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>> CODE POWER: A TEEN PROGRAMMER’S GUIDE
Titles In This Series
the Raspberry Pi
GETTING TO KNOW
GETTING TO KNOW
Python
GETTING TO KNOW Scratch
PAYMENT
ROSEN
Published in 2015 by The Rosen Publishing Group, Inc.
29 East 21st Street, New York, NY 10010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.
18 25
chapter 4 chapter 5
A New Language How Does
Is Hatched Python Stack Up?
34 45
GLOSSARY 53
BIBLIOGRAPHY 60
INDEX 62
3
{INTROD
C omputer programs run cell phones, televisions,
cars, traffic signals, elevators, and kitchen appliances. And,
of course, they run computers. There are hundreds of thou-
sands of computer programs in use around the world and
many thousands of programmers writing them. Many of these
programmers use Python to write their programs. Python is
a simple programming language with many uses. Most pro-
grammers find it easy to learn and easy to use. This book
provides an overview of the many advantages of the Python
programming language.
Before deciding on a computer programming language to
learn, it might be logical to ask, “Why learn to write computer
programs?” One reason is that it can be a lot of fun. Programming
does take some practice. However, it is not just professional
computer programmers who write programs. Even beginners
can make a computer do something cool using just a few lines
of simple code. Once a programmer learns some general rules
and builds up some experience, programming becomes easier.
Then the fun can really begin. For example, even beginning
4
UCTION
INTRODUCTION
5
>> Getting to Know Python
6
INTRODUCTION
7
chapter First Things First:
1 Computers and
Programming
8
First Things First: Computers and Programming
9
>> Getting to Know Python
> > It’s not just computers that use binary code:
Braille and Morse code also use a binary (on/off)
system to convey information.
10
First Things First: Computers and Programming
> > This UNIVAC 11 computer from 1962 was the first
commercial computer made in the United States. In
the background are rolls of magnetic tape on which
data was stored.
11
>> Getting to Know Python
This line of code tells the computer to print the words “Hello,
World!” on the screen.
The commands are strung together into a group. As a group,
these instructions are called a program. A single program, or a group
of programs working together, is also known as software. The com-
puter carries out each individual command in the program. Then it
moves on to the next instruction in the program. For example, a pro-
gram to make a computer do some simple math would look like this:
The computer will print the words and numbers that are in
between the quotation marks, perform the calculation, and then
12
First Things First: Computers and Programming
move on to the next line and do the same steps in that line.
When the program runs, the screen would look like this:
10 + 8 is 18
5 * 5 is 25
13
>> Getting to Know Python
14
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Old lamps for
new
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.
Author: E. V. Lucas
Language: English
E. V. LUCAS
AUTHOR OF “OVER BEMERTON’S”
“MR. INGLESIDE,” ETC.
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1911
Copyright, 1911,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1911.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The School for Sympathy 1
On the Track of Vermeer 7
The Fool’s Paradise 45
Consolers of Genius 50
An American Hero 60
Mr. Hastings 66
Thoughts on Tan 73
On Leaving one’s Beat 77
The Deer Park 82
The Rarities 87
The Owl 94
The Unusual Morning 100
The Embarrassed Eliminators 105
A Friend of the Town 115
Gypsy 120
A Sale 125
A Georgian Town 141
Mus Penfold—and Billy 147
Theologians at the Mitre 158
The Windmill 178
A Glimpse of Civilization 183
Her Royal ’Tumnal Tintiness 188
Five Characters—
I. The Kind Red Lioness 195
II. A Darling of the Gods 198
III. The Nut 201
IV. The Master of the New Suburb 202
V. The Second Fiddle 207
Without Souls—
I. The Builders 212
II. Bush’s Grievance 216
III. A London Landmark 218
The Interviewer’s Bag—
I. The Autographer 221
II. The Equalizer 223
III. A Hardy Annual 224
IV. Another of Our Conquerors 226
V. A Case for Loyola 230
The Letter N—A Tragedy in High Life 233
The New Chauffeur 240
The Fir-tree: Revised Version 243
The Life Spherical 250
Four Fables—
I. The Stopped Clock 254
II. Truth and Another 255
III. The Exemplar 255
IV. The Good Man and Cupid 256
OLD LAMPS FOR NEW
The School for Sympathy
I HAD heard a great deal about Miss Beam’s school, but not till last
week did the chance come to visit it.
The cabman drew up at a gate in an old wall, about a mile out of
the town. I noticed as I was waiting for him to give me change that the
Cathedral spire was visible down the road. I rang the bell, the gate
automatically opened, and I found myself in a pleasant garden facing a
square red ample Georgian house, with the thick white window-frames
that to my eyes always suggest warmth and welcome and stability.
There was no one in sight but a girl of about twelve, with her eyes
covered with a bandage, who was being led carefully between the
flower-beds by a little boy of some four years her junior. She stopped,
and evidently asked who it was that had come in, and he seemed to be
describing me to her. Then they passed on, and I entered the door
which a smiling parlour-maid—that pretty sight!—was holding open for
me.
Miss Beam was all that I had expected—middle-aged,
authoritative, kindly, and understanding. Her hair was beginning to turn
grey, and her figure had a fulness likely to be comforting to a homesick
child.
We talked idly for a little while, and then I asked her some
questions as to her scholastic methods, which I had heard were
simple.
“Well,” she said, “we don’t as a matter of fact do much teaching
here. The children that come to me—small girls and smaller boys—
have very few formal lessons: no more than is needful to get
application into them, and those only of the simplest—spelling, adding,
subtracting, multiplying, writing. The rest is done by reading to them
and by illustrated discourses, during which they have to sit still and
keep their hands quiet. Practically there are no other lessons at all.”
“But I have heard so much,” I said, “about the originality of your
system.”
Miss Beam smiled. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I am coming to that. The
real aim of this school is not so much to instil thought as
thoughtfulness—humanity, citizenship. That is the ideal I have always
had, and happily there are parents good enough to trust me to try and
put it into execution. Look out of the window a minute, will you?”
I went to the window, which commanded a large garden and
playground at the back.
“What do you see?” Miss Beam asked.
“I see some very beautiful grounds,” I said, “and a lot of jolly
children; but what perplexes me, and pains me too, is to notice that
they are not all as healthy and active as I should wish. As I came in I
saw one poor little thing being led about owing to some trouble with her
eyes, and now I can see two more in the same plight; while there is a
girl with a crutch just under the window watching the others at play.
She seems to be a hopeless cripple.”
Miss Beam laughed. “Oh, no,” she said; “she’s not lame, really; this
is only her lame day. Nor are those others blind; it is only their blind
day.” I must have looked very much astonished, for she laughed again.
“There you have an essential part of our system in a nutshell. In order
to get a real appreciation and understanding of misfortune into these
young minds we make them participants in misfortune too. In the
course of the term every child has one blind day, one lame day, one
deaf day, one maimed day, one dumb day. During the blind day their
eyes are bandaged absolutely, and it is a point of honour not to peep.
The bandage is put on overnight; they wake blind. This means that
they need assistance in everything, and other children are told off to
help them and lead them about. It is educative to both of them—the
blind and the helpers.
“There is no privation about it,” Miss Beam continued. “Every one
is very kind and it is really something of a joke, although, of course,
before the day is over the reality of the affliction must be apparent even
to the least thoughtful. The blind day is, of course, really the worst,”
she went on, “but some of the children tell me that the dumb day is the
most dreaded. There, of course, the child must exercise will-power
only, for the mouth is not bandaged.... But come down into the garden
and see for yourself how the children like it.”
Miss Beam led me to one of the bandaged girls, a little merry thing,
whose eyes under the folds were, I felt sure, as black as ash-buds.
“Here’s a gentleman come to talk to you,” said Miss Beam, and left us.
“Don’t you ever peep?” I asked, by way of an opening.
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed; “that would be cheating. But I’d no idea it
was so awful to be blind. You can’t see a thing. One feels one is going
to be hit by something every moment. Sitting down’s such a relief.”
“Are your guides kind to you?” I asked.
“Pretty good. Not so careful as I shall be when it’s my turn. Those
that have been blind already are the best. It’s perfectly ghastly not to
see. I wish you’d try!”
“Shall I lead you anywhere?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said; “let’s go for a little walk. Only you must tell me
about things. I shall be so glad when to-day’s over. The other bad days
can’t be half as bad as this. Having a leg tied up and hopping about on
a crutch is almost fun, I guess. Having an arm tied up is a little more
troublesome, because you have to get your food cut up for you, and so
on; but it doesn’t really matter. And as for being deaf for a day, I shan’t
mind that—at least, not much. But being blind is so frightening. My
head aches all the time, just from dodging things that probably aren’t
there. Where are we now?”
“In the playground,” I said, “going towards the house. Miss Beam is
walking up and down the terrace with a tall girl.”
“What has the girl got on?” my companion asked.
“A blue serge skirt and pink blouse.”
“I think it’s Millie,” she said. “What colour hair?”
“Very light,” I said.
“Yes, that’s Millie. She’s the head girl. She’s awfully decent.”
“There’s an old man tying up roses,” I said.
“Yes, that’s Peter. He’s the gardener. He’s hundreds of years old!”
“And here comes a dark girl in red, on crutches.”
“Yes,” she said; “that’s Beryl.”
And so we walked on, and in steering this little thing about I
discovered that I was ten times more thoughtful already than I had any
notion of, and also that the necessity of describing the surroundings to
another makes them more interesting.
When Miss Beam came to release me, I was quite sorry to go, and
said so.
“Ah!” she replied; “then there is something in my system after all!”
I walked back to the town murmuring (inaccurately as ever) the
lines:—
NOT long ago the papers contained a little paragraph stating that Herr
Bredius, the curator of the Mauritshuis Gallery at the Hague, had just
returned from a journey of exploration in Russia, bringing back with
him over a hundred valuable pictures of the Dutch School which he
had discovered there, in country and city mansions and even in
farmhouses; for the Russian collectors of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, as is well known, greatly esteemed and desired
(as who must not?) Dutch art. That was all that the paragraph said,
and since that was all we may feel quite sure that among those
hundred and more pictures there was nothing from the divinely gifted
hand of Jan Vermeer of Delft; because the discovery of a new picture
by Jan Vermeer of Delft is something not merely for mention in a
paragraph but among the special news—something with which to
agitate the cables of the world.
Can you conceive of a more delightful existence than that of Herr
Bredius—to be when at home the conservator of such masterpieces as
hang in the Mauritshuis on the banks of the Vyver, in the beautiful and
bland Dutch capital (some of which are his own property, and only lent
to the gallery), and when in mind to travel, to leave the Hague with a
roving commission to hunt and acquire new treasures? I can’t. And that
is why, when I am asked who I would choose to be were I not myself, I
do not say the King, or Mr. Pierpont Morgan, but Herr Bredius of the
Mauritshuis.
And yet if I had Mr. Pierpont Morgan’s wealth, I would.... But let us
consider first the life and works of Jan Vermeer of Delft.
Jan Vermeer, or Van der Meer, was born in Delft and baptized
there on 31 October, 1632. His father was Reymer Janszoon Vermeer,
and his mother Dingnums Balthasars. In 1653 he married, also in Delft,
Catherina Bolnes or Bolenes. How many children they had I do not
know, but eight survived him. It is generally believed that Karel
Fabritius, himself a pupil of Rembrandt and a painter of extraordinary
distinction, was Vermeer’s instructor; but the period of tuition must
have been very short, for Fabritius became a member of the Delft
Guild in 1652, before which he might not teach, and he was dead in
1654, killed by a powder explosion. A poem on the death of this great
painter by a Delft writer has a stanza to the effect that from the ashes
of that Phœnix rises Vermeer. There is very little of the work of
Fabritius to be seen; but his exquisite “Siskin,” a small picture of the
little musical shy bird, painted with the breadth that is commonly kept
for auguster subjects, hangs next Vermeer’s “Head of a Young Girl”
(my frontispiece) at the Hague, and would alone prove Fabritius to
have possessed not only strength but sweetness.
Dr. Hofstede de Groot, the author of a magnificent monograph on
Vermeer and Fabritius, published in 1907 and 1908, conjectures
Vermeer to have had an Italian master as well as a Dutch, and it is
easy to believe. I had, indeed, with none of Dr. de Groot’s knowledge,
come to a similar conclusion; and in the huddle of pictures in one of the
rooms of the Academy at Vienna I even found a copy of an Italian
picture—a Correggio, I think—which Vermeer’s hand might easily have
made, so luminous and liquid is it. That he visited Italy is more than
unlikely—practically impossible; but to gain that something Italianate
which his works occasionally discover there was no necessity for him
to have done so, for Italian painters settled in Holland in some
numbers. The “Diana and her Nymphs” at the Hague, and the “Christ
in the House of Martha and Mary” (which I have seen only in
reproduction) in Scotland, have each Italian characteristics; but I must
add that in Vermeer’s authorship of these pictures Dr. de Groot does
not absolutely believe.
The facts about Vermeer are singularly few, considering the high
opinion in which he was held by contemporaries. Almost the only
intimate thing told of him is the story of his unpaid bread bill, as
recounted by De Monconys, the French traveller. De Monconys visited
him in 1663 and wanted to buy a picture, but none could be found in
the artist’s house. Vermeer’s baker consented, however, to sell one
which was hanging on his wall and for which he had allowed 300
florins. After Vermeer’s death, it is told, the baker’s debt of 3176 florins
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