#hamilton wright mabie

[julesofnature]

“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.” ~ Hamilton Wright Mabie 

[numinously-yours]

[kamala-laxman]

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.” Hamilton Wright Mabie

[along-the-meadow-path]

In Arcady - Hamilton Wright Mabie, illustrated by Will Hicok Low

[bones-ivy-breath]

Hamilton Wright Mabie from the New York Public Library

[culturevulturette]

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

Hamilton Wright Mabie

[indeedgoodman]

[infinitedonut]

"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love." - Hamilton Wright Mabie

[radical-revolution]

"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of kindness.”

― Hamilton Wright Mabie

[tiffanysabrinatattoo]

A Book of Old English Ballads (1896) Hamilton Wright Mabie

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

WALWORTH STILSON

The Writers of Knickerbocker New York is an essay on the Knickerbocker Group of writers by American essayist Hamilton Wright Mabie (1846-1916). The Knickerbocker Group included such writers as Washington Irving, James Fenimore Cooper, William Cullen Bryan, James Kirke Paulding, Fitz-Greene Halleck, Joseph Rodman Drake, Robert Charles Sands, Gulian Crommelin Verplanck, and Nathaniel Parker Willis, all of whom are discussed in Mabie's essay, which was published in 1912 by The Grolier Club of New York in an edition of 303 copies.

For the publication, the Club commissioned American artist Walworth Stilson (1874-1962) to produce these eleven wood-engraved head and tail pieces for each of the book's chapters. Surprisingly little is known about Stilson and his career beyond his immediate family, his 2-year attendance at the Detroit School of Art, his work as an illustrator only up to 1912, a studio fire some time before 1925, and his death in 1962; a remarkable lack of information for a man who lived to be 88 years old. Still, we find these engravings to be quite charming.

Our copy, another gift from our friend Jerry Buff, who is also a Grolier Club member, bears bookplates from two other notable collectors:

The American adventurer and book collector Cortlandt F. Bishop (1870-1935);

and Harold Hugo (1910-1985), longtime administrator and president of the Meriden Gravure Company and a board member of the Stinehour Press since its founding in the 1950s. Hugo's bookplate is a wood engraving by noted South African-born British calligraphic wood engraver Leo Wyatt (1909-1991), who has signed the plate.

View more posts with books donated by Jerry Buff.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[poesia]

A mensagem do Natal: Não há maior poder do que o amor. Ele supera o ódio como a luz supera a escuridão.

Martin Luther King

Natal é o sinal de que Deus, em vez de nos olhar de cima para baixo, preferiu nos olhar nos olhos.

Lucas Lujan

Questiona-se se pode haver Natal quando de quase todos os lares foram arrebatados entes queridos, pais, filhos, em muitos casos paira a certeza, em todos, a ameaça de que jamais retornarão. O Natal, no entanto, é a comemoração do júbilo, e ainda que a casa não esteja alegre o bastante, ele não deixa de existir, pois procura então o mais recôndito recanto onde também o luto pode transformar-se em festa – o abrigo do coração.

Rainer Maria Rilke (escrevendo à sua mãe, durante a Primeira Guerra Mundial)

Natal não é uma estação. É um sentimento.

Edna Ferber

Bendita seja a data que une a todo mundo numa conspiração de amor.

Hamilton Wright Mabi

Natal é uma época não só de festas e alegria. É muito mais do que isso. É uma ocasião para refletirmos nas coisas eternas. O espírito do Natal é de doação e perdão.

J. C. Penney

*      *      *      *

Guerras, pandemia(s), crise climática: O mundo suspira, e tem feito suspirar já há tanto... As pessoas clamam por um alívio e mais, uma solução, uma explicação e sentido para o transcurso das coisas, um sentido ou porquê para seus dramas pessoais e os dramas da espécie.

Em meio a esse turbilhão de problemas e questionamentos, o Natal é um refrigério, um momento de reequilíbrio de forças e afetos, de re-união e alegria.

No entanto, o Natal tem tido seu sentido diluído pela liquidez consumista que, em sua sanha, têm regulado por baixo as sociedades, robotizando ações e corações. Mas o Natal é fundamentalmente a festa da esperança, e esperançar é resistir.

Aqui, coligidas dos mais diversos autores, reunimos (mais de 150) frases de luz, alegria e sabedoria sobre esta data que congrega a todos nós, em maior ou menor grau, na busca de um conforto, uma trégua de paz, memória e acolhimento.

Leia e compartilhe estas frases e este e-book, que é gratuito, com seus parentes, amigos e inimigos, se tiver algum. Sim, celebrar o Natal é celebrar a trégua e o perdão, a vida e o renovo.

PARA BAIXAR O SEU EXEMPLAR (FORMATO PDF) PELO GOOGLE DRIVE, CLIQUE AQUI.

[thebeautifulbook]

IN ARCADY by Hamilton Wright Mabie. (New York: Dodd Mead, 1903) Illustrated by Will H. Low. Decorated by C.L. Hinton who may have designed the cover.

source

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Bellerophon rides Pegasus to his task of slaying the Chimaera: ’Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!’, 1914, by Mary Hamilton Frye  (from the book ‘Myths Every Child Should Know’, 1914, Hamilton Wright Mabie (Editor)

* * * *

“If the gods do a shameful thing, they are not gods.” ― Euripides

+

BELLEROPHONTES (Bellerophon) was one of the most celebrated heroes of myth. He was a son of the god Poseidon and Eurynome, wife of King Glaukos (Glaucus) of Korinthos (Corinth). In his youth Bellerophontes captured the winged horse Pegasos as it came to drink from the town's fountain.

He was later exiled for the murder of a family member and journeyed to the court of King Proitos (Proetus) in Argos for purification. The queen, however, developed a lust for the hero and when he spurned her, she told her husband he had tried to violate her.

Proitos then sent him off to King Iobates in Lykia (Lycia) with a closed letter requesting the youth be put to death. Iobates was reluctant to do this himself and so commanded Bellerophontes to slay the fire-breathing Khimaira (Chimera) which was ravaging the land. He rode into battle against the beast on the back of Pegasos and slew it by driving a lead-tipped spear into its fiery gullet.

The king then ordered him to subdue the barbarous Solymoi tribe, and later the Amazones, but again he proved victorious. Finally, Iobates commanded his guards to ambush and kill the youth, but he slew them all. The king was forced to acknowledge that Bellerophontes must be the son of a god and welcomed him into his house as his son-in-law and heir.

Despite all of his successes, Bellerophontes was still not satisfied and sought to ascend to heaven on the back of Pegasos. Zeus was angered by his presumption and sent a gadfly to sting the horse, causing it to buck and cast the hero back down to earth. After this he wandered the world alone, despised by both gods and men.

The mythological etymology of Bellerophontes name was "Slayer of Belleros" from the Greek Belleros and phonos. However, it is likely that the name originally meant "Wielder of Missiles" from the Greek words belos and phoreô.

[julesofnature]

“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”

~ Hamilton Wright Mabie 

[foodandfolklore]

How Odin lost his eye

Art by Malevus

I found a book from 1906 that was a collection of already existing stories from other already published books. These stories were collected by Hamilton Wright Mabie in his book Myths Every Child should know. He wrote many books like this, for both adults and children. A collection of stories he felt everyone should be aware of. Pomes, Shakespeare, Fairytales, Culture; even Publishing a book about Japan in 1914, 2 years before his death.

I think he was fascinated by stories of old, as well as how it can shape cultures of today. While he didn't write these stories himself, he clearly wanted more people to know about these stories. So I thought I'd share one while I think many know, I still think it's important to share. This story can originally be found in In the days of Giants by Abbie Farwell Brown, 1902.

How Odin lost his eye

In the beginning of things, before there was any world or sun, moon, and stars, there were the giants; for these were the oldest creatures that ever breathed. They lived in Jotunheim, the land of frost and darkness, and their hearts were evil. Next came the gods, the good Æsir, who made earth and sky and sea, and who dwelt in Asgard, above the heavens. Then were created the queer little dwarfs, who lived underground in the caverns of the mountains, working at their mines of metal and precious stones. Last of all, the gods made men to dwell in Midgard, the good world that we know, between which and the glorious home of the Æsir stretched Bifröst, the bridge of rainbows.

In those days, folk say, there was a mighty ash tree named Yggdrasil, so vast that its branches shaded the whole earth and stretched up into heaven where the Æsir dwelt, while its roots sank far down below the lowest depth. In the branches of the big ash tree lived a queer family of creatures. First, there was a great eagle, who was wiser than any bird that ever lived—except the two ravens, Thought and Memory, who sat upon Father Odin's shoulders and told him the secrets which they learned in their flight over the wide world. Near the great eagle perched a hawk, and four antlered deer browsed among the buds of Yggdrasil. At the foot of the tree coiled a huge serpent, who was always gnawing hungrily at its roots, with a whole colony of little snakes to keep him company—so many that they could never be counted. The eagle at the top of the tree and the serpent at its foot were enemies, always saying hard things of each other. Between the two skipped up and down a little squirrel, a tale bearer and a gossip, who repeated each unkind remark and, like the malicious neighbour that he was, kept their quarrel ever fresh and green.

In one place at the roots of Yggdrasil was a fair fountain called the Urdar-well, where the three Norn maidens, who knew the past, present, and future, dwelt with their pets, the two white swans. This was magic water in the fountain, which the Norns sprinkled every day upon the giant tree to keep it green—water so sacred that everything which entered it became white as the film of an eggshell. Close beside this sacred well the Æsir had their council hall, to which they galloped every morning over the rainbow bridge.

But Father Odin, the king of all the Æsir, knew of another fountain more wonderful still; the two ravens whom he sent forth to bring him news had told him. This also was below the roots of Yggdrasil, in the spot where the sky and ocean met. Here for centuries and centuries the giant Mimer had sat keeping guard over his hidden well, in the bottom of which lay such a treasure of wisdom as was to be found nowhere else in the world. Every morning Mimer dipped his glittering horn Giöll into the fountain and drew out a draught of the wondrous water, which he drank to make him wise. Every day he grew wiser and wiser; and as this had been going on ever since the beginning of things, you can scarcely imagine how wise Mimer was.

Now it did not seem right to Father Odin that a giant should have all this wisdom to himself; for the giants were the enemies of the Æsir, and the wisdom which they had been hoarding for ages before the gods were made was generally used for evil purposes. Moreover, Odin longed and longed to become the wisest being in the world. So he resolved to win a draught from Mimer's well, if in any way that could be done.

One night, when the sun had set behind the mountains of Midgard, Odin put on his broad-brimmed hat and his striped cloak, and taking his famous staff in his hand, trudged down the long bridge to where it ended by Mimer's secret grotto.

"Good-day, Mimer," said Odin, entering; "I have come for a drink from your well."

The giant was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, his long white beard falling over his folded arms, and his head nodding; for Mimer was very old, and he often fell asleep while watching over his precious spring. He woke with a frown at Odin's words. "You want a drink from my well, do you?" he growled. "Hey! I let no one drink from my well."

"Nevertheless, you must let me have a draught from your glittering horn," insisted Odin, "and I will pay you for it."

"Oho, you will pay me for it, will you?" echoed Mimer, eyeing his visitor keenly. For now that he was wide awake, his wisdom taught him that this was no ordinary stranger. "What will you pay for a drink from my well, and why do you wish it so much?"

"I can see with my eyes all that goes on in heaven and upon earth," said Odin, "but I cannot see into the depths of ocean. I lack the hidden wisdom of the deep—the wit that lies at the bottom of your fountain. My ravens tell me many secrets; but I would know all. And as for payment, ask what you will, and I will pledge anything in return for the draught of wisdom."

Then Mimer's keen glance grew keener. "You are Odin, of the race of gods," he cried. "We giants are centuries older than you, and our wisdom which we have treasured during these ages, when we were the only creatures in all space, is a precious thing. If I grant you a draught from my well, you will become as one of us, a wise and dangerous enemy. It is a goodly price, Odin, which I shall demand for a boon so great."

Now Odin was growing impatient for the sparkling water. "Ask your price," he frowned. "I have promised that I will pay."

"What say you, then, to leaving one of those far-seeing eyes of yours at the bottom of my well?" asked Mimer, hoping that he would refuse the bargain. "This is the only payment I will take."

Odin hesitated. It was indeed a heavy price, and one that he could ill afford, for he was proud of his noble beauty. But he glanced at the magic fountain bubbling mysteriously in the shadow, and he knew that he must have the draught.

"Give me the glittering horn," he answered. "I pledge you my eye for a draught to the brim."

Very unwillingly Mimer filled the horn from the fountain of wisdom and handed it to Odin. "Drink, then," he said; "drink and grow wise. This hour is the beginning of trouble between your race and mine." And wise Mimer foretold the truth.

Odin thought merely of the wisdom which was to be his. He seized the horn eagerly, and emptied it without delay. From that moment he became wiser than anyone else in the world except Mimer himself.

Now he had the price to pay, which was not so pleasant. When he went away from the grotto, he left at the bottom of the dark pool one of his fiery eyes, which twinkled and winked up through the magic depths like the reflection of a star. This is how Odin lost his eye, and why from that day he was careful to pull his gray hat low over his face when he wanted to pass unnoticed. For by this oddity folk could easily recognise the wise lord of Asgard.

In the bright morning, when the sun rose over the mountains of Midgard, old Mimer drank from his bubbly well a draught of the wise water that flowed over Odin's pledge. Doing so, from his underground grotto he saw all that befell in heaven and on earth. So that he also was wiser by the bargain. Mimer seemed to have secured rather the best of it; for he lost nothing that he could not spare, while Odin lost what no man can well part with—one of the good windows wherethrough his heart looks out upon the world. But there was a sequel to these doings which made the balance swing down in Odin's favour.

Not long after this, the Æsir quarrelled with the Vanir, wild enemies of theirs, and there was a terrible battle. But in the end the two sides made peace; and to prove that they meant never to quarrel again, they exchanged hostages. The Vanir gave to the Æsir old Niörd the rich, the lord of the sea and the ocean wind, with his two children, Frey and Freia. This was indeed a gracious gift; for Freia was the most beautiful maid in the world, and her twin brother was almost as fair. To the Vanir in return Father Odin gave his own brother Hœnir. And with Hœnir he sent Mimer the wise, whom he took from his lonely well.

Now the Vanir made Hœnir their chief, thinking that he must be very wise because he was the brother of great Odin, who had lately become famous for his wisdom. They did not know the secret of Mimer's well, how the hoary old giant was far more wise than anyone who had not quaffed of the magic water. It is true that in the assemblies of the Vanir Hœnir gave excellent counsel. But this was because Mimer whispered in Hœnir's ear all the wisdom that he uttered. Witless Hœnir was quite helpless without his aid, and did not know what to do or say. Whenever Mimer was absent he would look nervous and frightened, and if folk questioned him he always answered:

"Yes, ah yes! Now go and consult someone else."

Of course the Vanir soon grew very angry at such silly answers from their chief, and presently they began to suspect the truth. "Odin has deceived us," they said. "He has sent us his foolish brother with a witch to tell him what to say. Ha! We will show him that we understand the trick." So they cut off poor old Mimer's head and sent it to Odin as a present.

The tales do not say what Odin thought of the gift. Perhaps he was glad that now there was no one in the whole world who could be called so wise as himself. Perhaps he was sorry for the danger into which he had thrust a poor old giant who had never done him any wrong, except to be a giant of the race which the Æsir hated. Perhaps he was a little ashamed of the trick which he had played the Vanir. Odin's new wisdom showed him how to prepare Mimer's head with herbs and charms, so that it stood up by itself quite naturally and seemed not dead. Thenceforth Odin kept it near him, and learned from it many useful secrets which it had not forgotten.

So in the end Odin fared better than the unhappy Mimer, whose worst fault was that he knew more than most folk. That is a dangerous fault, as others have found; though it is not one for which many of us need fear being punished.