I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.

18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise.

19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days, another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, and then said:—

"The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June 29."

I know now the span of my life. God help me!

Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean.

A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth.

Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way.

When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight yearsstudied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a largenumber merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of hisart than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigationwhich did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases,however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which wasassociated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. It is possible that Imight have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time,from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady towhom the pledge was given.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing,fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on themantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in somesurprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

‘Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,' said he, 'but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudsonhas been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.'

‘What is it, then — a fire?'

‘No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, whoinsists upon seeing me. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of themorning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something verypressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would,I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and giveyou the chance?'

'My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.

'I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and inadmiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basiswith which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on myclothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. Alady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight yearsstudied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a largenumber merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of hisart than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigationwhich did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases,however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which wasassociated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. It is possible that Imight have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time,from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady towhom the pledge was given.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing,fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on themantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in somesurprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

‘Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,' said he, 'but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudsonhas been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.'

‘What is it, then — a fire?'

‘No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, whoinsists upon seeing me. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of themorning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something verypressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would,I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and giveyou the chance?'

'My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.

'I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and inadmiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basiswith which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on myclothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. Alady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight yearsstudied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a largenumber merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of hisart than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigationwhich did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases,however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which wasassociated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. It is possible that Imight have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time,from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady towhom the pledge was given.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing,fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on themantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in somesurprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

‘Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,' said he, 'but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudsonhas been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.'

‘What is it, then — a fire?'

‘No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, whoinsists upon seeing me. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of themorning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something verypressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would,I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and giveyou the chance?'

'My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.

'I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and inadmiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basiswith which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on myclothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. Alady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.

I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.

18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise.

19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days, another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, and then said:—

"The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June 29."

I know now the span of my life. God help me!

Largely preserved under the ash, Pompeii offers a unique snapshot of Roman life as well as insight into ancient urban planning. It was a wealthy town of 10,000 to 20,000 residents at the time it was destroyed. It hosted many fine public buildings and luxurious private houses with lavish decorations, furnishings and artworks, which were the main attractions for early excavators; subsequent excavations have found hundreds of private homes and businesses reflecting various architectural styles and social classes, as well as numerous public buildings.

Little Bat lived on a farm. During the day he slept high up in the barn. At night he woke up and looked for bugs to eat. Little Bat was friends with the lambs, the piglets, the calf, and the kittens. But Little Bat did not like the spider. The spider was not good to eat. The spider was not friendly. And Little Bat did not like to get sticky web on his wings. So Little Bat and the spider left each other alone!

This a test passage.

Magellan’s Voyage: The First Circumnavigation of the Globe

In the 16th century, an age of great marine and terrestrial exploration, Ferdinand Magellan led the first expedition to sail around the world. As a young Portuguese noble, he served the king of Portugal, but he became involved in the quagmire of political intrigue at court and lost the king’s favor. After he was dismissed from service by the king of Portugal, he offered to serve the future Emperor Charles V of Spain.

A papal decree of 1493 had assigned all land in the New World west of 50 degrees W longitude to Spain and all the land east of that line to Portugal. Magellan offered to prove that the East Indies fell under Spanish authority. On September 20, 1519, Magellan set sail from Spain with five ships. More than a year later, one of these ships was exploring the topography of South America in search of a water route across the continent. This ship sank, but the remaining four ships searched along the southern peninsula of South America. Finally they found the passage they sought near 50 degrees S latitude. Magellan named this passage the Strait of All Saints, but today it is known as the Strait of Magellan.

One ship deserted while in this passage and returned to Spain, so fewer sailors were privileged to gaze at that first panorama of the Pacific Ocean. Those who remained crossed the meridian now known as the International Date Line in the early spring of 1521 after 98 days on the Pacific Ocean. During those long days at sea, many of Magellan’s men died of starvation and disease.

Later, Magellan became involved in an insular conflict in the Philippines and was killed in a tribal battle. Only one ship and 17 sailors under the command of the Basque navigator Elcano survived to complete the westward journey to Spain and thus prove once and for all that the world is round, with no precipice at the edge.