Spirit's

They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

Ms. Trosper says Spirit's operators are extending its instrument arm to brush the Martian dust from Adirondack, get close-up images with its microscope camera, and determine the rock's mineral content with an infrared sensor. She notes that they will use an abrasion tool Tuesday to scratch below its surface before moving on to its next target.

I count not riches as doth the common sort, / nor do I prize the English tongue above all. / For though the isle of Albion vaunt her speech, / and Nippon dreameth of wedlock with the West, / I hold my treasure in a wider store. / The songs of Spain, of France, of Portugal, / of Catalan, Italia, Chabacano, / with Esperanto and Lojban twain, / do weave a garland fair of southern fire. / Yet turn I also eastward, where the dawn / in Orient tongues doth clothe the soul with light— / Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Thai, / and Vietnam's sweet flowing words of jade. / But richest still the tongues that earth forgot, / the songs of elder tribes, Aboriginal, / Amerindian, whose breath is spirit's root, / more precious far than gold of any crown. / Thus is my wealth not coin nor empty fame, / but in the rainbow'd speech of humankind, / where East and West together find their peace, / and every voice is kin unto mine own.

I count not riches as doth the common sort, / nor do I prize the English tongue above all. / For though the isle of Albion vaunt her speech, / and Nippon dreameth of wedlock with the West, / I hold my treasure in a wider store. / The songs of Spain, of France, of Portugal, / of Catalan, Italia, Chabacano, / with Esperanto and Lojban twain, / do weave a garland fair of southern fire. / Yet turn I also eastward, where the dawn / in Orient tongues doth clothe the soul with light— / Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Cantonese, Thai, / and Vietnam's sweet flowing words of jade. / But richest still the tongues that earth forgot, / the songs of elder tribes, Aboriginal, / Amerindian, whose breath is spirit's root, / more precious far than gold of any crown. / Thus is my wealth not coin nor empty fame, / but in the rainbow'd speech of humankind, / where East and West together find their peace, / and every voice is kin unto mine own.