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Acknowledgments
Because of their patience and advice, I would like to thank the following
people, for without them I could never have written this book:
My parents, for encouraging me to read large computer textbooks
that would one day inspire me to write my own books
My dad, for reviewing the first draft before I sent a proposal
My program coordinator, Raymond Chow, at Langara College, who
gave me the chance to teach evening courses and allowing me to find
new and creative ways to teach software
My various freelance clients who I have learned from and researched
more about forms and form layout through working on their projects
I would also like to thank Spandana Chatterjee and Mark Powers at
Apress for showing me how to lay out a professional textbook and
pointing out that even when you think you’ve written it all, there’s still
more to write. Also, thanks to the technical reviewer for providing
encouraging comments and to the rest of the Apress team for being
involved in the printing of this book and making my dream a reality
again. I am truly grateful and blessed.
Table of Contents
Part I: Basic Form Improvements
Chapter 1:A Fundamental Forms Primer
Forms Review
Fields Refresher
Properties Refresher
Text Box Field Properties and Date Field Properties Dialog
Boxes
Dropdown Properties Dialog Box
List Box Properties Dialog Box
Check Box Properties Dialog Box
Radio Button Properties Dialog Box
Button Properties and Image Properties Dialog Box
Digital Signature Properties Dialog Box
Barcode Properties Dialog Box
Tabs Refresher
Editing Your Form with the More Menu and Right Pane
Setting the Field Tab Order Using the Menu Options
Clearing a Form While Working
Summary
Chapter 2:Introduction to Actions
Getting Started
Rating Forms Value Averaging and Sum:Working with Text
Fields
The Validate Tab
The Calculate Tab for the Grand Total Using Sum
Sum and Averaging Using Check Boxes or Radio Buttons with
Text Fields
Using Radio Buttons on Page 3 of the Project
Using Check Boxes on Page 3 of the Project
Turning Check Boxes into Radio Buttons
Basic Action Button Triggers for Reset Buttons and Printing
Buttons
Reset Button
Print Form Button
Summary
Chapter 3:Creating a QR Code Custom Stamp
Customizing Your QR Code Stamp
QR Code Creation
Using the Stamp Tool
Final Thoughts:QR Code for Professional Printing
Summary
Chapter 4:Buttons, Navigation, Form, and Nonform Actions
Creating a Button Icon
Example of a Button as a Label Only
Example of a Button Combination of Icon Only
Nonform Properties Actions
Pages
Bookmarks
Web and Custom Hyperlinks
Rich Media Nonform Navigation Buttons
Layers Basic Actions
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
made it also agreeable to himself. Sir Digby felt that his graceful
niece was an ornament to his Castle, and would fain have ignored
altogether her connection with “a low man retired from business, who
had disfigured the neighbourhood by sticking up on the heath a
cockney villa, which only wanted a swinging sign to be mistaken for
a newly built public-house.”
“Having you safe here in ward in this our Castle, we shall certainly
not let our prisoner go, save on parole to return within two hours,”
said the baronet; “Edith, I commit the charge of our captive to you.”
“But what if I am a warder not to be trusted?” asked Edith, with a
smile; “what if I connive at the captive’s escape?”
“Seriously, Isa,” said Sir Digby, “you cannot think of going back so
soon to that—that damp and not very cheerful locality;” the baronet
did not know how to designate the dwelling itself by any term
combining courtesy with truth.
“Indeed, I must return to my brother,” said Isa.
“You will stay over Sunday, at least. I have an idea—I believe that
you like attending the service at Axe.”
How greatly Isa enjoyed the Sundays spent with the Lestranges
the baronet knew not. The devotional spirit which breathed through
the church service was refreshing and reviving to her soul. To Mr.
Eardley Isa looked up as the most faithful of pastors and the holiest
of men; she met him not unfrequently at the Castle, and the deeper
the knowledge that the young maiden gained of the sterling qualities
of his character, the more she wondered that her eyes had ever
been dazzled by unsubstantial tinsel, and the more grateful she felt
to God for having preserved her from the effects of her own folly. Isa
would probably have yielded to the temptation to “stay over Sunday,”
but for the reflections which the story of Gideon had suggested to
her mind. The grove, emblem of things in themselves lawful and
desirable, which become snares when they stand in the way of duty,
might not Isa find its counterpart in the pleasures of Castle
Lestrange? Isa thought of the throwing down of self-will, the sacrifice
of inclination, and so resisted the kind pressing of her uncle, and the
more powerful pleading of her own wishes.
Edith ordered the carriage on the following morning to take her
cousin to Wildwaste; she would herself accompany her thither. Isa
would have liked to have asked her young companion to stay and
spend the day at the Lodge, to brighten its dulness with her society;
but in Gaspar’s nervous and irritable state, Isa feared that a visitor
might annoy him, especially on a Saturday morning, which was
always given to accounts. Edith, with instinctive delicacy, removed
any difficulty on the part of her cousin, by saying that she would not
this time remain to pay her visit, but drive on beyond Wild waste to
return the call of some neighbouring family.
“While I am at Wildwaste, however, I should like just to look into
the little school,” said Edith, as she and her cousin were driving from
Castle Lestrange.
“I have been into it two or three times,” observed Isa,—“I mean
into the room in which Mrs. Collins teaches the girls; I have never yet
ventured amongst the boys—the young savages who look so ragged
and wild.”
“Oh! they are polished gentlemen compared to what they were
when Mr. Arthur first took them in hand; so Mrs. Holdich has told
me,” laughed Edith. “They were like a pack of wild dogs, delighting to
torment and worry every creature unfortunate enough to come within
their reach, from poor little unfledged sparrows to Mrs. Stone’s son,
whom they actually hunted into fits!”
“And Mr. Arthur found some one to bring them into a little better
order.”
“Nay, he set about taming them himself; he used to go every
morning to play schoolmaster; the ragged little urchins thought it a
grand thing to be taught by a gentleman like him. How good does
constantly come out of what we call evil!” cried Edith. “Papa did so
much dislike letting the dear old Castle to strangers; but if he had not
done so, Wildwaste would never have had the blessing of an Arthur
Madden.”
“He must have had a kind, generous spirit,” observed Isa rather
dreamily, for every reference to the Madden family sent her thoughts
back strangely to the past.
“A brave, noble spirit,” cried Edith; “for I have heard that he stood
so alone in his labours; instead of his family encouraging and helping
him, he was laughed at and opposed—at least by his elder brother
and sister. They would, I fancy, as soon have thought of going
steadily to work as ‘hands’ in that great soap-manufactory, amongst
all the smoke and horrible scent, as of teaching dirty, ragged little
‘roughs’ their A B C in a shed! I cannot imagine Cora Madden
touching one of the Wildwaste children with the point of her parasol;
and from what one hears of her brother Lionel—but I am getting into
evil-speaking,” said Edith interrupting herself. “There is the pretty
little school-house, which it must have been such a pleasure to
design and build. Papa says that when Arthur Madden returns to
England he will certainly ask him to pay a visit to the Castle, for such
public spirit ought to be countenanced. But I dare say that Mr.
Madden wants no praise—no honour from man—that he serves his
heavenly Master in the spirit expressed in my favourite verses;” and
in her soft, almost childish accents, Edith repeated Bonar’s beautiful
lines,—
Before Edith had concluded the verses, the carriage had stopped
at the entrance to the little school-house, on the side appropriated to
the girls.
“The hive seems to be empty,” observed Isa, as she alighted. “I
thought that work was always going on at this hour, but I hear no
hum of voices from within.”
A feeble wail was the only audible sound. After tapping gently at
the door, Isa entered, followed by her cousin, into the neat little
school-room, which usually presented a scene of cheerful industry.
Its only occupants were, however, the schoolmistress and the babe
which she rocked in her arms. The poor woman looked haggard and
pale from a sleepless night, her face bore the stamp of anxious care,
and vainly she attempted to soothe the little sufferer, that seemed
from its wasted appearance not to have many more days to live.
Mrs. Collins rose on the entrance of the ladies, still continuing to rock
her sick babe.
“Pray do not rise, Mrs. Collins; I fear that your dear child is very
poorly,” said Isa, looking with gentle sympathy on the suffering infant.
The schoolmistress sank down again on her seat, and drew a
heavy sigh as she answered, “The doctor thinks I shall lose her: I did
not close an eye all last night: I really could not hold the school this
morning: it is the first time that ever I sent the children away, but Mrs.
Bolder has taken charge of even my own little boys—I could not bear
the noise for poor baby.” Mrs. Collins spoke apologetically, as one
who fears that she is neglecting a duty. Isa’s expression of sympathy
encouraged her to proceed: “I am afraid that I shall have to tell the
girls not to come to-morrow: my husband cannot undertake them as
well as the boys, for neither of the rooms would hold all together.”
THE VISIT TO WILDWASTE SCHOOL.
Early on the Saturday afternoon Lottie Stone, with her little bundle in
her hand, tripped lightly over the common towards the cottage of
Holdich, which lay embosomed within the woods of Lestrange. She
was on her way to her parent’s home, and pleasure winged her
steps. There are few joys more keen and pure than those
experienced by a young girl, like Lottie, returning to the family whom
she loves, after her first absence. What though Mrs. Stone’s
dwelling-place was but a single room over a shop, with a tiny attic
chamber for her son; to Lottie there was still a charm in the word
“home,” for love and peace abode there. She clapped her hands for
joy as the open cart in which she was seated rattled down the
narrow paved street of Axe, and she caught sight of the ungainly
figure of her only brother standing before the shop. Out sprang Lottie
almost before the horse was pulled up, and in another minute she
was locked in the arms of her mother.
How much had Lottie to tell; how fast she talked, how merrily she
laughed, as she sat at her mother’s little deal table spread with
unusual dainties—buttered muffins, and toast, and water-cresses
from the stream. The washerwoman had “cleared up and made all
tidy” for the reception of her daughter; and her son had decked the
homely room with bunches of cowslips and daffodils. Deborah’s
care-worn brow seemed less deeply wrinkled, and her thin anxious
face often relaxed into a smile, as her merry child talked over her
first eventful month of service, playfully describing what at the time of
occurrence had seemed to her anything but sources of mirth,—her
own petty troubles and ignorant blunders. Lottie’s hearers drew from
her recital that Hannah was a somewhat formidable task-mistress,
that “Master” was not very easily pleased, that crockery at the Lodge
had a peculiar tendency to slip out of clumsy fingers, but that “Miss
Isa” was the kindest of mistresses, and that a smile from her seemed
to smooth every difficulty away.
“Bless your dear heart, how your poor father would have liked to
have heard you!” exclaimed Deborah Stone, as the merry girl at
length stopped to take breath.
For the loyal heart of the deserted wife remained true in its
allegiance. Perhaps memory had softened the past, perhaps it
overleaped the years of bitter suffering on the one side and tyranny
on the other, and Deborah only thought of her husband as what he
had been in the days of his wooing. However that might be, conjugal
affection remained firm and bright like its pledge, the circlet on the
wrinkled bony finger, the sole piece of gold which its owner
possessed, and which no strain of poverty would ever induce her to
part with. When Deborah knelt down in the evening to offer her
simple little prayer with her children, very fervent was her
supplication for one absent but never forgotten: where Abner was
she knew not, what Abner was she had proved by bitter experience,
but still, “true as the needle to the pole,” the hopes and affections of
the injured woman still pointed towards her lost husband.
Sunday was an especially happy day to Lottie, it was such a
pleasure to go to what she deemed her own church, hear her own
pastor, meet again with her own companions in the Sunday school
which she used to attend. She was only disappointed when the
baronet’s carriage drew up to the church-porch, not to see in it the
bright fair face of her dear young mistress.
“A letter for you, mother,” said Mrs. Stone’s son, as he entered on
the Monday morning the little room in which Lottie, humming a lively
air, was helping her parent to clear away the remains of their early
breakfast. As Mrs. Stone’s receiving a letter of any kind was a quite
unprecedented occurrence, Lottie turned with some curiosity to see
what the missive could contain. It had come by a cross-country post,
for her brother pointed to the stamp-mark upon it, “Southampton.”
“A letter for me?—why, who would write!” exclaimed Deborah,
gazing with a look rather of anxiety than of curiosity on the address,
“To D. Stone, Wildwast,” traced in a straggling, hardly legible hand,
with “Try Axe” written below by the postmaster, showing that her
correspondent could not be aware that—years ago—she had
changed her abode. It was no wonder that Deborah did not
recognize that rude handwriting, as she had seen it but once before,
when, in the parish register, she had scrawled her own signature
beneath that of her newly-wedded husband.
“O mother, do open it!” cried Lottie; “who knows whether it mayn’t
bring us news of poor father.”
It was the same thought that had made the hand of Deborah
tremble as she had taken the letter from her son. She tore open the
envelope, and with anxious eyes glanced at the signature at the end
of its enclosure.
“It is—yes—oh! the Lord is merciful!” exclaimed the poor wife, with
something like a sob. Long experience of hardship and sorrow had
so strengthened her nature to endure, that it was very seldom that
Deborah gave any expression to outward emotion; but no one could
have looked at her at that moment and not have read in every line of
her countenance that the depths of her soul were stirred, that the few
scarcely audible words which escaped her lips came from the inmost
recesses of a heart where sorrow had so long fixed its abode, that
when joy came it startled and overpowered, like the visit of an angel.
THE LETTER.
“Mother, read more; oh! read every word!” cried Lottie, whose only
emotions seemed those of hope and delight; while her brother
looked bewildered and scarcely able to comprehend that that piece
of paper, blotted and soiled, on which his mother’s tears were falling,
actually contained the writing of his father.
It was some little time before the trembling, excited woman could,
with the help of her children, make out the scrawl, which read as
follows:—
A very remarkable trial was now to test the faith of Gideon. We left
him in the proud position of the leader of an army of thirty-two
thousand men; and we can imagine how the heart of the patriot
would swell with thankfulness and joy, as the prospect of delivering
his country by their means brightened before him,—how he would
welcome the arrival of each brave band, and count up the increasing
number of his forces.
Further encouragement was given to Gideon by miraculous signs
vouchsafed to him by God in answer to prayer. “If Thou wilt save
Israel by my hand as Thou hast said, behold,” cried Gideon, “I will
put a fleece of wool in the floor; and if the dew be on the fleece only,
and it be dry upon all the earth beside, then shall I know that Thou
wilt save Israel by mine hand, as Thou hast said.”
Early on the morrow the chieftain arose, and sought the fleece
where he had laid it. He found it heavy with moisture, though the
ground lay dry around it; and Gideon wrung out from the dripping
wool a bowlful of water.
Yet Gideon ventured to beseech God to grant a reversal of this
miraculous sign, in further confirmation of his faith: “Let not Thine
anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove,
I pray Thee, but this once with the fleece. Let it now be dry only upon
the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.”
Even as Gideon had prayed, so was the sign vouchsafed; the soft
dew lay on the earth around, while the fleece remained dry.
It has been remarked that in the fleece of Gideon we may see not
only a sign, but also a type of Israel, the chosen people of God. The
living water of divine truth, the dew of a peculiar blessing, rested
upon the children of Abraham when the rest of the world was as a
dry and thirsty land. Now—alas for those who rejected, who still
reject their Messiah!—the sign is reversed. As a dry fleece the Jews
remain in the midst of Christian nations, a marvel to the world; the
dew which falls so richly around them rests not on them as a people.
Oh, may God hasten the time when the Jews also shall receive the
water of life; when they shall look on Him whom they pierced; and
when God shall make use of them as His chosen instruments for the
conversion of the heathen! Looking forward to that blessed time, St.
Paul—himself a Jew—exclaims, What shall the receiving of them be
but life from the dead? Let us pray then, my brethren, for the dew of
grace to fall upon the dry fleece, that Jerusalem, the city of the great
King, may once more become the joy of the earth.
Gideon, strengthened by signs from heaven, and surrounded by
the hosts of Israel, might now fearlessly and confidently await the
conflict with Midian; but he was not only to do God’s work, but to do
it in God’s appointed way. Not by might, nor by power, but by My
Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts. The Lord thus spake unto Gideon:
“The people that are with thee are too many for Me to give the
Midianites into their hands, lest Israel vaunt themselves against Me,
saying, Mine own hand hath saved me. Now, therefore, go to,
proclaim in the ears of the people, saying, Whosoever is fearful and
afraid, let him return and depart early from Mount Gilead.”
In making such proclamation, Gideon was obeying a command
given through Moses (Deut. xx. 8), though it is possible that he might
have omitted to do so without the special direction from above.
Startling was the effect of the proclamation, and it needed strong
faith in Gideon not to falter when the force of Israel began to melt
away like a snow-ball, till more than two-thirds of the whole number
had deserted the camp. Truly many had been called, but few were
chosen. Where were those who had so readily obeyed the call of the
trumpet, and quitted their homes for the field of war? Of how many
might it be said, Being harnessed and carrying bows, they turned
back in the day of battle. They were not to share the glory; they had
faltered in the moment of trial. Oh, brethren, may it never be so with
us! May the fear of man, which bringeth a snare, never make us
shrink back from the duty before us. What must have been the
shame of those who had come to the gathering of the hosts of Israel,
and who had then departed without striking one blow, when the
rocks and mountains rang with the shouts of their conquering
brethren, and the victory in which they might once have shared was
won without them! No man having put his hand to the plough (or, to
the sword), and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven.
The force under Gideon had now dwindled from thirty-two
thousand to ten thousand men. Human wisdom would have deemed
these all too few to oppose the multitudes of Midian encamped in the
valley before them; but not so judged the God of hosts. The Lord
said unto Gideon, “The people are yet too many; bring them down
unto the water, and I will try them for thee there: and it shall be, that
of whom I say unto thee, This shall go with thee, the same shall go
with thee; and of whomsoever I say unto thee, This shall not go with
thee, the same shall not go.”
Gideon, in obedience to the command, brought down his forces
unto the water, leaving the selection of the chosen band of heroes
unto Him who readeth the thoughts of the heart. Doubtless the
Israelites were thirsty from their long march in the heat of that sultry
clime; by far the greater number threw themselves on their knees by
the water, stooping down eagerly to drink; three hundred only lapped
from their hands the cooling draught. And the Lord said unto Gideon,
“By the three hundred men that lapped will I save you, and deliver
the Midianites into thine hand; and let all the other people go every
man unto his place.”