due to the wide and rounded wings it possesses, the steady and ordinarily somewhat slow flapping of which impels the body at each stroke with a manifest though easy jerk. Yet on occasion, as when performing its migrations, or even its almost daily transits from one feeding-ground to another, and still more when being pursued by a falcon, the speed with which it moves through the air is very considerable. On the ground this bird runs nimbly, and is nearly always engaged in searching for its food, which is wholly animal. Entry: LAPWING
BURNTISLAND, a royal, municipal and police burgh of Fife, Scotland, on the shore of the Firth of Forth, 5¾ m. S.W. of Kirkcaldy by the North British railway. Pop. (1891) 4993; (1901) 4846. It is protected from the north wind by the Binn (632 ft.), and in consequence of its excellent situation, its links and sandy beach, it enjoys considerable repute as a summer resort. The chief industries are distilling, fisheries, shipbuilding and shipping, especially the export of coal and iron. Until the opening of the Forth bridge, its commodious harbour was the northern station of the ferry across the firth from Granton, 5 m. south. The parish church, dating from 1594, is a plain structure, with a squat tower rising in two tiers from the centre of the roof. The public buildings include two hospitals, a town-hall, music hall, library and reading room and science institute. On the rocks forming the western end of the harbour stands Rossend Castle, where the amorous French poet Chastelard repeated the insult to Queen Mary which led to his execution. In 1667 it was ineffectually bombarded by the Dutch. The burgh was originally called Parva Kinghorn and later Wester Kinghorn. The origin and meaning of the present name of the town have always been a matter of conjecture. There seems reason to believe that it refers to the time when the site, or a portion of it, formed an island, as sea-sand is the subsoil even of the oldest quarters. Another derivation is from Gaelic words meaning "the island beyond the bend." With Dysart, Kinghorn and Kirkcaldy, it unites in returning one member to parliament. Entry: BURNTISLAND
The drinking vessel possessing the most unbroken history is doubtless the chalice of the Christian Church.[4] Like other ceremonial objects it was no doubt differentiated from the drinking cups in ordinary use by a gradual transition, and in the early centuries it is unlikely that it differed either in form or material from the ordinary domestic vessel of the time. Figures of such vessels, apparently with a symbolic intention, are found upon early Christian tombstones, and it has been contended that the vessel indicated the grave of a priest. While this may be the case, the similarity of the vessel represented to the ordinary non-liturgical form renders the conclusion somewhat weak. Among objects found under conditions which lend colour to their specific use as chalices are the bottoms of glass vessels found inserted in plaster in the Catacombs at Rome; but here again the Jesuit Padre Garrucci was unable to find any evidence to support such a conclusion. It is not in fact until the 6th century that the sacred vessel would appear to have assumed a definite form. From about that time date the lost golden chalices of Monza, representations of which still exist in that city; and the famous chalice of Gourdon in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris is probably of about the same time. All of these are two-handled with a vase-shaped body and supported on a high foot; and thus quite unlike the more recent medieval types. Two glass vases of exactly this two-handled form are in the Slade collection at the British Museum, and may well have been chalices. Another chalice, in the same collection, of the 6th or 7th century, was found with a silver treasure at Lampsacus on the Hellespont. It is of silver, with a cylindrical body and small expanding foot; with it were found a number of silver spoons and dishes, the former inscribed with the names of Apostles, Greek hexameters and lines from Virgil's Eclogues. No doubt the whole was the treasure of a monastery, buried and never reclaimed. So far as evidence exists for the form of the chalice, the vase-shape with two handles seems to have been mainly succeeded by a goblet with straight sides and without handles; these latter in great part disappeared. Then came the rounded cup-shaped bowl as seen in the well-known Kremsmünster chalice. An interesting silver vessel, probably a chalice, found at Trewhiddle in Cornwall, is in the British Museum. It is of plain semi-oviform shape, and dates from the 9th century. The 13th century chalice was usually a broad somewhat shallow cup, on a conical base, and squat in its general lines as compared with those of later date. These gradually became taller, and with a bowl smaller in proportion, following the tendency of the civil vessels towards more elegant lines. Both civil and religious vessels eventually carried this tendency to an extreme point, so that in the 17th century the continental chalices and standing cups had lost all sense of true artistic proportions; the bowl of the chalice had greatly shrunk in size while the foot had become huge and highly elaborate, both in general form and in ornamental details. In Britain chalices ceased to be used in the English church in the reign of Edward VI., and were replaced by communion cups. These were much plainer in make, recalling in their outlines the goblet form of about a thousand years earlier, the sides of the bowl being concave, or nearly straight, as opposed to the convexity of the chalice, while the paten was reversed over the mouth and so arranged as to form a closely fitting cover. With the beginning of the 17th century English communion cups again followed the civil fashion in adapting the outline of the Venetian drinking glass, a shape which has survived to our own days. Entry: DRINKING
_Sculptures and other Objects of Art._--The sculptures hitherto found consist of reliefs on rocks and on _stelae_, either honorific or funerary; reliefs on blocks forming parts of wall-dados; and a few figures more or less in the round, though most of these (e.g. the sphinxes of Euyuk and the lions of Arslan Tash and Marash) are not completely disengaged from the block. The most considerable sculptured rock-panels are at Boghaz Keui (see Pteria); the others (Ivriz, Fraktin, Karabel, Giaur Kalessi, Doghanlüdere), it should be observed, all lie N. of Taurus--a fact of some bearing on the problem of the origin and local domicile of the art, since rock-reliefs, at any rate, cannot be otherwise than _in situ_. Sculptured _stelae_, honorific or funerary, all with pyramidal or slightly rounded upper ends, and showing a single regal or divine figure or two figures, have come to light at Bor, Marash, Sinjerli, Jerablus, Babylon, &c. These, like most of the rock-panels, are all marked as Hittite by accompanying pictographic inscriptions. The wall-blocks are seldom inscribed, the exceptions (e.g. the Arslan Tepe lion-hunt and certain blocks from Marash and Jerablus) being not more certainly wall-dados than _stelae_. The only fairly complete anthropoid statue known is the much-defaced "Niobe" at Suratlu Tash, engaged in the rock behind. The aniconic lower part of an inscribed statue wholly in the round was found at Palanga, and parts of others at Kirchoglu and Marash. Despite considerable differences in execution and details, all these sculptures show one general type of art, a type which recalls now Babylonian, now Assyrian, now Egyptian, now archaic Ionian, style, but is always individual and easily distinguishable from the actual products of those peoples. The figures, whether of men or beasts, are of a squat, heavy order, with internal features (e.g. bones, muscles, &c.) shown as if external, as in some Mesopotamian sculptures. The human type is always very brachycephalic, with brow receding sharply and long nose making almost one line with the sloping forehead. In the sculptures of the Commagene and the Tyana districts, the nose has a long curving tip, of very Jewish appearance, but not unlike the outline given to Kheta warriors in Egyptian scenes. The lips are full and the chin short and shaven. The whole physiognomy is fleshy and markedly distinct from that of other Syrians. At Boghaz Keui, Euyuk and Jerablus, the facial type is very markedly non-Semitic. But not much stress can be laid on these differences owing to (1) great variety of execution in different sculptures, which argues artists of very unequal capacity; (2) doubt whether individual portraits are intended in some cases and not in others. The hair of males is sometimes, but not always, worn in pigtail. The fashions of head-covering and clothes are very various, but several of them--e.g. the horned cap of the Ivriz god; the conical hat at Boghaz Keui, Fraktin, &c; the "jockey-cap" on the Tarkudimme boss; the broad-bordered over-robe, and the upturned shoes--are not found on other Asiatic monuments, except where Hittites are portrayed. Animals in profile are represented more naturalistically than human beings, e.g. at Yasili Kaya, and especially in some pictographic symbols in relief (e.g. at Hamah). This, however, is a feature common to Mesopotamian and Egyptian, and perhaps to all primitive art. Entry: F
_Setae_.--These chitinous, rod-like, rarely squat and then hook-like structures are found in the majority of the Chaetopoda, being absent only in certain Archiannelida, most leeches, and a very few Oligochaeta. They exist in the Brachiopoda (which are probably not unrelated to the Chaetopoda), but otherwise are absolutely distinctive of the Chaetopods. The setae are invariably formed each within an epidermic cell, and they are sheathed in involutions of the epidermis. Their shape and size varies greatly and is often of use in classification. The setae are organs of locomotion, though their large size and occasionally jagged edges in some of the Polychaeta suggest an aggressive function. They are disposed in two groups on either side, corresponding in the Polychaeta to the parapodia; the two bundles are commonly reduced among the earthworms to two pairs of setae or even to a single seta. On the other hand, in certain Polychaeta the bundles of setae are so extensive that they nearly form a complete circle surrounding the body; and in the Oligochaet genus _Perichaeta_ (= _Pheretima_), and some allies, there is actually a complete circle of setae in each segment broken only by minute gaps, one dorsal, the other ventral. Entry: E