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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