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Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur


                                  Preface

                                                                'I did not,' said I.
                                                                "James! For heaven's sake! Must you be so crude?"
                                                                "And I've taken a chance and ordered you smoked salmon and Brizzola," said Leiter. "They've got some of the finest meat in America here, and Brizzola's the best cut of that. Beef, straight-cut across the bone. Roast and then broiled. Suit you?"
                                                                He fanned away the smoke of his pipe, that he might get a better view of me, and soon recognized me with great delight.
                                                                Contrary to what may have been supposed, my father was in no degree a party to setting up the Westminster Review. The need of a Radical organ to make head against the Edinburgh and Quarterly (then in the period of their greatest reputation and influence), had been a topic of conversation between him and Mr Bentham many years earlier, and it had been a part of their chateau en Espagne that my father should be the editor; but the idea had never assumed any practical shape. In 1823, however, Mr Bentham determined to establish the review at his own cost, and offered the editorship to my father, who declined it as incompatible with his india House appointment. It was then entrusted to Mr (now Sir John) Bowring, at that time a merchant in the City. Mr Bowring had been for two or three years previous an assiduous frequenter of Mr Bentham, to whom he was recommended by many personal good qualities, by an ardent admiration for Bentham, a zealous adoption of many, though not all, of his opinions, and, not least, by an extensive acquaintanceship and correspondence with Liberals of all countries, which seemed to qualify him for being a powerful agent in spreading Bentham's fame and doctrines through all quarters of the world. My father had seen little of Bowring, but knew enough of him to have formed a strong opinion, that he was a man of an entirely different type from what my father considered suitable for conducting a political and philosophical review: and he augured so ill of the enterprise that he regretted it altogether, feeling persuaded not only that Mr Bentham would lose his money, but that discredit would probably be brought upon radical principles. He could not, however, desert Mr Bentham, and he consented to write an article for the first number. As it had been a favourite portion of the scheme formerly talked of, that part of the work should be devoted to reviewing the other Reviews, this article of my father's was to be a general criticism of the Edinburgh Review from its commencement. Before writing it he made me read through all the volumes of the Review, or as much of each as seemed of any importance (which was not so arduous a task in 1823 as it would be now), and make notes for him of the articles which I thought he would wish to examine, either on account of their good or their bad qualities. This paper of my father's was the chief cause of the sensation which the Westminster Review produced at its first appearance, and is, both in conception and in execution, one of the most striking of all his writings. He began by an analysis of the tendencies of periodical literature in general; pointing out, that it cannot, like books, wait for success, but must succeed immediately, or not at all, and is hence almost certain to profess and inculcate the opinions already held by the public to which it addresses itself, instead of attempting to rectify or improve those opinions. He next, to characterize the position of the Edinburgh Review as a political organ, entered into a complete analysis, from the Radical point of view, of the British Constitution. He held up to notice its thoroughly aristocratic character: the nomination of a majority of the House of Commons by a few hundred families; the entire identification of the more independent portion, the county members, with the great landholders; the different classes whom this narrow oligarchy was induced, for convenience, to admit to a share of power; and finally, what he called its two props, the Church, and the legal profession. He pointed out the natural tendency of an aristocratic body of this composition, to group itself into two parties, one of them in possession of the executive, the other endeavouring to supplant the former and become the predominant section by the aid of public opinion, without any essential sacrifice of the aristocratic predominance. He described the course likely to be pursued, and the political ground occupied, by an aristocratic party in opposition, coquetting with popular principles for the sake of popular support. He showed how this idea was realized in the conduct of the Whig party, and of the Edinburgh Review as its chief literary organ. He described, as their main characteristic, what he termed " seesaw;" writing alternately on both sides of every question which touched the power or interest of the governing classes; sometimes in different articles, sometimes in different parts of the same article: and illustrated his position by copious specimens. So formidable an attack on the Whig party and policy had never before been made; nor had so great a blow been ever struck, in this country, for radicalism; nor was there, I believe, any living person capable of writing that article, except my father.2

                                                                 


                                                                "No. Neither of them."
                                                                I said gratefully, "Yes, please tell me. And I promise. Cross my heart."
                                                                Goldfinger pressed Bond's hand briefly and pushed it away from him. It was another mannerism of the millionaire subconsciously afraid of'the touch'. He looked hard at Bond. He said enigmatically, 'I shouldn't be at all surprised, Mr Bond.'
                                                                Mrs. Crupp shook her head in such a determined manner, that I had not an inch of vantage-ground left.

                                                                                              'Shades please, Goldfinger.' Bond's voice was furiously controlled.

                                                                                                                            'Yes. I named him after the only man I liked in Hollywood, an Englishman as it happens. He was called David Niven. He is a famous actor and producer. You have heard of him?'

                                                                                                                                                          "You complain that under the government of the United States your slaves have from time to time escaped across your borders and have not been returned to you. Their value as property has been lessened by the fact that adjoining your Slave States were certain States inhabited by people who did not believe in your institution. How is this condition going to be changed by war even under the assumption that the war may be successful in securing your independence? Your slave territory will still adjoin territory inhabited by free men who are inimical to your institution; but these men will no longer be bound by any of the restrictions which have obtained under the Constitution. They will not have to give consideration to the rights of slave-owners who are fellow-citizens. Your slaves will escape as before and you will have no measure of redress. Your indignation may produce further wars, but the wars can but have the same result until finally, after indefinite loss of life and of resources, the institution will have been hammered out of existence by the inevitable conditions of existing civilisation."

                                                                                                                                                                                        I had taken one day to do the first two hundred miles. I took nearly two weeks to cover the next two hundred and fifty. There was no mystery about it. Once over the American border, I began to wander around the Adirondacks as if I was on a late summer holiday. I won't go into details since this is not a travelogue, but there was hardly an old fort, museum, waterfall, cave, or high mountain I didn't visit-not to mention the dreadful "Storylands," "Adventure Towns," and mock "Indian Reservations" that got my dollar. I just went on a kind of sightseeing splurge that was part genuine curiosity but mostly wanting to put off the day when I would have to leave these lakes and rivers and forests and hurry on south to the harsh Eldollarado of the superhighways, the hot-dog stands, and the ribboning lights of neon.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Readers will no doubt think that this is official flummery; and so in fact it is. I do not at all imagine that I was an ornament to the Post Office, and have no doubt that the secretaries and assistant-secretaries very often would have been glad to be rid of me; but the letter may be taken as evidence that I did not allow my literary enterprises to interfere with my official work. A man who takes public money without earning it is to me so odious that I can find no pardon for him in my heart. I have known many such, and some who have craved the power to do so. Nothing would annoy me more than to think that I should even be supposed to have been among the number.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    The night before, Rick Fisher had brought the Tarahumara to a prerace spaghetti dinner at theLeadville VFW hall to see if he could recruit a few pacers. It wouldn’t be easy; pacing is sogrueling and thankless, usually only family, fools, and damn good friends let themselves get talkedinto it. The job means shivering in the middle of nowhere for hours until your runner shows up,then setting off at sunset for an all-night run through wind-whistling mountains. You’ll get bloodon your shins, vomit on your shoes, and not even a T-shirt for completing two marathons in asingle night. Other job requirements can include staying awake while your runner catches a nap inthe mud; popping a blood blister between her butt cheeks with your fingernails; and surrenderingyour jacket, even though your teeth are chattering, because her lips have gone blue.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  “You’ve got to get up!”