Goal: We want to create a graphics window using Zelle library to analyze the number of occurrences of each character from files. Files are provided for testing the program To-do 1: - Create a 400 x 250 graphics window with an Entry box for user to enter the filename and two buttons: STATS and EXIT - The window should look something like this STATS EXIT - In the middle, it will show the statistics that will be mentioned in to-do 4 To-do 2: - Open the text file, read the contents of the text file into a new String, close the text file. - Create a Set containing all the unique characters in the String read from the text file To-do 3: - Create a dictionary using the entries in the Set as keys and the number of occurrences for each entry in the Strings as values - For example: A 25 B 12 C 1 ? 3 \ 4 …… To-do 4: - Calculate the top and bottom 3 most common characters - The entry box is for the user to enter the filename - When user clicks on the STATS button, the filename from the Entry box is opened and read and then display the top and bottom 3 most common characters in the graphics window in the middle - The top and bottom 3 most common characters are displayed only if filename is valid - User can enter new filenames and analyze additional files without ending the program - When clicks on the EXIT button, it closes the Graphics window and ends the programs Chapter I. In which a house is built at Pooh Corner for Eeyore ONE day when Pooh Bear had nothing else to do, he thought he would do something, so he went round to Piglet's house to see what Piglet was doing. It was still snowing as he stumped over the white forest track, and he expected to find Piglet warming his toes in front of his fire, but to his surprise he saw that the door was open, and the more he looked inside the more Piglet wasn't there. "He's out," said Pooh sadly. "That's what it is. He's not in. I shall have to go a fast Thinking Walk by myself. Bother!" But first he thought that he would knock very loudly just to make quite sure . . . and while he waited for Piglet not to answer, he jumped up and down to keep warm, and a hum came suddenly into his head, which seemed to him a Good Hum, such as is Hummed Hopefully to Others. The The And How How The more it snows (Tiddely pom), more it goes (Tiddely pom), more it goes (Tiddely pom) On snowing. nobody knows (Tiddely pom), cold my toes (Tiddely pom), cold my toes (Tiddely pom), Are growing. "So what I'll do," said Pooh, "is I'll do this. I'll just go home first and see what the time is, and perhaps I'll put a muffler round my neck, and then I'll go and see Eeyore and sing it to him." He hurried back to his own house; and his mind was so busy on the way with the hum that he was getting ready for Eeyore that, when he suddenly saw Piglet sitting in his best arm-chair, he could only stand there rubbing his head and wondering whose house he was in. "Hallo, Piglet," he said. "I thought you were out." "No," said Piglet, "it's you who were out, Pooh." "So it was," said Pooh. "I knew one of us was." He looked up at his clock, which had stopped at five minutes to eleven some weeks ago. "Nearly eleven o'clock," said Pooh happily. "You're just in time for a little smackerel of something," and he put his head into the cupboard. "And then we'll go out, Piglet, and sing my song to Eeyore." "Which song, Pooh?" "The one we're going to sing to Eeyore," explained Pooh. The clock was still saying five minutes to eleven when Pooh and Piglet set out on their way half an hour later. The wind had dropped, and the snow, tired of rushing round in circles trying to catch itself up, now fluttered gently down until it found a place on which to rest, and sometimes the place was Pooh's nose and sometimes it wasn't, and in a little while Piglet was wearing a white muffler round his neck and feeling more snowy behind the ears than he had ever felt before. "Pooh," he said at last, and a little timidly, because he didn't want Pooh to think he was Giving In, "I was just wondering. How would it be if we went home now and practised your song, and then sang it to Eeyore to-morrow--or--or the next day, when we happen to see him?" "That's a very good idea, Piglet," said Pooh. "We'll practise it now as we go along. But it's no good going home to practise it, because it's a special Outdoor Song which Has To Be Sung In The Snow." "Are you sure?" asked Piglet anxiously. "Well, you'll see, Piglet, when you listen. Because this is how it begins. The more it snows, tiddely pom----" "Tiddely what?" said Piglet. "Pom," said Pooh. "I put that in to make it more hummy. The more it goes, tiddely pom, the more----" "Didn't you say snows?" "Yes, but that was before." "Before the tiddely pom?" "It was a different tiddely pom," said Pooh, feeling rather muddled now. "I'll sing it to you properly and then you'll see." So he sang it again. The more it SNOWS-tiddely-pom, The more it GOES-tiddely-pom The more it GOES-tiddely-pom On Snowing And nobody KNOWS-tiddely-pom, How cold my TOES-tiddely-pom How cold my TOES-tiddely-pom Are Growing. He sang it like that, which is much the best way of singing it, and when he had finished, he waited for Piglet to say that, of all the Outdoor Hums for Snowy Weather he had ever heard, this was the best. And, after thinking the matter out carefully, Piglet said: "Pooh," he said solemnly, "it isn't the toes so much as the ears." By this time they were getting near Eeyore's Gloomy Place, which was where he lived, and as it was still very snowy behind Piglet's ears, and he was getting tired of it, they turned into a little pine wood, and sat down on the gate which led into it. They were out of the snow now, but it was very cold, and to keep themselves warm they sang Pooh's song right through six times, Piglet doing the tiddely-poms and Pooh doing the rest of it, and both of them thumping on the top of the gate with pieces of stick at the proper places. And in a little while they felt much warmer, and were able to talk again. "I've been thinking," said Pooh, "and what I've been thinking is this. I've been thinking about Eeyore." "What about Eeyore?" "Well, poor Eeyore has nowhere to live." "Nor he has," said Piglet. "You have a house, Piglet, and I have a house, and they are very good houses. And Christopher Robin has a house, and Owl and Kanga and Rabbit have houses, and even Rabbit's friends and relations have houses or somethings, but poor Eeyore has nothing. So what I've been thinking is: Let's build him a house." "That," said Piglet, "is a Grand Idea. Where shall we build it?" "We will build it here," said Pooh, "just by this wood, out of the wind, because this is where I thought of it. And we will call this Pooh Corner. And we will build an Eeyore House with sticks at Pooh Corner for Eeyore." "There was a heap of sticks on the other side of the wood," said Piglet. "I saw them. Lots and lots. All piled up." "Thank you, Piglet," said Pooh. "What you have just said will be a Great Help to us, and because of it I could call this place Poohanpiglet Corner if Pooh Corner didn't sound better, which it does, being smaller and more like a corner. Come along." So they got down off the gate and went round to the other side of the wood to fetch the sticks. Christopher Robin had spent the morning indoors going to Africa and back, and he had just got off the boat and was wondering what it was like outside, when who should come knocking at the door but Eeyore. "Hallo, Eeyore," said Christopher Robin, as he opened the door and came out. "How are you?" "It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "So it is." "And freezing." "Is it?" "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately." "What's the matter, Eeyore?" "Nothing, Christopher Robin. Nothing important. I suppose you haven't seen a house or what-not anywhere about?" "What sort of a house?" "Just a house." "Who lives there?" "I do. At least I thought I did. But I suppose I don't. After all, we can't all have houses." "But, Eeyore, I didn't know--I always thought----" "I don't know how it is, Christopher Robin, but what with all this snow and one thing and another, not to mention icicles and such-like, it isn't so Hot in my field about three o'clock in the morning as some people think it is. It isn't Close, if you know what I mean--not so as to be uncomfortable. It isn't Stuffy. In fact, Christopher Robin," he went on in a loud whisper, "quite-between-ourselves-and- don't-tell-anybody, it's Cold." "Oh, Eeyore!" "And I said to myself: The others will be sorry if I'm getting myself all cold. They haven't got Brains, any of them, only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake, and they don't Think, but if it goes on snowing for another six weeks or so, one of them will begin to say to himself: 'Eeyore can't be so very much too Hot about three o'clock in the morning.' And then it will Get About. And they'll be Sorry." "Oh, Eeyore!" said Christopher Robin, feeling very sorry already. "I don't mean you, Christopher Robin. You're different. So what it all comes to is that I built myself a house down by my little wood." "Did you really? How exciting!" "The really exciting part," said Eeyore in his most melancholy voice, "is that when I left it this morning it was there, and when I came back it wasn't. Not at all, very natural, and it was only Eeyore's house. But still I just wondered." Christopher Robin didn't stop to wonder. He was already back in his house, putting on his waterproof hat, his waterproof boots and his waterproof macintosh as fast as he could. "We'll go and look for it at once," he called out to Eeyore. "Sometimes," said Eeyore, "when people have quite finished taking a person's house, there are one or two bits which they don't want and are rather glad for the person to take back, if you know what I mean. So I thought if we just went " "Come on," said Christopher Robin, and off they hurried, and in a very little time they got to the corner of the field by the side of the pine-wood, where Eeyore's house wasn't any longer. "There!" said Eeyore. "Not a stick of it left! Of course, I've still got all this snow to do what I like with. One mustn't complain." But Christopher Robin wasn't listening to Eeyore, he was listening to something else. "Can't you hear it?" he asked. "What is it? Somebody laughing?" "Listen." They both listened . . . and they heard a deep gruff voice saying in a singing voice that the more it snowed the more it went on snowing, and a small high voice tiddely-pomming in between. "It's Pooh," said Christopher Robin excitedly.... "Possibly," said Eeyore. "And Piglet!" said Christopher Robin excitedly. "Probably," said Eeyore. "What we want is a Trained Bloodhound." The words of the song changed suddenly. "We've finished our HOUSE!" sang the gruff voice. "Tiddely pom!" sang the squeaky one. "It's a beautiful HOUSE . . ." "Tiddely pom . . ." "I wish it were MINE . . ," "Tiddely pom . . ." "Pooh!" shouted Christopher Robin. . . . The singers on the gate stopped suddenly. "It's Christopher Robin!" said Pooh eagerly. "He's round by the place where we got all those sticks from," said Piglet. "Come on," said Pooh. They climbed down their gate and hurried round the corner of the wood, Pooh making welcoming noises all the way. "Why, here is Eeyore," said Pooh, when he had finished hugging Christopher Robin, and he nudged Piglet, and Piglet nudged him, and they thought to themselves what a lovely surprise they had got ready. "Hallo, Eeyore." "Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays," said Eeyore gloomily. Before Pooh could say: "Why Thursdays?" Christopher Robin began to explain the sad story of Eeyore's Lost House. And Pooh and Piglet listened, and their eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger. "Where did you say it was?" asked Pooh. "Just here," said Eeyore. "Made of sticks?" "Yes." "Oh!" said Piglet. "What?" said Eeyore. "I just said 'Oh!'" said Piglet nervously. And so as to seem quite at ease he hummed Tiddely-pom once or twice in a what-shall-we-do-now kind of way. "You're sure it was a house?" said Pooh. "I mean, you're sure the house was just here?" "Of course I am," said Eeyore. And he murmured to himself, "No brain at all, some of them." "Why, what's the matter, Pooh?" asked Christopher Robin. "Well," said Pooh . . . "The fact is," said Pooh . . . "Well, the fact is," said Pooh . . . "You see," said Pooh . . . "It's like this," said Pooh, and something seemed to tell him that he wasn't explaining very well, and he nudged Piglet again. "It's like this," said Piglet quickly.... "Only warmer," he added after deep thought. "What's warmer?" "The other side of the wood, where Eeyore's house is." "My house?" said Eeyore. "My house was here." "No," said Piglet firmly. "The other side of the wood." "Because of being warmer," said Pooh. "But I ought to know?" "Come and look," said Piglet simply, and he led the way. "There wouldn't be two houses," said Pooh. "Not so close together." They came round the corner, and there was Eeyore's house, looking as comfy as anything. "There you are," said Piglet. "Inside as well as outside," said Pooh proudly. Eeyore went inside . . . and came out again. "It's a remarkable thing," he said. "It is my house, and I built it where I said I did, so the wind must have blown it here. And the wind blew it right over the wood, and blew it down here, and here it is as good as ever. In fact, better in places." "Much better," said Pooh and Piglet together. "It just shows what can be done by taking a little trouble," said Eeyore. "Do you see, Pooh ? Do you see, Piglet? Brains first and then Hard Work. Look at it! That's the way to build a house," said Eeyore proudly. So they left him in it; and Christopher Robin went back to lunch with his friends Pooh and Piglet, and on the way they told him of the Awful Mistake they had made. And when he had finished laughing, they all sang the Outdoor Song for Snowy Weather the rest of the way home, Piglet, who was still not quite sure of his voice, putting in the tiddely-poms again. "And I know it seems easy," said Piglet to himself, "but it isn't every one who could do it." Chapter II. In which Tigger comes to the forest and has breakfast WINNIE-THE-POOH woke up suddenly in the middle of the night and listened. Then he got out of bed, and lit his candle, and stumped across the room to see if anybody was trying to get into his honey-cupboard, and they weren't, so he stumped back again, blew out his candle, and got into bed. Then he heard the noise again. "Is that you, Piglet?" he said. But it wasn't. "Come in, Christopher Robin," he said. But Christopher Robin didn't. "Tell me about it to-morrow, Eeyore," said Pooh sleepily. But the noise went on. "Worraworraworraworraworra," said Whatever-it-was, and Pooh found that he wasn't asleep after all. "What can it be?" he thought. "There are lots of noises in the Forest, but this is a different one. It isn't a growl, and it isn't a purr, and it isn't a bark, and it isn't the noise-you-make-before- beginning-a-piece-of-poetry, but it's a noise of some kind, made by a strange animal. And he's making it outside my door. So I shall get up and ask him not to do it." He got out of bed and opened his front door. "Hallo!" said Pooh, in case there was anything outside. "Hallo!" said Whatever-it-was. "Oh!" said Pooh. "Hallo!" "Hallo!" "Oh, there you are!" said Pooh. "Hallo!" "Hallo!" said the Strange Animal, wondering how long this was going on. Pooh was just going to say "Hallo!" for the fourth time when he thought that he wouldn't, so he said, "Who is it?" instead. "Me," said a voice. "Oh!" said Pooh. "Well, come here." So Whatever-it-was came here, and in the light of the candle he and Pooh looked at each other. "I'm Pooh," said Pooh. "I'm Tigger," said Tigger. "Oh!" said Pooh, for he had never seen an animal like this before. "Does Christopher Robin know about you?" "Of course he does," said Tigger. "Well," said Pooh, "it's the middle of the night, which is a good time for going to sleep. And to-morrow morning we'll have some honey for breakfast. Do Tiggers like honey?" "They like everything," said Tigger cheerfully. "Then if they like going to sleep on the floor, I'll go back to bed," said Pooh, "and we'll do things in the morning. Good night." And he got back into bed and went fast asleep. When he awoke in the morning, the first thing he saw was Tigger, sitting in front of the glass and looking at himself. "Hallo!" said Pooh. "Hallo!" said Tigger. "I've found somebody just like me. I thought I was the only one of them." Pooh got out of bed, and began to explain what a looking-glass was, but just as he was getting to the interesting part, Tigger said: "Excuse me a moment, but there's something climbing up your table," and with one loud Worraworraworraworraworra he jumped at the end of the tablecloth, pulled it to the ground, wrapped himself up in it three times, rolled to the other end of the room, and, after a terrible struggle, got his head into the daylight again, and said cheerfully. "Have I won?" "That's my tablecloth," said Pooh, as he began to unwind Tigger. "I wondered what it was," said Tigger. "It goes on the table and you put things on it." "Then why did it try to bite me when I wasn't looking?" "I don't think it did," said Pooh. "It tried," said Tigger, "but I was too quick for it." Pooh put the cloth back on the table, and he put a large honey-pot on the cloth, and they sat down to breakfast. And as soon as they sat down, Tigger took a large mouthful of honey . . . and he looked up at the ceiling with his head on one side, and made exploring noises with his tongue, and considering noises, and what-have-we-got-here noises . . . and then he said in a very decided voice: "Tiggers don't like honey." "Oh!" said Pooh, and tried to make it sound Sad and Regretful. "I thought they liked everything." "Everything except honey," said Tigger. Pooh felt rather pleased about this, and said that, as soon as he had finished his own breakfast, he would take Tigger round to Piglet's house, and Tigger could try some of Piglet's haycorns. "Thank you, Pooh," said Tigger, " because haycorns is really what Tiggers like best." So after breakfast they went round to see Piglet, and Pooh explained as they went that Piglet was a Very Small Animal who didn't like bouncing, and asked Tigger not to be too Bouncy just at first. And Tigger, who had been hiding behind trees and jumping out on Pooh's shadow when it wasn't looking, said that Tiggers were only bouncy before breakfast, and that as soon as they had had a few haycorns they became Quiet and Refined. So by-and-by they knocked at the door of Piglet's house. "Hallo, Pooh," said Piglet. "Hallo, Piglet. This is Tigger." "Oh, is it?" said Piglet, and he edged round to the other side of the table. "I thought Tiggers were smaller than that." "Not the big ones," said Tigger. "They like haycorns," said Pooh, "so that's what we've come for, because poor Tigger hasn't had any breakfast yet." Piglet pushed the bowl of haycorns towards Tigger, and said, "Help yourself," and then he got close up to Pooh and felt much braver, and said, "So you're Tigger? Well, well!" in a careless sort of voice. But Tigger said nothing because his mouth was full of haycorns.... After a long munching noise he said: "Ee-ers o i a-ors." And when Pooh and Piglet said "What?" he said "Skoos ee," and went outside for a moment. When he came back he said firmly: "Tiggers don't like haycorns." "But you said they liked everything except honey," said Pooh. "Everything except honey and haycorns," explained Tigger. When he heard this, Pooh said, "Oh, I see!" and Piglet, who was rather glad that Tiggers didn't like haycorns, said, "What about thistles?" "Thistles," said Tigger, "is what Tiggers like best." "Then lets go along and see Eeyore," said Piglet So the three of them went; and after they had walked and walked and walked, they came to the part of the Forest where Eeyore was. "Hallo, Eeyore!" said Pooh. "This is Tigger." "What is?" said Eeyore. "This," explained Pooh and Piglet together, and Tigger smiled his happiest smile and said nothing. Eeyore walked all round Tigger one way, and then turned and walked all round him the other way. "What did you say it was?" he asked. "Tigger." "Ah!" said Eeyore. "He's just come," explained Piglet. "Ah!" said Eeyore again. He thought for a long time and then said: "When is he going?" Pooh explained to Eeyore that Tigger was a great friend of Christopher Robin's, who had come to stay in the Forest, and Piglet explained to Tigger that he mustn't mind what Eeyore said because he was always gloomy; and Eeyore explained to Piglet that, on the contrary, he was feeling particularly cheerful this morning; and Tigger explained to anybody who was listening that he hadn't had any breakfast yet. I knew there was something," said Pooh. "Tiggers always eat thistles, so that was why we came to see you, Eeyore." "Don't mention it, Pooh." "Oh, Eeyore, I didn't mean that I didn't want to see you--" "Quite--quite. But your new stripy friend-- naturally, he wants his breakfast. What did you say his name was?" "Tigger." "Then come this way, Tigger." Eeyore led the way to the most thistly-looking patch of thistles that ever was, and waved a hoof at it. "A little patch I was keeping for my birthday," he said; " but, after all, what are birthdays? Here to-day and gone to-morrow. Help yourself, Tigger." Tigger thanked him and looked a little anxiously at Pooh. "Are these really thistles?" he whispered. "Yes," said Pooh. "What Tiggers like best?" "That's right," said Pooh. "I see," said Tigger. So he took a large mouthful, and he gave a large crunch. "Ow!" said Tigger. He sat down and put his paw in his mouth. "What's the matter?" asked Pooh. "Hot!" mumbled Tigger. "Your friend," said Eeyore, "appears to have bitten on a bee." Pooh's friend stopped shaking his head to get the prickles out, and explained that Tiggers didn't like thistles. "Then why bend a perfectly good one?" asked Eeyore. "But you said," began Pooh, "--you said that Tiggers liked everything except honey and haycorns." "And thistles," said Tigger, who was now running round in circles with his tongue hanging out. Pooh looked at him sadly. "What are we going to do?" he asked Piglet. Piglet knew the answer to that, and he said at once that they must go and see Christopher Robin "You'll find him with Kanga," said Eeyore. He came close to Pooh, and said in a loud whisper: "Could you ask your friend to do his exercises somewhere else? I shall be having lunch directly, and don't want it bounced on just before I begin. A trifling matter, and fussy of me, but we all have our little ways." Pooh nodded solemnly and called to Tigger. "Come along and we'll go and see Kanga. She's sure to have lots of breakfast for you." Tigger finished his last circle and came up to Pooh and Piglet. "Hot!" he explained with a large and friendly smile. "Come on!" and he rushed off. Pooh and Piglet walked slowly after him. And as they walked Piglet said nothing, because he couldn't think of anything, and Pooh said nothing, because he was thinking of a poem. And when he had thought of it he began: What shall we do about poor little Tigger? If he never eats nothing he'll never get bigger. He doesn't like honey and haycorns and thistles Because of the taste and because of the bristles. And all the good things which an animal likes Have the wrong sort of swallow or too many spikes. "He's quite big enough anyhow," said Piglet. "He isn't really very big." "Well he seems so." Pooh was thoughtful when he heard this, and then he murmured to himself: But whatever his weight in pounds, shillings, and ounces, He always seems bigger because of his bounces. "And that's the whole poem," he said. "Do you like Piglet?" it, "All except the shillings," said Piglet. "I don't think they ought to be there." "They wanted to come in after the pounds," explained Pooh, " so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come." "Oh, I didn't know," said Piglet. Tigger had been bouncing in front of them all this time, turning round every now and then to ask, "Is this the way?"--and now at last they came in sight of Kanga's house, and there was Christopher Robin. Tigger rushed up to him. "Oh, there you are, Tigger!" said Christopher Robin. "I knew you'd be somewhere." "I've been finding things in the Forest," said Tigger importantly. "I've found a pooh and a piglet and an eeyore, but I can't find any breakfast." Pooh and Piglet came up and hugged Christopher Robin, and explained what had been happening. "Don't you know what Tiggers like?" asked Pooh. "I expect if I thought very hard I should," said Christopher Robin, "but I thought Tigger knew." "I do," said Tigger. "Everything there is in the world except honey and haycorns and--what were those hot things called?" "Thistles." Yes, and those." "Oh, well then, Kanga can give you some breakfast." So they went into Kanga's house, and when Roo had said, "Hallo, Pooh," and "Hallo, Piglet" once, and "Hallo, Tigger" twice, because he had never said it before and it sounded funny, they told Kanga what they wanted, and Kanga said very kindly, "Well, look in my cupboard, Tigger dear, and see what you'd like." Because she knew at once that, however big Tigger seemed to be, he wanted as much kindness as Roo. "Shall I look, too?" said Pooh, who was beginning to feel a little eleven o'clockish. And he found a small tin of condensed milk, and something seemed to tell him that Tiggers didn't like this, so he took it into a corner by itself, and went with it to see that nobody interrupted it. But the more Tigger put his nose into this and his paw into that, the more things he found which Tiggers didn't like. And when he had found everything in the cupboard, and couldn't eat any of it, he said to Kanga, "What happens now?" But Kanga and Christopher Robin and Piglet were all standing round Roo, watching him have his Extract of Malt. And Roo was saying, "Must I?" and Kanga was saying "Now, Roo dear, you remember what you promised." "What is it?" whispered Tigger to Piglet. "His Strengthening Medicine," said Piglet. "He hates it." So Tigger came closer, and he leant over the back of Roo's chair, and suddenly he put out his tongue, and took one large golollop, and, with a sudden jump of surprise, Kanga said, "Oh!" and then clutched at the spoon again just as it was disappearing, and pulled it safely back out of Tigger's mouth. But the Extract of Malt had gone. "Tigger dear!" said Kanga. "He's taken my medicine, he's taken my medicine, he's taken my medicine!" sang Roo happily, thinking it was a tremendous joke. Then Tigger looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes, and his tongue went round and round his chops, in case he had left any outside, and a peaceful smile came over his face as he said, "So that's what Tiggers like!" Which explains why he always lived at Kanga's house afterwards, and had Extract of Malt for breakfast, dinner, and tea. And sometimes, when Kanga thought he wanted strengthening, he had a spoonful or two of Roosbreakfast after meals as medicine. "But I think," said Piglet to Pooh, "that he's been strengthened quite enough." NO man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope that it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if entertaining, as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely, and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty of Heaven which I revere above all earthly kings. Mr. President it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth - and listen to the song of the siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with these warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motives for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer on the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned - we have remonstrated - we have supplicated - we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free - if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending - if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained - we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak - unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of Hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of the means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged, their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable - and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace - but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death! I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself in exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check; a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our chlidren are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, that one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exhalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that; let freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
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