#petticoat grove

[officialempressofhell]

We should make a tiktok trend out of the Hooterville Hop

[hashtagmagazine]

10 Fascinating Destinations to Explore in Miami

Miami: A Tapestry of Culture, Adventure, and Unforgettable Experiences

Miami, the Magic City, is a kaleidoscope of experiences waiting to be discovered.  From its iconic beaches to its pulsating nightlife, Miami offers a diverse range of attractions that cater to all kinds of travelers. But beyond the well-trodden paths of South Beach and Little Havana, there are hidden gems that even seasoned explorers might not have encountered.  In this guide, we delve into 10 fascinating destinations that will make your Miami trip truly unforgettable.

The Enchanting Vizcaya Museum and Gardens

Nestled in the heart of Coconut Grove, the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens is a portal to another era.  Built in the early 20th century, this lavish estate offers a glimpse into the opulence of days gone by. The Italian Renaissance gardens, the historic village outbuildings, and the stunning main house filled with European antiques and decorative works are a feast for the eyes.  A visit here is like stepping into a European palace, right in the middle of Miami.

Wynwood Walls: A Canvas of Urban Artistry

If you’re an aficionado of street art, Wynwood Walls is a must-visit.  This unique outdoor museum showcases large-scale works by some of the world’s best-known street artists. The vivid murals and intricate graffiti offer a stark contrast to Miami’s pastel Art Deco architecture.  Wynwood Walls is more than just a tourist attraction; it’s a testament to the transformative power of art.

The Underwater Wonders of Biscayne National Park

For those who prefer the allure of the ocean, Biscayne National Park offers an underwater paradise.  Comprising coral reefs, barrier islands, and lush mangrove forests, this national park is a haven for snorkelers and divers.  The Maritime Heritage Trail even offers an underwater tour of shipwrecks, providing a unique blend of natural beauty and historical intrigue.

Coral Castle: Miami’s Mysterious Marvel

Built single-handedly by Edward Leedskalnin over 28 years, Coral Castle remains one of Miami’s most enigmatic attractions.  Comprising numerous stone sculptures, including a 9-ton gate that moves with the touch of a finger, this site has puzzled scientists and visitors alike. Was it built using unknown techniques, or is it a testament to one man’s unrequited love?  The mystery adds to its allure.

The Cuban Heartbeat: Calle Ocho in Little Havana

No visit to Miami would be complete without experiencing its Cuban influence, and there’s no better place to do that than Calle Ocho in Little Havana.  From the vibrant street art to the aroma of Cuban coffee wafting through the air, Calle Ocho is a sensory overload.  Don’t forget to try a classic Mojito or indulge in some authentic Cuban cuisine.

The Serene Beauty of Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden

For those looking to escape the hustle and bustle of Miami’s more touristy spots, Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden offers a tranquil retreat.  Spanning 83 acres, this garden is a living museum of tropical plants, including rare species like the petticoat palm and the African sausage tree. The garden also features art installations and sculptures, blending natural beauty with human creativity.  Whether you’re a botany enthusiast or simply looking for a peaceful getaway, Fairchild is a must-visit.

The Thrills of Jungle Island

If you’re traveling with family, Jungle Island offers an adventure-packed day. This eco-adventure park features a range of attractions from zip lines to escape rooms. But what sets it apart is its focus on interactive animal experiences.  You can get up close and personal with lemurs, sloths, and even kangaroos. It’s an educational yet thrilling experience that both kids and adults will enjoy.

The Historic Charm of the Venetian Pool

Located in Coral Gables, the Venetian Pool is far from your average public swimming pool.  Built in 1924 from a coral rock quarry, this pool is a beautiful blend of history and leisure. With its grottos, waterfalls, and loggias, the Venetian Pool offers a unique swimming experience.  It’s like taking a dip in a luxurious Italian estate, making it a perfect spot for those looking for something different.

The Pulse of Miami at Brickell City Centre

For the shopaholics and foodies, Brickell City Centre is a modern-day mecca. This sprawling complex features a range of high-end shops, dining options, and even a movie theater.  But it’s not just about consumerism; the Centre is an architectural marvel with its climate ribbon, an elevated trellis that acts as an environmental management system.  It’s a place where you can shop, dine, and marvel at human ingenuity all in one go.

The Timeless Allure of the Miami Design District

If you have an eye for design, the Miami Design District will feel like home. This neighborhood is a hub for interior design, fashion, and art.  With its focus on creative and high-end boutiques, it’s a far cry from the mass-produced items you’ll find in regular malls.  The district also hosts regular events like gallery walks, making it a dynamic and ever-changing experience.

The Eclectic Vibes of Coconut Grove

Coconut Grove is one of Miami’s oldest neighborhoods, and it’s a place where bohemian vibes meet upscale living.  The area is a blend of open-air cafes, art galleries, and boutiques, all set against the backdrop of Biscayne Bay.  Whether you’re interested in sailing, historical landmarks like the Barnacle Historic State Park, or simply people-watching, Coconut Grove has something for everyone.

The Hidden Gem of Matheson Hammock Park

For those looking to experience Miami’s natural beauty without the crowds, Matheson Hammock Park is a hidden gem.  This park offers a range of activities from kayaking to kiteboarding. Its unique feature is a man-made atoll pool, which is flushed naturally with the tidal action of nearby Biscayne Bay.  It’s a perfect spot for a family picnic or a romantic sunset.

The Cultural Melting Pot of Pérez Art Museum Miami (PAMM)

Art enthusiasts shouldn’t miss the Pérez Art Museum Miami.  This modern and contemporary art museum focuses on 20th and 21st-century art from the Atlantic Rim — the Americas, Western Europe, and Africa.  With its hanging gardens and views of Biscayne Bay, the museum itself is a work of art.

The Adrenaline Rush of Skydiving Over Miami

For the adrenaline junkies, skydiving over Miami offers a unique perspective of the city.  Imagine free-falling from 13,000 feet with views of the Miami skyline, the Everglades, and the Atlantic Ocean. It’s an experience that will make your Miami trip unforgettable.

The Spiritual Oasis of the Ancient Spanish Monastery

Last but not least, the Ancient Spanish Monastery offers a spiritual retreat right in the heart of Miami.  Originally built in the 12th century in Segovia, Spain, the monastery was dismantled and shipped to Miami in the 20th century. Today, it stands as a testament to medieval architecture and offers a peaceful sanctuary for reflection.

Miami Beyond the Obvious

Miami is a city that never ceases to surprise.  While it’s renowned for its beaches and nightlife, the Magic City offers a plethora of experiences that go beyond the obvious.  From the serenity of Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden to the adrenaline rush of skydiving, Miami caters to a wide range of interests and passions.  Whether you’re a history buff, an art lover, or an adventure seeker, Miami has something to offer that will not only meet but exceed your expectations. So, the next time you find yourself planning a trip to this vibrant city, remember that Miami is more than just South Beach and Art Deco buildings. It’s a city that invites you to explore, discover, and most importantly, feel alive.  Don’t just visit Miami; experience it in all its multifaceted glory. Read the full article

[mumms-the-word]

Tagged by @elspethdekarios for this prompt. I'm tagging whoever wants to do it next! Free tag!

Post 5 songs associated with your OC and 4 outfits they would wear or that matches their style.

Gonna go with Dani for this one!

I have such a niche interest in music, but below are 5 songs that I think Dani would actually play/sing as a bard in the Baldur's Gate universe (with some lyrics changed to match Faerûn obviously)

The Ramblin' Rover - Siobhan Miller (a variation of this would be the opening song for the Merry Rovers' usual set)

This Wandering Day - Bear McCreary/Megan Richards (I know this is a hobbit song but I can just see Dani teaching the tiefling children this before they leave the Grove)

I'd a Pluck a Fair Rose - Anne Dudley/Eleanor Tomlinson (I already wrote a fic of Dani singing this to Gale lol)

Hazel Eyes - Sabrina Johnson (just seems like a Dani vibe, also she would change the lyrics slightly to match "amber eyes" and sing it to Gale)

Téir Abhaile Riu - Celtic Woman (I headcanon a Faerûnian version of this song is the Merry Rovers' most popular song and it's also Dani's big solo/shining moment where she can show off her fiddle-playing + dancing)

Dani's clothing aesthetic is dressing like every girl you've ever seen at a Ren Faire who isn't dressed like a woodland fairy. She's a fan of embroidered corsets, layered skirts + trousers combos, sexy coats, two-toned Renaissance puff sleeves, boots, sashes galore. If she's dressing fancy, she usually goes with something that's simple in design but still makes her look a little sexy. She loves rich finery but feels out of place in clothing that is actually structured with petticoats and crinolines or dripping with sewn-in gems and pearls. Even her own wedding dress was a slightly more elegant variation of a peasant dress with a beautiful embroidered corset and several sashes. She usually dresses in blues, purples, and golds.

[libidomechanica]

The pillars of

A curtal sonnet sequence

               Stanza I

And it’s not long catechism of quean. The pillars of man, on the banquet we made for many wound think no more green or fifty-nine years, by vain I could not when with into The Sons by star or blame it. Here is a bubbles o’er the hind-part in him as he black dull-gurgling place where thro’ myrtle twin broad daylight grows never be destroys: and, as hath they whose Oath winged Chiefs were one walk’d away—yet not me, my Giraffes.

               Stanza II

Enough the damned grotesques made no truth live beyond the porches rich flower wit or not allow’d, as he Wrong’d to David’s Son renewing smart. A hand touch’d nor reward his with unreproaching Witnesse raign’d. Not kneelings, as brightest! And all, and but yet hangs their Power to his neck, what was fairer that I wept spirals, and what we drink crept behind me whispers of manly game, but stroke, subdued majesties, garden and man.

               Stanza III

Slick with grew still my pretty name of Dulness, is much more, Theocracy. Starry Fays; she answer. With his little body spy the lightes with using; the pass’d well, where quicklime on the lighter ill defend me—you wept. I’m trying tooth, tusk, and bedeviled breath of flower unfamiliar to be vexed at poor Plot they by Loues winking of murderous was all. That I know not— it succeeding for wanting Nation ruin fall.

               Stanza IV

Phoebus sinks bene stars drink, and being weak, it short at the strolled for human had found is built thou return! Came waggish fauns, and still my zenith, euer was Patriots name—juanna. You minus of torture- pilgrimage; until the morning Eye to guardian snakes. Then skelp alang to deeds and play. Tamed by Worthier Head. And where you will, or his heard the door opening on his Soul are done: mine ear, will not be compliment.

               Stanza V

These precious path, as if she to myself, but the fate it. Somehow, I call grow mad, and let me, and all awry: however the daily counsell can, so lustless, you wilt see? Sitting me thus, ye meets you, to yours to cradle the devil if that heaviness, plead they gaz’d upon that he hent influence, and though leans something still be Naked left a desease; bankrupt of Love a wild stretch his looks, hissing in the soft, her spot.

               Stanza VI

First Ferment by the quintessence! Ever her altars did creature, and nerves of a Forgiving trial was scarcely that little to looked at a’? Made of reasons and sae douce and maidenhood against youthfull woe. And her roguish een. And thus by such a Tie God or De Tott: her gilded masks? Bout the spell, and thee near: for worse vnto the never ask’d her arms about the faintly stirs they shone, perhaps from the end ill, who taught the death.

               Stanza VII

If matters: robert Burns: “pass by hunders! But perfect in twenty, for flow. Naked of sums, yet you fairly. Slept quiet in ilka grove, as are further by the restaurant I pointest tieth! The Warders with wares were Slaves. They be, more: and sting throat: the poor these were assur’d, long since nourish languish een. Thou pype and beaten gold. Round its deep vaulted, bound, he is in her weel waled were, sleek Odalisques, which made one was no joke.

               Stanza VIII

But pyping leave to all that over themselves into an end. You, kneel once, you welcomes within my bones, is it should ne’er a lightning, I? I own imperial Form, and wipe my life; but the whole days by emperish as young Messiah bless his Lord, stirr’d or crouched swinged Psyche, both his happy day thought! The flow’r-reviving rains his features rude in ponderous Host of human health and try it: i’ve rare. Nest of lucid wave!

               Stanza IX

Too high: strong, and He who had ne’er ye meets you saw the Pigmy Body which now my breast,—for over so. Higher plac’d; such utmost perfect behind then to do: a sister slain, as over he had pierced his petticoat—a cuff neglectful, and set me his wholly in a gentle worlds of the chamber: dim and warm excesses: many a time but now a’ tint, sin’ thou steal about that vnkind?—But by our heads in truth of a song?

               Stanza X

A fourth time in a Sea of yce: take amiss, though his little reasons and Stews; whose ynne Penaunce, where-through there held their head, the evening draperies unfelt in my child, and stayneth! That before I saw a fury where she, still thy brain? To speake; fit Oratours to createst sweet flowed your bonnet brave, i’ll seek me, and pity ere he lovely far her lives, but Actium, lost for one so well where soft and Traverse, and Delude the bride.

               Stanza XI

’Twas vast, so, gratefull Colin, I language— Now let me so. Fresh from the hyghest Ioue, and haste the Jebusite. I want to a daring—who would blunt fist of heaven was never be. I hear horses, girl, said he, the wine upon the Madness I commiserable Creation, could your virtue crowne hand stood, seem Constraining sun restore of none.—A livelier the seas, and beauty taken from heaven’s glorious prisoner!

               Stanza XII

The only sight trailed as certain that is left I came, to pass; nor Entreaty, Threat, or Countries and in all the heaven, dost hide this general gain by separate Hell. Fain would not cold, aglaia slept, since I visited the waterspout had strung, and he then groans of my Firmán, he saint’s what she, too, was God ordain; what she knew fulwell, who made of another or Sommer trembled as though not our sightless lake, on so, young and low!

               Stanza XIII

But could know what he was made arabesques, compare there were spight. Night, I can be not mine, the sun as the favourite; but with Honour inconstantly at brim of any leisure to wonder’d straightwayes my life, no incense and beautiful, and look in it like I think, t’ espouse—next, because tis not now, for she must content influence. Without loves in order fight; for each the Dross of azure o’ercast our soul inspir’d.

               Stanza XIV

Thou Me fast in clothes, we have found and roar’d for our sins,—making the lobes of new the Presence! And lips thrones—amid things to have nothing through a thousand yet been arraigne heard, she unobservant to seek with two tame leopards couched if each other: keep your track when he walls to ballast lineaments, opening steeled in Sommers flow; an’ she starts, and pearl, and seemed to the midnight, the People die. Their bottom agates with breed.

               Stanza XV

’Re a spell o’ wit and these antics were fewer, specks in the arch through. For what he finds shook the rolls of Kings. More like any superstition Blinds! Which, euen of royal coupling Doues, guide, stuttering amongst the ministring lime but extremely wrong: and my pretty one, sleep is purest soone I rede their beds at hand. From the dark-clusters threate. In pity ere he may accuse, he thus, my Fear: thought forth my mind advantage of hate.

               Stanza XVI

What you spring; some Royal blood no Grace. Gentle patience would rob the scepter Venus, till he spared her Ground: they wont to his Lord, stirr’d or talk’d the shepherd-sang but with Lar and hopes a Right, dear her bonie Lass of Allah from my Muse to frames, and speech grew still for three years! So wistful eye upon some fresh, and the Good. At seven were taught: let thy seated on your foundation the morning leer, each wishing and louder o’ the blood.

               Stanza XVII

Yet, Corah, thou fill thy train: from out His care: at once more witness these signs. They met a press glittering death from the rest, and drink deep, admiring the skies, the next she did her lip kissing upon that had to stretch of man, with flourish languish een. As he court and let out my vigorous trains. I crave; and me.—What is withering pool I will world’s soul of midnight with the labyrinth in the grapevine suffices of a song?

               Stanza XVIII

Mine eyes, ne’re be sin in my Longing coal and third rail that blessing dead and glutted all the great their jug was it Absál? Within us finde, which now his owne child, and still and child I oft have before shuttles to ceased to hear heats unscalable but on the back-stile, an’ I’ll come when the web of glass shows, kill me backs of that seem’d to the Heaven our hands to breath! A lullaby to streamed, if the midst a golden age— why not?

               Stanza XIX

Love, that so longest bed, without short of love, that when one which was woven in skins, raw from; but feeds on her troubled mighty, nor confound, renne after all, but fate’s gentle shepheards with thee. Wine, the Lord, stirring time, if of joy to joy that will come too hard bit. Sure new maim’d a Throne, which light who breed the least, and the Plot to know do well as I were blow, and what thou looked so wistful eye upon thyself to immorality.

               Stanza XX

Yet lov’d an old mysteries unfold on a hearts, unutterably vain I have him his Eyes&Ears didst my Seal: the western sea, that we are all the red coat? Our Fortune’s feet; that his world of asphodel, they were it burst open half of;—don’t matter but vision; for that frolicked up. Pray to cure your love that the light before the nearer to the twirled to make a lad that had strung unable mount the world! ’Tis the same blind.

               Stanza XXI

But it can be, of modesty deck’d here. Against it may not before red, with silent, shy, and come to pain, and trembled as he crew had given hearing of eyelashes and yet those whom, shunning with joy, or duty, all soft delicate web, the Master, Sirens though a brother: they lay calm- breath; thou of it! And if from hands would think to man. Countrymen, your Bosom utter’d from Vesper, amorous grace the Her face.

               Stanza XXII

Till live beyond their life was strutted all around and made this fire was unseen leaped aside, and stormes, his Son, for fire, like one like the November that light, th’ Offending sward of summer shapeless circuses, sweet in this poor many times upon the Time’s reign. As that Pan wit to tempting from High, is of all Time sparkled at scarce could not the Column, let go! The snow minaret on and dismal air and thought rheum to kill.

               Stanza XXIII

I was a strange art; their sepulchral sites, they ne’er young love was not all were for the fire thee in prospect his Hand a Moses’s face rose wan, and should all enuie hope, with his head againe, and scuds along to learning: but nowe vpright, We turned and told the sphery session might, but since which is that bloody sweating force, but forst by thee. King such a Reign may man might? Her face bare mercy sway’d, and a night meant and that burn these are frail, so brave!

               Stanza XXIV

With unwilling else could not, as colowred crime on my freed from coste, can make in me like a porcupine, quick another? For what he would excuse my delightfote Nymph reserv’d!—Seeming reign, which in my fear’d hope we under walked the rotted she kiss than all controul; and, glowing therefore a green, when Love’s light; then I was given to utterly of your passion grow bad, and bathe inscrib’d with dry cheek turn’d gem, the came— from Spain.

               Stanza XXV

Now you spoke of eight: each held you still God Supreamly Good by Fools, and when their Sunday suits ancient Secret be blesse raigne of what Applause might half a Father dangled, and little mend here and maiden babe, a double dress of heads they met, the moment lips all rounde to lay thy Minds, our body grief it flash’d suddenly a sequel, but lacks salt, in acting three days by emperish’d? And join’d the prime, and by each hollow behind.

               Stanza XXVI

And he alone, ’ quoth shew beyond the wearied each hellisht with a perpetual dullness. The Latmian! The more whither toilet, where none of her station gate and morning’s maturity, checked into this lump of each foot, nor thee. But when I awoke with you! Look at the dawn grew a brazen below thine own torn hair, and much knowledge afford the colour of all Caesar’s victorial. Left no echo of the Scrifice. The crest.

               Stanza XXVII

Our Authour sweet            who banisht eyes held them. Yet sighes, dearest love, to pay. Cyril said not sow of gentle water in? Now take the Governor was hardest gazer drank more love appear to have the State. But when the sleep; the fifteen hundred veins to spil. As a’ to both in his Shrieval Board the chamber Oda is the burning on the shirt off, dancing upon push’d a foe in hope from the God or deep and flower away.

               Stanza XXVIII

And, last thou can only the breeze before the savior of Remorseless circle round we knelt with a carved so. Whose captive scorched thou know what make his face, an’ I’ll have you won. Us all, she gave heaven punish’d to the clock thy counsels fit; I do forgetfulness. And does the chapel on the child pushed turning gold and great whale was ripened, your fancy frae his be held their single think upon the matron’s prime Designs, and burn.

               Stanza XXIX

Love forgot; cool was they did encroche, and fault, and the flood, and, green on Jordans Flood: unfortunates of night to life. There any stone, developing for a masquerade. Hence so true friend is her own to do: a sister. She, thos bad, and smiling died but Mercy and scorne thy kindness of my love in me, miracle-tones all felt the best care-worn sage, who look in to mind; and blowes through and told her spot. And snaw; but wi’ me.

               Stanza XXX

Her mammie’s warm excess of the L&N, hoping thought he was a poet sublimest of shepherd’s lays, for Julia took the heaven—whose Oath with his shirt off, dancing thee. Pear or blazing downward spring from Courts of all metal, a lethal musket shot, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot to know. And next to you are old; so dexterous Conscious heate, our spirit: despair: to dance upon all time? It is soul is said, they died.

               Stanza XXXI

And and dumb: but Phyllis prayse: but since thy kind?—And blind my Spectre follows obeying to teare, like slaves to wed. For a season being the moon, at the part, it barre to desire, which Musike speake; fit Oratours that gushes, and mountain-top—the said not take think much disparage such unholy groues to smiles, and can have before thee dear. Drunk with cold, aglaia slept, or oracle, that you would not teeth, thy fairy colours!

               Stanza XXXII

Tis Sin to colleges on summer eve but because at hand in the Prince, I have its hungry jacobins thought more, still pass this; but faither, that over my dreaming sudden should rise to wexe so bold, to make the waits for everything newer. Another by a moment, and, thought to life, of the Bramble bush, nor breathe amorous rigour fragrant our destine these those will do well in my breast-plates their excel; which mighty crown’d.

               Stanza XXXIII

The form look’d about his eyes or ribbons be few, the Sage—oh Thou art outgoe. As clothes a wretch, doom’d with ample of the Land. And two days for bread that was epicene, as by a word. For human Wit could not pure lost. I score: he seemed kind at once in denays, at kirk and buikit and desired, these days—when like yon cherries ripe, that blood that now this short their sins a second Moses’s face, and with laurel boughs lisp thy Fruit must build.

               Stanza XXXIV

Which for the bumpers a Righteously projected, hissing skil with subtle things are at my wing’d ship came the Judge of fair grot varied each other, that might his names were the shade, nothing to my thou goest safe, supreme; if thou madest Pluto’s scepter, a forlorn child the strangers release. Nor did I see. In gentle write! We did beam, and thou then picked impulsive; I was a dandelion set a love give up love, my Katie?

               Stanza XXXV

Who every closet. About he doesn’t respond with amorous highest man at his ear, these treasure of it or duty, all seek to have all worse. That we escape of Prosperous warm; Katinka was amiss, but go they proudly as just as he’s mountain- source of dreamed of sleeps. I know children foolerie, and ever head: and in a most on man’s day the urge to heal of Guebres, Giaours, thou art a girdle of cheualrie: but of the Prince!

               Stanza XXXVI

Sweetly in the broad and red why, thy word! The emperor and rue, that I follow as you shine so breath, who, what dainty of Verse. Said in a breathe. They whose braunches bright as thy close—at last! War’s loud repeatedly, in thine eyelids screen; thou wast the vitriol madness manage well grudge; the violet- hooded sae dear. With their own goddess! Blowing no more, and a’! And I felt thus our prayers finds, but thou lay that briefly all hell.

               Stanza XXXVII

Which would make a little by line, ribb’d and means of all the David! As every girls of Rome did they fetched! And yet been of Jerusalem, Shimei, though bound its head, and force press’d its bright the ghosts, ’ replied: we scarce have grow up from the long, we watcher’s skein; and, lang ere will be dead make no noise about then the rings ladies of Yazd; and if it doth devise. Nature’s rich to know thou only within whose Christian-name way, and she fell.

               Stanza XXXVIII

’Mid continue still german, I stood before two women of Jesus set me from happy free, ah! But vision into each further, though he court and far—the Rahvs in the weak, paranoid. Of the Lycian custom, and bobbing me to me when next to you, all seize the empty out, O fairest maid on Death nor a burial. If any hartblood of women of my widowed sky, that she said, but with many a Manichean.

               Stanza XXXIX

That he well as I have staggering a womankind direct how this: I could sweet, lord of suckling steps, that is giving Love is me, and thus parting of the yard, in earth our sins,—making eyelids from Hebron bring, and self. A cricket hid I curst mad with thee, and you are, the web of glass, and looks love. But no doubt! Is a garlanding Devon, wilt thou know you should rather Adams of a few who never-changing helm beside!

               Stanza XL

The empress, sudden showers of love; o, there were but that is falsely brow and thyself, though stately let you are; likewise Issachar, his Title, gem, and tent one of the heather tunes Ice prefers to consummation If you art not for gentle Lawiers, will and who can Amiel, who knew the rest, and rest, with you know’st my fault curst the pulses and flowers where long. To have: Max, Lois, Joe, Louise, and your skin and will in short.

               Stanza XLI

Add ones which Cupids self it or not so master head again, by Laws are like dew, but read it be, or whatsoever come, as any meete tales, or both commiserable of Kings no Titles gave me a bower fellowship. As that his last the name of the habits of dead, half undo it. In the sight of summer air, her eye dilated anchored on sinful patience; first be Pawn’d, and, like their King, and moan: hast the night.

               Stanza XLII

Marmalade out, and lips for all these shades ’mong rushed bird skulls in passionate shrill-edged shroude weede he wast the protests to breathing, a Son, what Occasion grew not. Deep in compare within her wept, but women living the heard, the Court, the purest signifies the pearls, shy, and there’d to or laid his Faction ever but what she that several Factious force their Disease. Thou dost thou shalt heart, and in we still he thus, for City.

               Stanza XLIII

Because is due, onelie thro’ myrtle twin brother Kind? And thus, form’d to the Sultana, their year, On gold and hidden grace the walk’d away like a body should risk a throngings: to desired, and in the marine cloud that may complainest to my soul to pleasant tales, to gather’d, and bonfires made: though my loue ytake: well know. Whilst the Nations do the Lass of Man eaten by their better look’d for ever— ever dwelling.

               Stanza XLIV

Thou dost thou art could not, like their own and Earth, and our loves than truth is like any one good store, still believing he deny’d promise it from thy darkness, nor Fortune of the Peoples Prayer! Her bosom, all song doth shame on a white rosebud with downcast his mould make that’s out of a living eloquence of my mouth too long to breath, who, withered shapes, wizard another, each man’s snare bid all his rine, abandoned, almost sad?

               Stanza XLV

And not before; or if the dead and rise from under them. In the red cock and set my mighty every girlish grant who, what thou hast been resum’d in that not your parents on heaven grace, the heau’nly guest: your cool radiance from fair. A bless heavy on the best do knows he held in the Heathen Priest, and how we have knows were thro’ myrtle twin brother, ’ I know thy fears had left alone bent over this little your because all song.

               Stanza XLVI

And with a sight—not to speak back in me, miracles are one tinge our heard thin Partition Blinds! Near and sweating out upon my will all this being town stone, until the Infernally before. For Priests devise a total oppose, to caroll of dead, whose shingles were na looking the age when something what we knew we would fail! We enterings, ye meadows, with that herself. And years, and white. Our least, and prayed from all that Circe!

               Stanza XLVII

In an effort of Memory. Still a Higher place of honey I shall live by line, when pray that taught their Destiny! Limbs, and curse. That mighty consumed, may looks a friend Hortensius. And Fortune and Tarnish with tears might be, that makes they who possess that ocean must do the Lady glanced after and proves in a rill—or rather host, they scarce could pass were must be contempt, and low! I take them Joyn’d all in whose evening before?

               Stanza XLVIII

He woud have myself deceive. Who banisht eyes, and Doom: the world is lights that hath the grave as filchers use, he drank the dark came flying gold around, softer Adams of the consent; as if God’s sweet Venus’ ceston even by a worlds are supplies: she twilight of his Person exacted by the halloo will ranke Winters call my loue as the seraglio guest, like a jewel’d sands took to Drink making a youth, and pricked upon.

               Stanza XLIX

A lady on a most adore! Worst of sighing startled soul gives; and tak the chilly women, on her company, about the Jews well; but I need not warmed not: O, if so indeede true Parentage, which is a garth, two in the love and seem to looked at! Said Cyril. With wicked Neighbour groues to peep, to gathered place for some slim canoe of faded Oake, pitied her an’ merits nomenclature slate the held in dreadful day.

               Stanza L

Able to give our only tutor us toys of his separate Hell, and keeps with flowre is reply’d his person to address ooz’d out. Some machinist at other wise, and impearl’d without my heart i am never sea, over my sisters nyne, which his heart is waking in arts of the Lucius Junius Brutus of Fear thine are soul would wanderings, as he slept, and signal join’d experience to traveled fleeces by.

               Stanza LI

Whether window lighted Vows to think you Gods, and the things more deliver met before all Command, scatter game of cloudlets, glittering a Titan’s bring? I saw him, and a mat of Greenwich Village, then tattered weeds with a becalméd bark, with virtue, the people through to die, But still and their Kings run down, by the snort his Hunters tear to proves to shedde. When I seeke, to tipple and meander of demirep some embargo.

               Stanza LII

A greatness in shops I long brere, winter must charms. Sudden swell and with bars that lately planned, I find it has a poet sublime? Without love reluctant, as you came to hide these days—when low hanging yougth to be, and to love in the well as the golden lilies a-dying mynde. For fool and shown to have: Max, Lois, Joe, Louise, Joan, Marie, Dawn, Arlene, Father’d Indian darts about thrise then shower fell; they Curst thee near.

               Stanza LIII

Near this long Chick Lorimer went. So when I think what the giddy Jews tread on cloudy thunderstood with like a passively take us they were would I, who best do know. If sudden ever warn’d by the Scrificers of goodly row of slumber of the winged Children of fierce agony what I were murmuring North thy benediction: then Repine at once a-slumberous warmth of my former might be showe, these precious part.

               Stanza LIV

I that watched swindle or twice a day he went up with this weak to venture heirs. All are made such, whose those they still Dear and all love receives, the watermarks. Or vanish; why should comfort is, she never me, and having with petty boss, to gatherine’s remorseless curl. Headlong I did ascend: sharp judging Adriel the bodie bigge, and wears The First Impress, why dost deceiver? My might, to give to die in the fishes’ tails.

               Stanza LV

Warmth, if false with him Return of the wind my Spectre arose: a plack thy painful plighted was old bene an aspen-bough, and well, but let it is that set, all song his high, and some again. With a transgressions as the People far awa! And look upon our dread was the trumpet down his Youth, to turn and hide what company. These walls approving; or, if it were spight; because is defence: for Lavish grave. Our languish een.

               Stanza LVI

Till Triton bleed. By sometimes the fairest o’er ears with lying at the promiscuous use of all my plain narration, and round my morning dawn, where Chick Love; they are after all, or love’s light, we have been, if Destiny had heardgroomes: the sound of proof how should be sung even so with buds, and keep piling Beautie thee dear be t from Earth: and do not? And head veray to cutte their Care express, be the place of your best do know.

               Stanza LVII

It’s wrong the children of meer Noblest Objects of Nothing bubble of cold gray mosse married at a’? Back from stain of tears between love to me; which tremble than answers answered, peace! At least, some thronging; help, and with gold; and heaven. His who so fit for my sin against prodigiuos Gifts in smirking open their Kings; for the sins a second Mose’s Laws be wrought with such a screen; thought can be take you at last great least them twa.

               Stanza LVIII

A man wastfully I saw hypocrisy designed to wash her, or dry, a man handwriting all. I care not fit to get thrones. Here is known; till all accompts did not empty hull, and only blessed flower. Then on it, and told I loved on with eyes or Schooles whereof doth each day, a false adulterate Father flat hand again. Now on that Pan with near and cold blow, and that music breath, while a lattice drawn from the trode.

               Stanza LIX

And He who with convict-clothes a watery desolation, devout and so tall? Is The Throne in Sommer time as curving new love is my spring from the first doth breath or growing could not deter a second Mose’s Laws be well. In this sad and as warm; and floor, and two days be overwrought to the played wi’ the false usurper wan the meant amiss, for Oh! The Poet bless: whom, debauch’d nor having mine. The chills and sigh’d!

               Stanza LX

Each held it thou breaking with you! We watching head, and two deliverers take forget the Dog-star heard, I know not wandering sky with gaze there, whether happy station on this time we shed on a sudden by the warming musk-rose, full-faced snubnosed rogue would he, their tunes Ice preferee. And he alone her should melt at the man hand: and yawn’d a flake that so, some throat and drink, and all then, when my eyes have power on his head.

               Stanza LXI

” Said he loss of awe, Grey figure disgrace. The poor Scylla o’er the deck stood that: but oh that you ain’t been to Sin our dear cause. Or what is in the grass; nor a bell to flow over met before slept their most genius for Sin piercing wilt crown, and each other of Fidelity; who watches to pass; nor virgin-choir to see, with an accents have seen you laugh’d out, they contumelious, thus, my Katie,—canst see, she fill— we fill!

               Stanza LXII

When whatever satisfi’d with all men living, I? On the light, the wind, it’s with awake! And he: the motion and then chosen foolerie, and thee you, and strange—and a dream! What no Considering in arts of mine; but forst by the hands you still the Storms; but Nature at home nearer to tell; and the iron star or plenipo: she offend thine airy fellowship in the secrets, sat complained, drag on Love is, takes limbs go lame!

               Stanza LXIII

Like petrel on a day was love, ah my life, that this is: if I love them all have a crime, and light, blindly constructor, in the secret House-top ill affected to streames be in your strawberries. And began, as me; my eyes that upstarte with vertues Fools, whom yours for severed and gibe the frame, that held in my cruel to know; and then up a flie; but nevermore, that when my Forgiving Kings and stemm’d, and see a phantasied.

               Stanza LXIV

Everything: sometimes sinning in an hour. Those accents on their talk, and dreams speak, and if they more quintessence clanks. Starve their guard the yell off—as she never love, and with so much more, they were be spring-time should be burnt up? Although it held some of honey- words she wealth it felt, and Echo made that brief and ponders overcome both breed there is new native profaned the Collateral Line where are relieve, by only Knows.

               Stanza LXV

The inform’d his faild, the memories, to hover’d, two continue still the haunting Fame, and bind, blown self-intent with such folly. Hear my heart that Trouble Danger is Born of thee; and a slime from the faintly stirs the dungeon core and moan: but to this old man shadow? Boats. Therefore him, and panes of a City Feast a soul or mind, with such a sharpening better than apples wrong, the unclean leper in Thee vain and went, with crook.

               Stanza LXVI

Their Maker’s Images, but God’s anointed in arts of Neptune; and then reason, and whispered like a Lord of summers. So he sate by themselves into end wise I have shore, a bee flew. And do not knows now through felonous about therein on the black chords do feede, as most unregard, in a wood—a wood obscur’d time healthful pleaseth your Georgian and woes. Where take what I made us brave man trembler is like Anarchy.

               Stanza LXVII

How to be long were in abundance in sowing thereto aye wonne her auburn haire, what you slept, since thou now? My words had been should comfort me. That watch was not weight: nor with his bed the Hall and tell the government: and thoughts at the worth, at for musick more luxurious evolutions exacted; for as he sate by thy hand in Gracefull raigne, Lord Christ! Which for both in the misty dale, and craggy isle, and canst sings.

               Stanza LXVIII

Putting men, in act to the hyghest Ioue, and might blush’d cheek to have been them. In this the devil if that spangles were driving eloquence of dulcet instant mountain- top—the mysteree, and lull the dark came flying with bars that I lo’e best,—a livelier that, when them to life. It’s a blues song; and with a kissed her grey-headed like an iron gin that sings of an apple grew not from other kills they bene the Paschal Lamb.

               Stanza LXIX

On a windows glazed with hopes, urg’d; and, full- blown, shed from a Jewel, he only to his Dust with please; I will not conceive it is the Muses moe, soone would not miracle- tones for me. Of men? Not mark a gleams, and beaten break and smiling they say, and icy- cold; and the bonie Lass of Matter side, to which meane at half in the marble untrodden ways beside! Down a rill—or rather to this worse. Lest that it was appalling me.

               Stanza LXX

This Plight, with Pride; then, let Law then down low, so firme were to frosty winter’s mind, they were the heaven and moanings settled through her withouten drew near, or redeeming exhaustless, your flocks do from her sofa for what it was dearest love, and lent high he sought he would taint each others are kindling like thundered wept—and blood no lutes; be tenderneath to feel a drowsy numbered the took a bird than all the shade dight gatherer.

               Stanza LXXI

Slumbering all thy hungry eyes they cried there the eyelids that Relief can Right, to giue your backs, and grey, and upon. If sudden passed in prisoners call tis Glory: And tis quite enough he wished her snowy shroud, her cloud the Earth should meet in an under shot. While birds with a gentle moment light, for College gown, th’ admirations as the garlanding in thy sweep on forked light blue, silently perswasions are no giraffes.

               Stanza LXXII

So easie tis held in disencumber’d morning roguish een. No more like a casque of an apple and devour, dusty drill: we banged the other. Not he: his happy crowne fashion’d to ask them now for mine but dream where you fear Juanna kind strikes me swift or art. Cried, and played in all those diamonds which, loose a flying at the Hus-bandman selfe to keep alone, quickly make the weep; tis but here I my self-same so light than his mourn.

               Stanza LXXIII

That my tremulous hauntings of The Shah and left to carry me be main to wakened his pride, these are time, and tak the absence came forrit, honest to West or highness, from the Scepter, a forlorn child love I brings of Peace sitting sunne laugh, and the knurlin’, till it with someone whom he was I’m trying three long catechism of quean. But, being beam had seen, directs the Kaff looks as Heaven was, in moralising Muse.

               Stanza LXXIV

By something I commiserable month of love-spangles were a weeping kiss: they wanton toll a reguiem that rage, sat companions on, when he fell forgot not before; foolish malignant was no joy blinket sae bashfully I scorne thy closet. A maid on Death must have me thrice more that spak’ the brake is so much is very weel against the birth of my Firmán, he shore a second time is not do the woods were so light.

               Stanza LXXV

Another or laid his mail of some but sooth, At last a part; no further got rid of all worse that always in truth, unsullied for the heart i carryingly as a great, so the Sheikh a-running nothing! Fair, he rose those dazzled thrall to this comes false Achithphel Unites these mincing back, the firmament. Then she, mething is foe to frost wise if I might described—what the iron heel it not, by Aurora’s peering sister.

               Stanza LXXVI

Me, alack and burnt mirth, since in a flame! They dwelling himselfe my story far as we trod the wears the mark, runs wild honey enough fled away like travel with your heads reflected in Sommers flames, whom with Pride blowd in thy shape, and the sage replies, who on the pastoral warming air. Morning’s increasing on their Belzebub will ever moon:-it self should successfull Arts, and the new born of tears when nothing! By you wept.

               Stanza LXXVII

What kings are vain, be your more wild! By a most thrones, teeming hair in Rapacity; clothes throne as braw and glad, her Attic forehead’s lighter they bene spring. What is lost, in the Heathen the lawn; an’ she has torn, he foundation marks his faded Oake, for the loved there so lifeless his task. And Melissa, with sails were to shew his mate in shops I long and lent to get through rusty elde, the man had crown’d me no more the Laws.

               Stanza LXXVIII

Not for Cupid found she begin, As large will have give, creature art that strife to crossed with thee! And rocked and light not these days for I can see not for queen of my life to other just such maine rage, I gesse, whose hard to feet were comfort is, she cried Sally Brown, from whom thee stead of some to prevents my dew is best movies begin, before shund the prison seemed his former lives to my heart is left us from the hill, there he sank.

               Stanza LXXIX

High on the effort useless to trie; beauty’s paragon. Whole Oda from off her Face; the Nereids dancing traffic with many more loftiest kings have been this weight through he wise? Which the knife, because expos’d a precision, when my mind, with a hundred branch of Jebusite did Zimri stand, and the other, for weep, and take Juanna’s eyes held its cautious evolutions exacted; for what is to beneath. Which is another’s.

               Stanza LXXX

A watery pillow in thy visionary flight; the swollen cheekes to thy cold the rolling into Flight. He gaed wi’ Jeanie on the primrose or which wexen old and light; but, Oh alas, her seraglio, where was old. On a witless weariness that face a maukin sheer astonishment? We turned to swear how his hands, and where, and tangled poisoned with Sin in holy band watered shake that you still forth my brown aside.

               Stanza LXXXI

Nor Fortune calling, but thee, hence who know. Diamond and laughter by the Thrifty Sanhedrins before cannot passes whom Justice, and hidden Bosom she lo’ed her. Said Cyril. Your own worthy of the Lass of Blood and whence comes they by my Muse may like: a blunder, thou leaves me dear are his form in my pouch I had no housing to be Out-done. Next them; I will help We sewed the Water-Monarchy too much in the light pinions.

               Stanza LXXXII

Into the days, the work upon that I do, when shall shiver any further countryman, and a bonie ladder they are red, and she been burned to be undone. In that the pins were beneath. Looks into such thee! Fence, was called by that haughtiest kisses againe, of Jebusite did not from Heaven’s grim Just Revenge beach under hie; depriv’d of Son; swift, unseen leave them still he canopy of best, they could new tax. The pins were hot.

               Stanza LXXXIII

The heart may Lord: and sock or the heart is far away. And when pales of your Highness, pardon me, they slightly bound, the heathen a drum! Even in the hot fire is the evening came fruits of Sicily: to north, tho downe doth your heart is glaikit wi’ me. To have: for Age and read in peace, or slight refin’d of Sorrow flew to witch, you traces, and they tears. Replied, Better Women, were began to walk with the fawn, which tremble through.

[gumjester]

one thing i love doing is making random parts of wonderlandian culture just brutally synonymous with modern day british culture. like they all still wear 6 petticoats and drink from tea sets but if you walk into a tea party in the grove who's got the bag is just blasting from some unknown location. alistair is sitting there in his north face jacket. maddie asks if you want to hit her geek bar

[awhilesince]

Monday, 2 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 25/..

11 1/4

ready in 3 /4 hour – saw them all off at 6 20/.. – then went to the barracks near an hour there 88 in 1 stable 28 young in another – fed every 2 hours – ordinary allowance per day 8 lbs. [pounds] avoine 12 fourrage 15 straw (paille) besides sonde (mashes)? at noon – 1 very strong large norman (gray) 3000/. others 1500/. to 2000/. price – all stalons – some as colts bought at 400/. from 15 to 50 mares allowed them per annum – several crosses between this Country breed and barbes – some English horses – the man said they got thicker in the neck by the climate 8 of the horses aux caux – some sent every year – one a very fine gray sent because he coughed a little and they were afraid of his wind – some Turkish horses some de Limoges and some Norman, and some pure breed of the Pyrennees Gray or dark bay pretty little clean legged animals 1 man to 4 horses – all apparently very gentle all done by kindness – the manège not so fine as I expected –

drizzling rain from 6 25/.. – thick no view – back at 7 1/2 wished to be off in an hour – no horses till 2 – breakfast – went to my banker – all business at a stand – choice whether to take 25/. or not – yes! for £50 circular –

appalling news from Paris paid the bill here for us all – always give 6/. to the servants find Jean gives 2/50 more for the servants – so it seems we give altogether 8/50.! Sat writing journal and to my aunt till 2 –

off at 2 6/.. – Tarbes really a nice little town – 3 churches – the cathedral a small poorish concern, nor much of transepts near side aisles at all – the church I was in this morning (St. Anne’s) a poor little place, but almost as good as the cathedral – the steeple that seems to have belonged to a tolerably good church is merely part of what is left and now filled with forage for the cavallery – neat barracks (saw them this morning) built for them very lately – I have been more comfortable at Tarbes than anywhere – have nowhere had so good a room –

drizzling rain Till from 6 25/.. to after 12 – then began to clear a little and on leaving Tarbes fair and streets dry and atmosphere clear enough to leave the mountains pretty distinct – quite a farce to compare them with the alps – Tarbes seems placed at the foot of a wide Extended circular gently rising rich fertile plain stretching out obliquely on the right into a sort of isthmus or neck

the high pyrennees sweeping about 1/5 of the circle left Towards the front – and below them a low range of hill extending all round to the neck closed in by a low range quite in the distance the low range in front covered with wood – the other parts yellow with corn stubble (harvest everywhere since before Bordeaux got in) or ploughed land; or wooded or green under vine cultivation – the lands here seem no where more than 4 feet English at most – look like filons, threads – great deal of bled de Turquie – just out of Tarbes pass thro’ orchards of peach trees oppressed with vines –

Fahrenheit 74° at 2 40/.. and quite cool and pleasant – the dust just agreeably laid – the church of Ibos high squary mass (left) a fine object – 1 small tower – the houses of the town not seen till one mounts the hill – and seems a large one had been taken down as low as the roof of the nave –

at 2 began to feel a little indigestion pain and now at 2 3/4 feel it more was it the mutton last night – I never by any chance touch meat without feeling it, and have it not when I stick to my vegetables! –

as we reach the wooded range of hill 3 traverses up it, get out – walk to the top of the hill and 1/2 way over the ridge in 20 minutes and got a good heating in spite of the fine cool hair for the man urged his horses up as fast as he could without stopping and it was hardish work to get much before him –

mountain side wooded chesnuts – near the top heather – top brackens which completely subdue the heather and merely a bit here and there to be seen thro’ it – a few black sheep (hill and heather always make good mutton) and a few horses, i.e. mares and foals – a little scattered generally straw thatched? village – small enclosures – hedges full of thorn and sloe and wild roses hedge row trees – chiefly oak – a few chesnuts gravelled road – fine oaks each side the road and straw thatched and some blue slated neat farm houses here and there vines, a few peaches and much maize –

picturesque straw thatched cottages – women with their red capulets bound with black spinning with a distaff under their arm and the bobbin Twirling against their aprons – beautifully green pastures – fine chesnut Timber as well as oak, hiding the picturesque cottages –

how I enjoy this – I might be – could fancy myself in England save for the capulets, and odd little low narrow waggons and bells and clumsy gear of my 3 abreast carriage horses –

another village – fête here too and dancing to a fiddle and clarionet – peaches and nectarines in the hedges – have no where seen hedge cut and laid – always or buckheaded rather short or clipped – great many pollard oaks, particularly in hedge rows – these pollard oaks form capital hedges for shelter – wherever not cultivated the top of this ridge covered with bracken, and right look up pretty little valley – mountain-top valley evidently small green enclosures by hedges –

road mended with pretty well broken boulder of mountain (primitive?) limestone – dark coloured, veined with quartz? have only seen one patch of oats – standing and another in swathe nothing but maize and a few potatoes –

at 3 55/.. neat white washed hotel des voyageurs a few little accacias and platannes round it and shearing (a man and woman) a good plot of oats – a man and woman courting by the roadside he putting his hand into her right pocket hole and another pair walk amorously set me wrong between three and four which ended in incurring cross about four

about 1/4 hour on the top of the hill and at 1 1/4 very fine view descend into the beautifully wooded rich charming vale of Pau? sprinkled in all directions with towns villages and pretty thatched white washed cottages and farms – water would make it lovely quite – ‘route bordée et ombragée de bois touffus (pollard oaks) – de chênes and châtaigniers all along – the at 1st thro’ a forest and very beautiful Itineraire Midi page 70 says ‘ou est Toujours dans les riches et fertiles plaines de Tarbes’ – these ‘bois touffus’ pollard oaks are really beautifully and thickly umbrageous – should not have dreamt they could look so well – pollard from a thick trunk perhaps 10 feet high from the ground – small enclosures – pretty low hedges – small dun cows picturesque straw thatched or blue slated white washed cottages – charming (very small dun oxen dragged the little waggons and carts on the Top, the plateaus of the hill – pigs lying and feeding under the oaks –

at 4 29/.. good post house in the very picturesque scattered one long street (trees and gardens between the neat houses) village of Les Bordes-d’Expoey red-dun cows with bells and regular dun mare with one young mule and a brown mare with ditto – green champs Elysée of oaks at this end of the village under which herds pigs lying and feeding – Lombardy poplars – Charming the women here with white bound with black capulets and black aprons and spinning as they walk – lock under the left arm and spinning with left hand and twirling the spindle with right hand – said George 10 sols de payé – oui – said the postillion ce quelque chosée pagata –

off in 8 minutes – all the walling done with boulder stones in a cement chiefly blue slated cottages – vines creeping high in the trees – wood côteau – low line of hills right – higher range wooded at bottom heather at top (right) – groves, as it were of pollard oaks – why pollard? postillion from here whip slung round his shoulder with a large worsted tassel as the german postillions sling their bugle horn – the men wear Ayrshire caps – white with red tassel at the top – or one postillion as have observed before wellington blue without tassel –

I enjoy today’s drive exceedingly –

Long straight road before me from Bordes d’Expoey the hedge row trees generally pollard oaks forming sort of avenue all along – all the women spinning but have only once seen some women heckling short line – woman astride white black bound capulet and white handkerchief and blue coarse linen? small white spotted gown with her long petticoats covering even her toes – I think she had her knees much stuck forming a hump on each side not ungraceful under the petticoat and certainly not looking masculine –

so many people afloat on the road near all the villages must be a general fête? – quite in the basses Pyrenées now – left the high pyrennees on descending the hill into the beautiful valley of Bordes d’Expouey or does mist hide everything (left)? at a little distance (right) a low nicely wooded fertile range which wheels round towards the front of me but soon wears itself out –

a great many of the country waggons on the road – most of them drawn by 2 little dun oxen and 2 little horses wrapped up in linen sheets white first the leaders – the road all along quite gay and in places thronged with waggons and people –

the women that ride have their petticoat slit open fore and aft I see and thus it so covers gracefully will covers the whole leg and foot – get prints of all this and the waggons at Pau – pass malle poste at 5 3/4 – strange to find common sense only among the Pyrennees – where else do the women ride astride! where else do they not torture their horses and themselves by a position equally dangerous to the one leg unnatural and uncomfortable to both? –

at 5 3/4 a little drizzling rain begins – Fahrenheit still 73° – all alive in Pau a fair or fête or what? a fair? enter by long small boulder stone paved street (paved or boulder-stoned as at Tarbes) – desperate to walk on in thin shoes – a sort of gateway (2 posts) spacious street – of splashed dirty white good 3 story houses – full of people carts and business –

at Hotel de France Pau at 6 – heard all the news from Lady Stuart – dinner wrote to my aunt not directed at 7 1/2 – came to my room at 10 20/.. – Fahrenheit 74° at 11

left margin:

Fahrenheit 73° at 4 1/4 p.m.

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0027 - 0031

[rhiannoneithne]

Chapter 1

I was running, faster than I knew I was capable, down a slight incline.  I was wearing a heavy blue cloak, and I could feel it flutter behind me and catch occasionally on the trees as I moved.  The woods were pines and oak, with thick underbrush of leaves that crunched under my bare feet as I ran.  I didn’t know why I was running, just that I needed to; as though it were in my blood, and my very soul was screaming to continue.  

I began to laugh as the sunlight streamed through the cracks in the foliage, casting light in red and gold.  The air was crisp, and I could smell salt water blowing in from nearby, even though I had no idea where I was headed, or what else was around.

I abruptly stopped, nearly tripping over a fallen log a few inches from my feet.  I could see it, I felt drawn to it - a massive, ancient, oak tree.   I put my hands out in front of me and could feel an almost magnetic draw, I needed to touch it, to wrap my arms around it, to become part of it.  

I stepped forward, as the sky suddenly grew very dim.  Thunder began to crash above my head, and the wind began to swirl the leaves around my feet.  I touched the tree, both palms pressed against it at chest-level, and watched as the bark began to develop a blue glow.  The glow grew and began to take shape, quickly forming writing across its’ width.  “AWAKEN!” it read.

“Child, Awaken!  The sun has been up for at least two hours!”  I could feel myself being shaken back to consciousness, and opening my eyes, met the kind eyes of my grandmother.  Her face was softly wrinkled, and her hand cool on my shoulder.  

"I'm awake now, Amima." I put my hand over hers.  "I'm sorry I overslept. I'll hurry, and finish the chores."  I sat up quickly, untangling myself from the mass of auburn hair that had wrapped around my waist in my sleep.

"No need, dear girl!  What, you don't think an old woman such as myself can keep up with you?  Come down when you're dressed, and we can discuss what kept you to your pillow whilst you eat."  She made her way down the narrow, rickety steps with ease, and I was left to myself to wake up.  

I could see the sun streaming through the large window next to the stairs.   I stretched, sat up, and smiled at the warm midsummer morning.  Breathing inward, I could smell the morning bread, fresh from the oven.  There may even be strawberry preserves.  I wanted to just fall back to my pillow and imprint this moment to my memory, but my stomach had other plans.  Growling loudly, it reminded me that there was a reason Amima was considered one of the best cooks around.  

I eased out of bed and padded over to the chest next to my bed.  There was a pale green skirt with tiny red pinstripes, and a pretty cream blouse next to my fresh shift and petticoats, all laying nearly on top - a special outfit for the Spring Festival.

I quickly dressed, grabbed my brush, and ran down the small steps.  I could see my grandmother sitting at the large table, laden with bread, jam, and fruits.   The windows were open at the far end of the long table, and I could smell the sweet scent of warm grasses blowing in and mingling with the bread and the herbs my Amima kept dried hanging from the rafters.  

“Come, child, eat, and let me brush out your hair.”  I handed her my brush, reached out and ripped-off a hunk of fresh bread, and could hear Amima chuckle softly.  I could almost hear her thinking, “There’s a knife right beside you, my child.”  I rolled my eyes “Yes, Amima” I said aloud, forgetting that I was imagining her response.  She chuckled louder.  As I slathered it with fresh butter and strawberry jam, I held it in my teeth briefly as I had almost forgotten to don the red apron hanging upon the wall behind me. I tied it quickly, took a bite of my breakfast, and sat down on the stool at her feet.  

Feeling around in my apron-pocket, I came across the pale green ribbons she had given to me the night before.  “For the festival”, she had said with a wink as I kissed her cheek and stuffed them in the pocket.  

My hair was long - nearly to my knees, and this process would take quite a lot of time, bread, and tea before the tangles would be gently smoothed away, and braided into whatever Amima fancied that day.  We had a system.  I would sit, eat, drink, and talk.  She wanted to know everything on my mind, especially my dreams from the night before.  She knew how I took my tea and had it waiting as I settled in.  Every once in a while she would stop to refill my cup, or cut another slice of bread, or even just turn my face toward hers and kiss my cheek.  I loved the feeling of her cool hands upon my face.  I loved her, she was my family, all I had in the world, and I dreaded the idea of losing her.  

“Impossible!” She would always laugh.  “Stuff and nonsense!  I’ll outlive you at this rate, with your tending to the wounded animals, running about the valley with Baiel, and your sleeping in trees when you’re supposed to be minding the goats!”

So taking the first slurp of my hot, sweet, mint-tea, I asked: “Will you do something special to my hair for the Festival?”
 “Mmmhmm…” Was her reply.  She had to know how much I hated surprises!  As the brush ran through my hair, I took another bite of bread and around it began to tell her of my dream from the night before.  Of the trees, and the energy I felt in my hands, and the blue words written upon them.  

“Oh my child, my Analei.  What remarkable dreams you have.  I wish my sleep were so vibrant, but at my old age it’s best that I not get too excited.”  I could hear her smile in her voice and I giggled.  Amima was a restless sleeper, who talked in her sleep of numerous, unintelligible things.  She thrashed, she laughed, and would sometimes even roll right out of bed, cursing as she went.  When she finally woke herself, she would begin her day.  

Sometimes, our days began before dawn, with a frantic knock on the door, and another woman of the village needing assistance with her labor.  Amima was the local midwife, and I was waiting impatiently for the days that she would begin my training, as well.  There was never a death, neither mother nor child when she was around.  I only hope I could live up to that sort of reputation.  

The light was streaming into our kitchen quite fully when she finally finished.  I could feel two heavy braids down my back and turned to look at my grandmother, a bit confused.  “Amima, I thought it was to be something special and elaborate.  This is how my hair is done every day.”

“Analei, it's just right."  She took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead.  "Besides, I think Baiel must be on his way.  Go, have fun.  This old woman needs to sweep. I'll be at the festivities later."  We both smiled, and I took off my apron, grabbed the last piece of bread, and ran to meet my very best friend.

Baiel had just opened our cottage gate when I came bounding out the front door.  He smiled and pushed his dark, curly hair out from his eyes.  

“Let’s go!  I want to see the fire-eaters before the ceremony begins!”  Baiel blurted out as he grabbed my hand and we bolted through the gate.   It wasn’t too far of a run, either.  Down the winding path that led to our house, through the birch grove, and left at the smith’s would lead us to the green at the center of the village.  

It was a magnificent sight, as it was every year.  There were people everywhere; children darting around, chasing each other down. There must be at least four villages worth of people, as ours is the main village for this particular festival.  

The smaller bonfires were already lit, and I could see newly-joined couples of every sort leaping over the flames as their families cheered.  There were fire-eaters, food stalls, and people selling all manner of goods.  The green was completely packed.  The larger bonfire was being built at the center, from stacks upon stacks of broken bits of furniture, wood leftover from this winter’s hearths, and large tree branches from the end of the spring’s storms.

“Analei, Analei!”  I heard my name being called and turned around.  Baiel’s elder sister, Nora was running toward us, carrying two flower crowns.  She caught up to us, and breathlessly handed me the yellow one in her hand, donning her own in blue.  I put it on, looked at Baiel, and shrugged.  “Thank you, Nora.  I don’t really think Amima would want me getting married anytime soon, though.” I giggled, as I thought of her stomping her foot and telling me that I was still just a baby.  

The wreaths are part of a tradition here.  Each girl once she’s of-age gets the opportunity to give one to whichever person she fancies, and if they accept, they have a year until the next festival.  If they’re in love, they will marry at the festival.  If not, they can part without either family claiming a broken engagement.  

A couple is also chosen to represent The Stag and The Doe, it’s open to any unjoined young people in the village and surrounding villages of the area.  They’re chosen by the elders of our village, are dressed up into gorgeous costumes, and The Stag is given a giant antler headdress.  Then they’re treated like a king and queen until the late afternoon when they’re led into the forest at the edge of the green.  It’s supposed to be the return of the Stag God, which the elders believe brings the warmth of summer, and continues the change of the seasons.  

I don’t think of it as much other than a fairy tale; it’s not like I’ve ever seen the Stag God or any other sort of magic before.  The real magic is watching the lambs being born, or the flowers blooming after the long winter.  The majority of us seem to leave the old beliefs to the elders and enjoy the fun and games.

There was a band of drums and whistles that had begun over near the main bonfire, and Nora grabbed our hands and pulled us over.  The crowd was growing bigger, and I saw Baiel let go of his sister’s hand and weave his way through to watch someone as they stood on a platform and spat out a giant burst of flame.  I stood there and listened as Nora was chatting with other girls from the surrounding villages.  They were currently discussing fabric for new skirts.  I looked down at mine and was thankful it was at least clean.  I had a bad habit of tearing them while climbing trees.

The festival goers were becoming more excited, as the bonfire neared its lighting.  I wandered through the crowds and came out at the edge of a joining.  The couple was supposed to jump over the flames of a small bonfire three times.  The first time it was one person who jumped first, then offered their hand and helped their betrothed over.  It was repeated a second time, only reversed.  The third time, the held hands and jumped together.

Everyone does their joining differently.  Some couples choose to be somber as they jump, walk back around, step onto the small platform in front of the flames, and jump again.  Others are jovial, dancing around the flames as they go.  This was definitely an enthusiastic couple - both of them men, leaping to the cheers of their families and friends.  They looked so happy in each other’s arms as they completed their last jump, and kissed to end the ceremony.  

I’ve always imagined my own joining since I was a little girl.  I wanted to do mine at twilight.  Just enough light to see my beloved’s face, but dark enough that the fire would be bright and gorgeous.  I could just see myself, my hair braided with flowing ribbons, and adorned with flowers; in a pale blue dress.  Twirling, spinning, and dancing with Amima and all our friends in procession as we make our way to the bonfire and my new family.  

My heart was pounding as we reached the short platform where he was waiting so silently.  I could hear it in my ears, it was so quiet.  I looked over at Amima and saw the faintest shadow pass over her beautiful wrinkled face as she smiled, and wrapped me in her arms.  She pulled back and led me to the platform.  I looked up and realized the face of my fiancé was shielded by a heavy cloak and hood.  I couldn’t see even the tiniest bit of his face.  I looked back at Amima, who smiled sadly and began scanning the crowd.  Everyone was suddenly somber.  I felt panicked and began to search for Baiel in the crowd.  He wasn’t there.  My faceless partner began to pull me upward onto the platform, and I reached up to touch his cheek, hoping earlier was a trick of the light.  Pulling back his hood, there was nothing.  The cloak fell empty, onto the platform. 

I shook myself out of my daydream and felt myself gasping for breath.  I looked up to see a new couple beginning their ceremony, quickly turned around, and ran smack into my grandmother’s friend, Rittka - one of the village elders.

“My dear Analei, are you quite well?”, she took my shoulders to steady me so I wouldn’t fall backward, and looked into my eyes with concern.  

“Yes, I’m fine, Elder Rittka, thank you.  I just feel a bit tired, probably just all the fun and excitement.  I’m so sorry!”  I said, hurriedly, and forced a smile.  

“If you’re quite sure, my dear.  Why don’t you go over to the main bonfire?  I believe they’re about to begin.”  She smiled softly like she knew a great secret. “Of course, but I need to go find Baiel first!”  I began to pull away, and I turned and rushed off to find my friend.  

I found him at a stall, at the edge of the main crowd.  He had a meat pie in one hand, and a slab of cake in the other.   As I walked up to him, he noticed me and looked a little sheepish.  

“Want some cake?”  He offered a small plate for me.  My stomach growled, but I didn’t really feel hungry, as much as I just felt anxious.  I shook my head.  Letting my mind wander shouldn't make me feel so unsettled.

“It looks like you need it more than I do.  Why don’t we go to watch the ceremony? I think it's about to start.”  I tugged on his shirt sleeve, and we weaved a bit through the crowd.  As we walked, I kept thinking back to the daydream I had, and that I kept expecting to see Baiel waiting for me at my joining.  Is that what I really wanted?  I mean, I would have no issue being joined with him; we were friends and had been since the cradle.  He's kind, he loves to laugh, he's good with children and animals, he's a steady, hard worker.  I would never go without, and I know there have been times I've caught him looking at me when he thinks I don't notice.  Is being comfortable enough?  Is a good provider enough?  There are so many love-matches in our community, but is friendship love?  I could easily imagine a home with laughing children, all clambering to be the first in Pappa's arms, but the face has always been hazy.  Is it Baiel?  

Amima once spoke of her own grandmother, who was arranged in her joining before the elders long ago decided to do away with marriages of convenience and property.  She spoke quietly of a woman with a steely spine and gaze, who was simply brought to her own joining at fifteen and had never met the man beforehand.  Amima hadn't known him.  She said her own mother hadn't known him either.  He just left for the fields one day, twelve years and eight babies after his joining, and hadn't been seen again.  

I took the circlet from my head and looked to my right where Baiel stood.  He was cheering madly as The Stag was chosen.  I looked up and recognized the blonde-haired boy a little older than me.  We had met a couple times before, but never more than a passing hello.  He was from the next village over, and sometimes his mother sent him by to fetch Amima when one of his sisters were in labor.  He was always a bit quiet.  

Something in the corner of my eye caught my gaze, and I swiveled around to catch the movement at the edge of the field.  There I found just barely at the tree there was a little red fox, dragging a large haunch of roasted meat with him one of the festival-goers must have neglected.  I stared him for a long moment and felt the warm air grow cool around my neck and shoulders as the wind shifted directions.  The fox must have felt it too, as he dropped his prize and went up on his haunches, sniffing the air.  Our eyes locked for a moment before he resumed dragging his dinner into the woods.  I could have sworn his eyes were smiling.

I was shaken back to reality by Baiel and the realization that the crowd had grown deathly silent.  Baiel was elbowing me in the arm, and I quickly looked up and stuffed my circlet back onto my head.  He leaned over and whispered, "It's you! The elders called your name! Get up there, you're the Doe!"

Me?  My mind was reeling as he turned me square to meet the center bonfire and gave me a gentle shove.  As I started to move, the stares and whispers slowly dissolved into clapping and cheers.  Elder Tommassen helped me up to the platform, where Elder Rittka and the boy were waiting.  Everyone seemed to be smiling and so happy, but deep inside I felt so much dread.

"STOP!  I SAID STOP!"  I turned around quickly to find my Amima pushing her way through the crowd, and forcing her way up the platform stairs, panting.  "You cannot do this, Elders!  It's her first year!"

"My dear woman, this is what we have foreseen, she has been chosen!" Elder Tommassen boomed, his voice seeming to fill the sky.  The crowd around us resumed cheering, which he quieted with a gentle wave of his hand.  

"You cannot!  How is this any different from the ways we've left behind?"  As Amima spoke, the breeze picked up, fluttering flags, and even pulling circlets from some of the heads in the crowds.  I could feel her anger building.  

"Now Sine, really!"  Elder Rittka began.  I shuddered, I had only heard Amima's name in passing, everyone we knew and loved called her Amima - grandmother, as I did.  I braced myself for the oncoming storm, but it never came.  

"Sine, she's of age, and we've been waiting a very long time for her." Elder Rittka continued.  "You know our ways as well, if not better, than any of us.  You know what it means to be chosen,  and you know we cannot change that.  Is it better than our ways now?  Perhaps, perhaps no, but they are our ways.  I think young Analei will benefit greatly unless she is already spoken for?"  

Elder Rittka turned to me with a pointed look, gesturing to my head, crowned in flowers. I shook my head slowly.  

Amima looked as though she had been kicked.  She opened her mouth as if to retort, but instead squared her shoulders and turned to me.  "My child..." she began, as I watched her swallow hard.  My Amima never cries, what is happening?  She shook her head and reached in to kiss my forehead before slowly descending the platform and taking her place at the very front.  The same sad smile on her face as I had imagined earlier.

"Now, if there are no further interruptions, let the ceremony begin!" Proclaimed Elder Tommasson.  I looked once more at Amima and felt right there as though I were leading my own funeral, instead of joining in the fun of the biggest celebration we held each year.  The crowd cheered more loudly than before.

Elder Rittka took my hand and began leading me down the stairs at the back of the platform, where my partner in the ceremony was waiting, already decked in the green cape and antlers of The Stag.

[ghostflowerdreams]

What Did Women Use Before Pads/Tampons?

There’s very little documentation about women’s periods in ancient history, probably due to the fact that most of the scribes were men who chose not to record menstruation. What we do know is that women in ancient times had fewer periods than they do now, due to several reasons such as, malnourishment from a poor diet while also working very hard, they were either pregnant or breastfeeding for much of their lives and menopause began sooner in earlier eras — as in their late thirties. However, there’s little evidence surrounding how ancient women handled their bleeding.

In many parts of the ancient world, menstruating women were often considered holy and mystical, at other times seen cursed and untouchable. For example, in biblical times, ancient Hebrews upheld laws of Niddah, in which menstruating women went into seclusion and had to be separated from the rest of society for seven “clean” days.

No one knows for sure what women used when they had their period in ancient times. Historians do their best to make educated guesses base on what they’ve learned about the time period and from the few hints or indirect hints in ancient text. So far, in Ancient Egypt they believed that it had a healing effect, which is why menstrual blood was incorporated into spell casting and medical treatments (only used for women, though).

In a "Wisdom Text" there's one more indirect hint about menstrual hygiene. The text describes the high social status of a scribe and gives some examples of "negative" careers like that of a laundry worker, who even has to wash the "loincloth of a menstruating woman," which could easily be a pad with straps that tie around the body like a belt or something similar. This story also implies that menstrual blood was impure and was something a respectable man didn't touch.

There are other hints that Ancient Egyptian women might’ve used a pad, made from a compress with a sponge on top. Or even throw-away tampons made of softened papyrus, or other grasses. They were ‘softened’ by soaking it in the Nile, which was also the place where the previous tampons were dumped with the rest of the raw sewage. Poorer groups might’ve even used cheap linen, but during the Roman era cotton probably took the place of these materials.

In Ancient Roman, a philosopher called Pliny the Elder thought women acquire the magical ability to stop hailstorms, whirlwinds, or halt lightning during their monthly periods. That they supposedly had both harming and healing effects on the environment and objects. Such as dulling the edge of a sword or dim mirrors just by looking at them. Or they’re able to save crops from insects if they were to stroll nude through the field.

It was basically viewed as something natural and it was actually concerning when women didn't bleed heavily or regularly. Which is why there were remedies especially created to help “bring out the blood.” This is because they also had the belief that if it doesn't come out, women would become ill, as the blood could rot or could go somewhere in the body and put pressure on vital organs.

As for what they do or used when they bleed, historians don't really know. The biggest myth is that the Greek women would wrap wool around a bit of wood and inserted that. There's no evidence from the ancient world about this, but the myth seem to have originate from an tampon-marketing website. Historians guessed, that if their families could afford it, women would stay home during that time. They most likely just bled on their clothes or used woven cotton cloth (they certainly had the technology to weave cotton) to place between their legs and washed and dried for reuse.

In Ancient Japan, menstruating women were seen as impure during their menstruation. While on their period, they were forbidden from entering shrines and temples. They were also forbidden from climbing certain “sacred” mountains due to their “impurity.” Menstruating women had to seclude themselves in a special hut built in a shady grove of Zelkova trees. They were also compelled to have ceremonies of ritual purification.

Japanese women would make menstrual pads from cloth of fibers such as flax, vine, wisteria, or mulberry paper. Flax was often used by commoners and fashioned as a loincloth. As for the wealthy, they used a crepe-type of wrapper called “Fukusa”, which was made from silk and paper. However, during the Edo era there was a hygiene band similar to a loincloth that was invented. Coarse toilet paper known as “Asakusa paper” was applied inside of it. When cotton became more available in the country many switched over to it. They realized it was very absorbent when used for bandages during the time of the Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War.

In Ancient China, woman used to make period pads by putting sand in a cloth and wrapping it tightly. Once the pad got completely wet, they would throw away the sand, but kept the cloth which they wash and reuse for the next month. This method was also done with dried grass instead of sand, depending on where the women lived and what materials were available in their immediate environment. It’s not confirmed but they may have also used Panda pelts as a sort of sanitary napkin.

Those in the Middle East believed that menstruating women were impure and anything they touched while on their period became unclean. In some religious culture women had to live apart from the family in a separate hut or enclosure during their period. They were also prohibited from doing certain activities or going to places (such as they couldn’t enter any mosque, they couldn’t pray, couldn’t take a bath, nor could they make their own food or eat). They would wear special clothes at the time of menstruation and rely on reusable cloth pads (made from bamboo, wool, cotton, or hemp) which they wash and use again. Some still do this, but slowly the religious taboos on menstruation are being cast away.

As for women who lived in colder climates, they depended on animal fur during those days. Since colder regions are cursed with snow and ice, there were limited commodities available for survival. Thus, women used fur of the animals which they hunted to prevent mensuration blood and fluids from staining their clothes.

The Victorians viewed menstruation as an illness, and it was in fact, taboo to have any discussion or mention that women bled at all. Women that were privileged were usually confined to their private quarters during their periods. While others would go about their business as usual. Victorian women underwear was actually crotchless bloomers. This was to allow women to use the toilet more easily, because dresses were so heavy and comprised of several layers, which kept everything hidden. Unfortunately, this was one of the reasons periods were a nightmare to deal with. Most historians believed that women would bleed freely into their undergarments.

However, Charles Delucena Meigs, an obstetrician advised women to use the T-bandage for the bleeding. It consisted of a napkin, called the guard that was folded like a cravat, which pressed against the genitalia. The ends were strings that would tied around the body and held above the hips. Either way, women would also put on a thicker petticoat as a precaution if they bleed through their clothing. When they were experiencing a heavy flow, they would use a cloth plug (made of linen rag, cotton, or sponge). They would roll the cloth up, and tied the string in the middle of it so that it would be easier to pull it out, just like a tampon.

In the Middle Ages, they believed that if a man’s penis touched menstrual blood, it would burn up, and any child conceived during menstruation would be possessed by the devil, deformed, or red-haired. However, historians don’t have much to work with other than speculation. They believed that medieval women would used rags (hence the term “on the rag”) or other absorbent materials during heavy periods. Otherwise, many women would just freely bleed into their clothes. There is now some archaeological evidence to show us that some women may have worn panty-like garments to hold the menstrual pad. Women could also wrap cotton (or linen if it was available or if they could afford it) fabric around a twig and use it as a proto-tampon.

At this time, there was a lot of religious shame surrounding periods, so women went to insane lengths to hide their cycle from the public. They would carry little pouches of sweet-smelling herbs around their neck or waist to neutralize the smell of blood, and they believed that burning a toad and wearing the ashes in a pouch around your waist would ease cramps and heavy flow.

In many Native American tribes, in particular the Ojibwe women traditionally secluded themselves in a moon lodge during menstruation. In the wigwam, the women would settled over grass mats and bled into them. They spent their time telling stories to other menstruating women, weaving new grass mats, sewing clothing, and resting. They slept separated from their husbands and infants. They refrained from sex, food preparation, and ceremony. They were also very careful not to step over young children, touch babies, men or communal food. Female friends and relatives ensured the menstruating woman was safe and fed, and they helped care for her family in her absence.

If cedar boughs were missing from her front door, it was a sign that she had begun her period and that she retreated to the moon lodge. It also alerted other women to come visit her, bring her food, and to check up on her. To an outsider, most are likely to make assumptions that the Ojibwe people viewed menstruating women as evil or unclean because of their practice. But for Ojibwe women, their moon is healthy and natural. There was no reason to be ashamed of it. They were given time to rest, to regenerate and recognition for their roles as life givers.

As for pioneer women, there’s hardly a single reference to menstruation in the diaries, letters or inventories of wagon-trains. Except there was one source--a diary, in which the writer mentioned how she had nothing to absorb menstrual discharge other than her underwear. She pointed it out to another woman that hers were dark, not white, and advised her to use the same dark colors for her underwear too.

In 18th century America, women held their pads up with suspenders which were worn under the clothes. The napkin was also reusable.

Sometime in the late 19th century Europe, concern grew around the notion of whether bleeding into one’s clothes was healthy and sanitary. One German doctor wrote in the book Health in the House: “It is completely disgusting to bleed into your chemise, and wearing that same chemise for four to eight days can cause infections.”

That was because women living in rural areas in Europe often didn't use any kind of menstrual protection. They would just bleed on their clothes or even drip blood along the floor as they went about their days. In this era, menstrual protection was somewhat of a luxury. Lower class women on farms couldn't really afford extra materials to make sanitary pads.

The very first disposable pads was thought up by nurses, looking for new methods to stop excessive bleeding, particularly on the battlefield. The first pads were made from wood pulp bandages by nurses in France. It was very absorbent, and cheap enough to throw away afterwards. Commercial manufacturers borrowed this idea, and the first disposable pads were available for purchase as early as 1888 – called the Southball pad. In America, Johnson & Johnson developed their own version in 1896 called Lister’s Towel: Sanitary Towel’s for Ladies.

The problem was, women did not feel comfortable asking for this product, so in the early 1920s, the name was changed to Nupak. It was a name that did not describe the product.

Even though sanitary pads were available during this time, they were much too expensive for most women, and they continued using more traditional methods. When they could afford it, women were allowed to place money in a box so that they would not have to speak to the clerk, and take a box of Kotex pads from the counter themselves. It took several years for disposable menstrual pads to become commonplace.

The earliest disposable pads were generally in the form of a cotton wool or similar fibrous rectangle covered with an absorbent liner. The liner ends extended out from the front and back so as to fit through loops in a special girdle or belt worn beneath undergarments. This design was notorious for slipping either forward or back of the intended position.

Around the 1970s an adhesive strip was placed on the bottom of the pad for attachment to the saddle of the panties, and this became a favored method with women. The belted sanitary napkin was quickly phased out once self-adhesive pads were in the market.

[pretty-grotesque]

Merr Chirma! 🌲❄️ We went on a picnic to the cemetery today for the holiday, the sunlight is a great gift. . . . . #ootd #vintagefashion #memphis #ialmostfelltakingthis . . . . [Image description: Damien twirls in the sunlight on road between a grove of crape myrtle trees in a cemetery. Their dress swings around them with their crutch stretched outward from them. The dress is a red and black vine and flower pattern swing dress with many black petticoats.] (at Elmwood Cemetery) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6hE3RxnOmZ/?igshid=8zr073532370

[scotianostra]

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer.

To the Right Honourable and Honourable Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons

Further to my post earlier regarding the illicit stills on Arran and snuggling, I mentioned Burns himself being an excise-man/ here ihe is, before he himself joined their ranks, poking thirsty fun at 'damn'd Excise-men'. The poet's exasperation with what he took to be Parliament's bias against the national drink of his native land sums up too, his larger discontent with London's prejudice against the national interest. Isn't in Britain's interest to defeat France? '

Scotch' Acqua-Vitae maked for braver soldiers than French wine, he argues disingenuously. His complaint was provoked by the legislative attempts of the British parliament to disadvantage local distillers and those using domestic stills to provide a needful dram,

Dearest of distillation! last and best- -How art thou lost!- Parody on Milton Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet's pray'rs Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse! Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin on her arse Low i' the dust, And scriechinhout prosaic verse, An like to brust!

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me's in great affliction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On aqua-vitae; An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity.

Stand forth an' tell yon Premier youth The honest, open, naked truth: Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His servants humble: The muckle deevil blaw you south If ye dissemble!

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant them; If honestly they canna come, Far better want them.

In gath'rin votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack: Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle; Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle; An' damn'd excisemen in a bussle, Seizin a stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel, Or limpet shell!

Then, on the tither hand present her- A blackguard smuggler right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin.

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, To see his poor auld mither's pot Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat By gallows knaves?

Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight? But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Boswell,^2 There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well.

God bless your Honours! can ye see't- The kind, auld cantie carlin greet, An' no get warmly to your feet, An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi'a patriot-heat Ye winna bear it?

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' pause, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs.

Dempster,^3 a true blue Scot I'se warran'; Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;^4 An' that glib-gabbit Highland baron, The Laird o' Graham;^5 An' ane, a chap that's damn'd aulfarran', Dundas his name:^6

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie;^7 True Campbells, Frederick and Ilay;^8

An' Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie;^9 An' mony ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers.

See sodger Hugh,^10 my watchman stented, If poets e'er are represented; I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'd lend a hand; But when there's ought to say anent it, Ye're at a stand.

Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle; Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, Ye'll see't or lang, She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, Anither sang.

This while she's been in crankous mood, Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie!) An' now she's like to rin red-wud About her whisky.

An' Lord! if ance they pit her till't, Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, An'durk an' pistol at her belt, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' the first she meets!

For God sake, sirs! then speak her fair, An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, To get remead.

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! E'en cowe the cadie! An' send him to his dicing box An' sportin' lady.

Tell you guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's, ^11 I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, An' drink his health in auld Nance Tinnock's ^12 Nine times a-week, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Was kindly seek.

Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He needna fear their foul reproach Nor erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, The Coalition.

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; She's just a devil wi' a rung; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung, She'll no desert.

And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, May still you mither's heart support ye; Then, tho'a minister grow dorty, An' kick your place, Ye'll snap your gingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face.

God bless your Honours, a' your days, Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise,

In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, That haunt St. Jamie's! Your humble poet sings an' prays, While Rab his name is.

Postscript

Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise; Their lot auld Scotland ne're envies, But, blythe and frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys Tak aff their whisky.

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and beauty charms, When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, The scented groves; Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms In hungry droves!

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To stan' or rin, Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a'throw'ther, To save their skin.

But bring a Scotchman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will, An' there's the foe! He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi'bluidy hand a welcome gies him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas.

Sages their solemn een may steek, An' raise a philosophic reek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' season; But tell me whisky's name in Greek I'll tell the reason.

Scotland, my auld, respected mither! Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, Till, whare ye sit on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam; Freedom an' whisky gang thegither! Take aff your dram!

[libidomechanica]

“For hid delight of love”

What he said ’twas too harshly jar.     For hid delight of love. About to flower blown than that     tongue lay a boar-spear aloft to fly all about! And yet,     behold a tall as she pays, in their darkness from the breath     it eternal cold? To

be hated. We walked along, bearing     before their guilty of shepherds to their grave as these     not on you for camouflage for men be misse, looking of     it,—nor will I weep together! But Sylvio did; and     I’ll awa to Nanie, O.

So, one would be, and sink that     nightingale, so doth retained, the rudest peas, I must be not     born with his mother’s arms away, and sinless wealthy and     their nature. Thus, in spires and the very birds that heed that     through copse-clad valley-lilies

of clay and hides always? No     Mate, no holy order; when the air. If by the brain: be     struck by the truth is there his lip, whiskery dot that spread,     turn to his distracted guise seeme most of all the very     petticoat he sails to

nature than that spread stole away.     Wherein the light of my first not wish nor scorne of shepherd     songs wakened, and curse the latter, the bees hum about?     At day-bearing bloudie pain … Do what Heav’n to shaken me awake     to themselves sae far

and wounded and deformed and the     man knows the said, It gets me a single life from thine he     had me bear the enchanted time starfish something stiffened     by the home to its sweetness? And to wondrous beauty be;     it is a paly flame

played, and blushing wroth God hath my     obedience. Who building his hearing, passionate love     procure. Men, much stealth, ostage of us sobbing, no limits     heroes if silent woody place, which happen to shed,     over pavement of sight.

She hers, innumerable priesthood     make. Won before if I lie, and stumbling cover of     eve, and then, in the outside any compound such a blooming     string, in natures shook; or, Pindars apes, flaunt the speed-laden     wings; such a thing of

your hand, my deare careless false to     region where sped a troop of urine? Why urge them yet. He     lends thee, giving Child, that in his footprints, secure, go call     God—call God! A rose that poison why my most resemble     Venus’ temple becoming,

sailing cloudy night-wander’d     up again. Have gone in Greece, of the poet is what each     cheering guest to make sure and night the streaming sun, here let     thief, when my stuttering Triton sounding this coming lavish,     shame, and with me in

one little breed. That have show you     add did them in thee—ponders; struggle on with heart, but unthrift,     our trace they came to the sparkles new begun. Idleness     in grove whom you teach to take her. That fine screeched for ever;     tis scarcely sea. And

now, who marriage ring into something     beneath his Cheapside; and yet at my hand? Like sea should     be possess’d. Heaved up with my brier, to spreads verses yet     doth in thee—on the crown thy head; not be to sing; draws, hopes     and wives! And thou in despised

poems yet men desire     on each respected some played and sink the horses beat, the     Hare upon the golden reign. The earth its touch of hands she     went to gather rais’d his Cyclops set; love go by; but the     seasons: he is it a

touch ethereal; and shepherds’     cells, made so fairily well; I will become to my soule     possible for what course through to cure me. Our world’s sun, in     truth. And spongy sod with convinced that something words. When the     shape in my heart, but what

were clawing slain, else men adored     all beauty be; it is all with trembled, swaying to hold     my reach the air so mourning to them with silvery one     exterior sense, nor beasts, birds sighed deep, impassionate     brain, with married to be

thy hand, and Lucy climb! And one     especial legend of mine eyes; mine be though not my friendship,     well trimm’d with what time. Where be any dart quite despise     men on our meadows To lose, thy soul shalt hap to death.     Had I a cave is strook.

[jshoulson]

Today’s Poem

Romance de la luna, luna --Federico García Lorca

La luna vino a la fragua con su polisón de nardos. El niño la mira mira. El niño la está mirando.

En el aire conmovido mueve la luna sus brazos y enseña, lúbrica y pura, sus senos de duro estaño.

Huye luna, luna, luna. Si vinieran los gitanos, harían con tu corazón collares y anillos blancos.

Niño déjame que baile. Cuando vengan los gitanos, te encontrarán sobre el yunque con los ojillos cerrados.

Huye luna, luna, luna, que ya siento sus caballos. Niño déjame, no pises, mi blancor almidonado.

El jinete se acercaba tocando el tambor del llano. Dentro de la fragua el niño, tiene los ojos cerrados.

Por el olivar venían, bronce y sueño, los gitanos. Las cabezas levantadas y los ojos entornados.

¡Cómo canta la zumaya, ay como canta en el árbol! Por el cielo va la luna con el niño de la mano.

Dentro de la fragua lloran, dando gritos, los gitanos. El aire la vela, vela. el aire la está velando.

Ballad of the Moon Moon --translated by Sarah Arvio

For Conchita García Lorca

Moon came to the forge in her petticoat of nard The boy looks and looks the boy looks at the Moon In the turbulent air Moon lifts up her arms showing — pure and sexy — her beaten-tin breasts Run Moon run Moon Moon If the gypsies came white rings and white necklaces they would beat from your heart Boy will you let me dance — when the gypsies come they’ll find you on the anvil with your little eyes shut Run Moon run Moon Moon I hear the horses’ hoofs Leave me boy! Don’t walk on my lane of white starch

The horseman came beating the drum of the plains The boy at the forge has his little eyes shut Through the olive groves in bronze and in dreams here the gypsies come their heads riding high their eyelids hanging low

How the night heron sings how it sings in the tree Moon crosses the sky with a boy by the hand

At the forge the gypsies cry and then scream The wind watches watches the wind watches the Moon

[poem-today]

A poem by Rita Dove

Hattie McDaniel Arrives at the Coconut Grove

late, in aqua and ermine, gardenias scaling her left sleeve in a spasm of scent, her gloves white, her smile chastened, purse giddy with stars and rhinestones clipped to her brilliantined hair, on her free arm that fine Negro, Mr. Wonderful Smith.

It’s the day that isn’t, February 29th, at the end of the shortest month of the year— and the shittiest, too, everywhere except Hollywood, California, where the maid can wear mink and still be a maid, bobbing her bandaged head and cursing the white folks under her breath as she smiles and shoos their silly daughters in from the night dew … what can she be thinking of, striding into the ballroom where no black face has ever showed itself except above a serving tray?

Hi-Hat Hattie, Mama Mac, Her Haughtiness, the “little lady” from Showboat whose name Bing forgot, Beulah & Bertha & Malena & Carrie & Violet & Cynthia & Fidelia, one half of the Dark Barrymores— dear Mammy we can’t help but hug you crawl into your generous lap tease you with arch innuendo so we can feel that much more wicked and youthful and sleek but oh what

we forgot: the four husbands, the phantom pregnancy, your famous parties, your celebrated ice box cake. Your giggle above the red petticoat’s rustle, black girl and white girl walking hand in hand down the railroad tracks in Kansas City, six years old. The man who advised you, now that you were famous, to “begin eliminating” your more “common” acquaintances and your reply (catching him square in the eye): “That’s a good idea. I’ll start right now by eliminating you.”

Is she or isn’t she? Three million dishes, a truckload of aprons and headrags later, and here you are: poised, between husbands and factions, no corset wide enough to hold you in, your huge face a dark moon split by that spontaneous smile—your trademark, your curse. No matter, Hattie: It’s a long, beautiful walk into that flower-smothered standing ovation, so go on and make them wait.

Rita Dove

Listen to Rita Dove read the poem.

[howrv]

Fargo's Museum Ranch: Chapter 4

Visually, the ranch was pristine but weathered, much like Fargo. They both have withstood storms, and it showed. The twisting winds are brutal coming off the nearby Chiricahua Mountains. At one moment you see a sand storm in the distance, swirling tornados, ejecting white plumes high in the air. Then in seconds, the swirl overtakes you. There is no light. It is like someone ripped the sun from the sky and you are being blasted and tossed by sand at 40 to 60 mph. You are blinded. Becky and I have experienced such a storm driving our bus on I-10 in the New Mexican desert. The most terrifying 30 seconds of my life.

But the Museum Ranch stands as it has for decades, everything in its place choreographed by a master set director. There are a dozen or so sheltered gathering spaces (sitting areas) around the ranch. Each unique and all displaying memorabilia and photos of movie stars with their arms draped on the shoulder of a younger Fargo. These gathering spots are in the corner of barns, under carriage sheds, by fire pits, attached to a hen house or upstairs over a storage shed. In each one, there are places and porches to sit and talk. Some have a few chairs and benches, while others have a few metal milk crates turned on end, or maybe a log for us to straddle. But most notably, in every space there was a single armed chair with a padded seat were Fargo would hold court to a captive audience of us.

There was always music playing in the background. Radio set to a Mexican station or a phonograph player softly emitting vocals of Patsy Cline, Hank Snow, Rex Allen, and Ernest Tubb. Signature cowboy songs. A perfect underscore to match our cinematic imaginations, while Fargo told stories of the old west.

While Becky and Fargo were chatting, I was admiring a Stetson hat and removed it from a hook on a post. Barton was quick to tell me that I should "replace it like I found it" because if it were 1/8 inch off, or rehung askew Fargo would notice.

Fargo and his ranch hands each had a few trucks. Quattro even had a Cadillac. But all vehicles were stashed behind a grove of mesquite or under the back side of a shed, not distracting from the perception that we were back in the late 1800's. An electric golf cart was the only hardware that belied the visual genera. Fargo needed it's assistance to get around and check on things. He would fatigue quickly and often pulled out an inhaler from his jeans to allay coughing and breathlessness. But at 89, he was still leaner and keener than most of our friends just reaching retirement age.

We climbed aboard the electric cart and set out to see the ranch. He rode us to where stagecoaches and chuck wagons were stored. The one carriage with a large frame, Jonny Cash liked best. Quartto pointed out the chuck wagon used by Lee Marvin and Brian Keith in The Quest and Monty Walsh. There was the stagecoach Maureen O'Hare while swishing her petticoats climbed in and rode off, in Big Jake. He pointed out items used in McClintock, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, wagons from the Little House pilot, saddles and spurs from Three Amigos and yokes and harnesses that accompanied the mule teams in Bonanza. Most, he said, he had sold or left back in Old Tuscon where we visited last year. But he still had an amazing collection of important antiquities from the silver screen.

He called our attention to an old blacksmith's anvil. "That thing weighs 350 pounds," he said with half grin half grimace. "You know how I know?" To which I gave a shrug. "Arnold Schwarzenegger picked the damn thing up and told me," Fargo grinned, adding emphasis by raising his eyebrows up and down three or four times making his hat bob on his head.

Homing pigeons moved in and out of their roosts. Fargo explained how intelligent they were and their dependable characteristics. He supplied Old Tuscon with birds for many movies. So if you are watching an old John Ford western and you see birds a flight, they were probably trained by our friend Fargo to fly on cue.

Once he was commissioned to provide deer for a scene of the animals running through prairie. The scene was to be shot from above from a helicopter. However, the producers were prohibited from herding or using live game in a shoot. So Ole' Fargo rigged antlers on his goats, placed them at one end of a canyon and put Barton at the other end of the canyon with the pappa goat to call the "deer herd." The helicopter lifted off and the scene was captured in one take.

We headed down a fence line on the safe side of longhorn steer and bulls to a wood-hewn building with a cross on the front. Quattro hobbled in with us as we entered the chapel.

At the front, centered between two wood beams was a large print of the last supper, the one depicting the servant in the foreground. On the right was a pulpit draped in a colorful sarape blanket with two wooden slats tied in a cross on the front. Behind the pulpit was a statue of The Madonna and another cross above it. On the walls were Indian ceremonial feathers and bells, a menorah, a yarmulke, and plastic flower arrangements. Beside the pulpit was a photo of Mother Teresa and The Pope.

On the left side of the chapel was a firebrick altar with a leaded glass backdrop. A brass cross leaned against a wood mantle and two tin cups dangled below. Fargo retrieved a now extinct, Blue Diamond self-striking match from a Ball Jar, scratched it across the brick, and began lighting several candles. I was about to cross myself or genuflect when Fargo broke my reverence and uttered, "Yeah, I've got all kinds of religious shit in here. I've got Protestant shit, Catholic shit, Jewish shit, Indian shit, and we've even had a few weddings. Quattro there's a minister, and he officiates," gesturing to Quattro who was now standing behind the podium gripping both sides firmly.

Quattro, the minister, told us a little of his story while standing behind the pulpit. He had originated in Pensylvania and came out to Arizona to visit his brother at UofA in Tucson. He met Fargo on set at Old Tucson, fell in love with the west and never went back. He helped Fargo with the animals, worked as a bronc rider and stuntman, and fit into the movie business as Fargo's sidekick.

After blowing out the candles on the altar, we left the church and headed down the lane, opening and closing gates behind us. We drove onto open range where fifty miles of sagebrush, tumbleweed, and sand lay in front of the jagged Chiricahua mountains where we hiked just days before. We arrived at a clump of mesquite trees that shaded seven grave sites. We sat on benches and listened as Fargo told us stories about each ranch hand who was buried there. His words were kind with a deep appreciation for their service.

We carted back to the coffee pot area. It was 2 pm. Fargo moved his chair from in front of the padlocked door and opened it. The door swung inward to reveal a saloon right out of the movies. Four stools, a swinging door, and a bar lined with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and tequila in front of mirrored glass. Hanging behind the bar were cowboy hats, Indian headress, scores of photographs, lanterns, spurs, feathers, beads and oh yes, an Indian scalp. I wasn't too surprised when he pointed out the spur marks in the oak bar top.

We looked through his stacks of 12-inch long-play records. An impressive collection. Becky chose Hank Snow and we enjoyed a few cold ones while Fargo told more stories of movies and the stars he knew.

We had spent the entire day with three of the most interesting men I've ever met. We learned more about animals, birds, Indians, history and movies, than I had in a lifetime. But this was just the first day of three. The next day we were to bring our forty-foot Allegro Bus (our Home On Wheels) and park right in the middle of The Museum Ranch, 12 miles and a hundred years from town.

[victorianwhitechapel]

“Dark” Annie Chapman

Annie Chapman (b. Annie Eliza Smith; aka Dark Annie; Annie Siffey, Sievey or Sivvey)

Birth date: September 1841 Attacked and killed (age): September 8, 1888 (47)

Complexion: Pallid Eyes colour: Blue Hair colour: Dark Brown Height: 5′ (152 cm) Ocupation: crochet work, flower seller, beggar, casual prostitution

Clothes at the time of murder/discovery: A long black figured coat that came down to her knees; a black skirt; a brown bodice; another bodice; 2 petticoats; a large pocket worn under the skirt and tied about the waist with strings (empty when found); lace up boots; red and white striped woollen stockings; neckerchief, white with a wide red border (folded tri-corner and knotted at the front of her neck. she is wearing the scarf in this manner when she leaves Crossingham’s).

Resting place: Manor Park Cemetery & Crematorium, Forest Gate.

***

Early life

It is not known the exact day of Annie Eliza Smith’s birthday, but she was born in September 1841 (Find A Grave memorial website says the 1st of September, but without sources) in Knightsbridge (West London) to George Smith of Harrow Road, a Private, 2nd Battalion of Lifeguards (at the time of his death he was listed as a servant) and Ruth Chapman of Market Street.

Annie’s parents were married on February 22, 1842, 6 months after Annie was born. The marriage took place in Paddington (in the London borough of Westminster). Annie was baptised on the 23rd  April 1842 at Christchurch, St Pancras (London borough of Camden). The church was local to where her father George Smith was stationed at Upper Albany Street by Regents Park, but their address was recorded on the register as Knightsbridge.

She had three younger sisters, Emily Latitia (b.1844), Georgina (b.1856) and Mirium Ruth (b.1858), and a younger brother, Fountain Hamilton (b. 1861). The sisters appeared not to get along with Annie. She had three more siblings, George William Thomas, baptised at the same church as hers, on the 2nd June 1844; Miriam, baptised on 25th January 1852, and William christened on 1st February 1854 at Christchurch, St Pancras, who sadly died after 5 months. He was buried on the 3rd June at Holy Trinity, Brompton. The family lived at Raphael Street at that time and their sadness did not end there. George William Thomas died aged 12 and was buried only thirteen days after his younger brother, and Miriam also sadly died in June 1854, exactly the same quarter that the deaths of George William Thomas and William were recorded. Georgina, Mirium Ruth and Fountain Hamilton were all baptised on the same day in Sept 29 1867 and their dates of birth are given in each entry showing they were aged 11, 9 and 6 at baptism.

Annie married John Chapman, a coachman, on May 1, 1869 at All Saints Church in the Knightsbridge district of London. She was 28. Their residence on the marriage certificate is listed as 29 Montpelier Place, Brompton. This is also where her mother lived until her death in 1893.

In 1870 they moved to 1 Brook Mews in Bayswater (within the City of Westminster and the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea in central London), and their first daughter Emily Ruth was born. John worked as a Domestic Head Coachman. In 1873 they moved to 17 South Bruton Mews, Berkeley Square (West End, City of Westminster) when their second daughter, Annie Georgina, was born. In 1880 they had a son, John Alfred, who was a cripple and sent to a home or charity school. In 1881 they moved to Windsor where John took a job as a domestic coachman. Sadly, Emily Ruth died of meningitis at the age of twelve. Then John worked for a farm bailiff, Josiah Weeks.

Annie and John separated by mutual consent in 1884 or 1885. The reason is uncertain. A police report says it was because of her “drunken and immoral ways.” She was arrested several times in Windsor for drunkenness and it is believed her husband was also a heavy drinker.

John Chapman semi-regularly paid his wife 10 shillings per week by Post Office order until his death on Christmas day in 1886, aged 44. At the time of his death he was living at Grove Road, Windsor. He died of cirrhosis of the liver and dropsy. Annie found out about his death through her brother-in-law who lived in Oxford Street, Whitechapel. On telling her friend Amelia Palmer about it she cried. Palmer said that even two years later she seemed downcast when speaking of her children and how “since the death of her husband she seemed to have given away all together.”

Later life

Sometime during 1886 she was living with a sieve maker named John “Jack” Sivvey (unknown whether this is a nickname or not) at the common lodging house at 30 Dorset Street, Spitalfields. Although they never did marry, she was by then known as Annie Sivvey or Sievey/Siffey). He left her soon after her husband’s death, probably when the money stopped coming. He moved to Notting Hill.

From May or June 1888, Annie was living consistently at Crossingham’s Lodging House at 35 Dorset Street, Spitalfields, which catered for approximately 300 people. The deputy was Timothy Donovan. She paid 8d (4p) for a double bed.

More recently, Annie had been having a relationship with Edward Stanley, a bricklayer’s mate, known as the Pensioner. At the time of Annie’s murder he was living at 1 Osborn Place, Whitechapel. Stanley and Annie spent weekends together at Crossingham’s. Stanley instructed Donovan to turn Annie away if she tried to enter with another man. He often paid for Annie’s bed as well as that of  fellow lodger Eliza Cooper. They spent Saturdays and Sundays together, parting between 1:00 and 3:00 AM on Sundays. Stanley said that he had known Annie in Windsor.

Annie lived worked doing crochet-work and selling flowers. In mid to late August of 1888 she ran into her brother Fountain Smith on Commercial Road. She said she was hard up but would not tell him where she was living. He gave her 2 shillings.

[Next post]

***

Portrayed in films:

Barbara Windsor in A Study in Terror (1965)

Deirdre Costello in Jack the Ripper TV series (1988)

June Brown in Murder by Decree (1979) (no picture)

Katrin Cartlidge in From Hell (2001)

Karen Brace in Ginger (2016) (no picture)

Source & first photo: Wikipedia

***

To know more:

ACKROYD, Peter et al. (2008): Jack the Ripper and the East End. 

ALEXANDER, G. (2015): Jack The Ripper: Case Solved?

BEGG, Paul (2003): Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History.  

BEGG, Paul (2013): Jack The Ripper. The Facts. 

BEGG, Paul; FIDO, Martin & SKINNER, Keith (1996): The Jack The Ripper A – Z. The Ultimate Guide to the Ripper Mystery. 

CHISHOLM, Alexander; DiGRAZIA, Christopher-Michael & YOST, Dave (2002): The News from Whitechapel: Jack the Ripper in the “Daily Telegraph”. 

CULLEN, Tom (1965): Autumn of Terror: Jack the Ripper, his crimes and times. 

EDDLESTON, John J. (2001): Jack the Ripper: An Encyclopedia. 

EVANS, Stewart P. & RUMBELOW, Donald (2006): Jack the Ripper: Scotland Yard Investigates.  EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2000): The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook: An Illustrated Encyclopedia. 

FROST, Rebecca (2018): The Ripper’s Victims in Print. The Rethoric Portrayals Since 1929. 

HINTON, Bob (1998): From Hell. Jack the Ripper Mistery. 

HODGSON, Peter (2011): Jack the Ripper. Through the Mists of Time. 

HUME, Robert (2019): The hidden lives of Jack the Ripper’s victims. 

JAKUBOWSKI, Maxim & BRAUND, Nathan (1999): The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper. 

JONES, Richard (2008): Jack the Ripper. The Casebook. 

MAGELLAN, Karyo (2005): By Ear and Eyes: The Witechapel Murders, Jack the Ripper and the Murder of Mary Kelly.

MARRIOTT, Trevor (2005): Jack the Ripper: The 21st Century Investigation.  MATTHEWS, Rupert (2013): Jack the Ripper’s Street of Terror: Life during the reign of Victorian London’s most brutal killer. 

PRIESTLEY, Mick P. (2018): One Autumn in Whitechapel. 

RANDALL, Anthony J. (2013): Jack the Ripper. Blood lines. 

RUBENHOLD, Hallie (2019): The Untold Lives of the Women killed by Jack the Ripper / The Lives of Jack the Ripper’s Women. 

RUMBELOW, Donald (1975): Jack The Ripper: The Complete Casebook.

RUMBELOW, Donald (2004): The Complete Jack the Ripper: Fully Revised and Updated. 

SHELDEN, Neal E. (2013): Mary Jane Kelly and the Victims of Jack the Ripper: The 125th Anniversary. 

SHELDEN STUBBINGS, Neal (2017): The Victims of Jack the Ripper. 

SKINNER, Keith & EVANS, Stewart P. (2000): The Ultimate Jack The Ripper Sourcebook. 

SUGDEN, Philip (1994, 2002): The Complete History of Jack the Ripper. 

TROW, Meirion James (2009): Jack the Ripper: Quest for a Killer.  TROW, Meirion James (2012): Hunting Jack: Abberline and the Whitechapel murders. 

WHITEHEAD, Mark; RIVETT, Miriam (2006): Jack the Ripper. 

WHITTINGTON-EGAN, Richard (1975, 2015): Jack the Ripper. The definitive Casebook.  WOOD, Simon Daryl (2015): Deconstructing Jack: The Secret History of the Whitechapel Murders. 

Wikipedia

Casebook - Annie Chapman

(Wiki) Casebook - Annie Chapman

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s timeline

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s inquest transcription

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s messages forum

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s discussion forum

Find a Grave

JTR Forums - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper 1888 - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper 1888 - The Murder of Annie Chapman

Ripper Vision - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper Tour - Hanbury Street

Jack the Ripper Tour - RIP Annie Chapman

Whitechapel Jack - Annie Chapman

Jack The Ripper - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper map - Annie Chapman

The Jack the Ripper Tour - Annie Chapman

The Jack the Ripper wakl - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper blogspot - Annie Chapman

[retro-pure-jdonica]

Chapter 5

“I need to beg her to not, I don’t know, ruin me.” I continue speaking frantically.

“What? Why?” J.D. asks. He definitely doesn’t understand the situation, but there’s no way I could expect him to.

“I embarrassed her at a huge party, there’s no way she’ll let me go back to living a normal life with no troubles at all.” I ramble on. “Do you know where Crestwood drive is?”

“Yeah, that’s on the drive to school. I can take you there.” He generously offers.

“You’re a life saver.” I smile back, grabbing my purse from the nightstand. “We should wait a few minutes for your dad to leave though.”

“If you insist.” J.D. sighs as he sits back down on the edge of the bed.

***

“Want me to come inside with you?” J.D. asks as he climbs off of his motorcycle.

“That would be wonderful.” I smile, stepping onto Heather Chandler’s driveway. We walk up to her front door and ring the doorbell. A minute or two go by and nobody comes.

“Maybe she’s not home, there are no cars in the driveway.” J.D. points out, but I know Heather better.

“Trust me, she skips the Saturday morning trips to grandma’s house even when she hasn’t been partying.” I explain. I reach forward and the door is unlocked, so I invite myself and J.D. inside. “Heather, Heather!”

“What!” I hear Heather scream from her bedroom. I walk over to her bedroom and stand outside the door.

“I-It’s Veronica, I’m hear to apologize.” I speak loudly so that she can hear me through the door.

“Fix me a prairie oyster and I’ll think about it!”

“Prairie oyster, what is that?” I ask J.D., keeping my voice slightly low to not excessively disturb Heather.

“Raw egg, hit sauce, Worcestershire, salt, pepper…” J.D. trails on but I still don’t know what he’s talking about. “It’s a basic hangover cure.” He shrugs.

“Oh, okay.” I mumble as I begin to walk to Heather’s kitchen, J.D. following behind me. I hunt around her cabinets until I find everything J.D. had listed and a cup.

“I’ll make it, I’ve had plenty of experience.” J.D. laughs.

“How have you learned about all this?” I ask as he cracks an egg into the cup.

“My dad trained me well.” He smiles. From what I’ve gathered, J.D. has a not-so-good dad. “Here.” J.D. says, handing me the cup.

“Thank you.” I smile as I take the cup and begin to walk into Heather’s room with J.D. following cautiously behind me. “Good morning, Heather.”

“Ah, Veronica and Jesse James, quelle surprise.” Heather sighs as she sits up in her bed, the tulle of her red baby doll pajamas draping behind her. “Well you said you came to apologize, so apologize.” She demands, taking the cup from my hands and quickly drinking it. “And I would prefer if you did this on your knees, in front of your boy toy here.”

“I-I’m sorry about last night and how I-” I begin, ignoring that she told me to kneel because I assumed she was joking. Apparently, she was not.

“Does it look like I kidding? Down.” Heather snaps at me. I give J.D. a quick glance and he turns his head away to make me a little less embarrassed. I get down on my knees and begin to apologize again.

“I’m sorry about running out last night and embarrassing you, nothing like that will ever happen again.” I say, trying to be thorough but also trying to get this over with quickly.

“It better not, now get out.” Heather replies, laying back down on her bed. I stand up and follow J.D. out of her room, closing the door behind me.

“Jeez, is she always like that?” J.D. asks as we walk out of the front door and back towards his bike.

“She’s not usually that bad, I think she was trying to embarrass me in front of you.” I laugh as I climb onto the back of the motorcycle.

“Well, for the record, it didn’t work. Want me to take you home?” J.D. asks as he starts the engine.

“Yeah, I know how to get home from here. If you keep going straight and then turn right onto Elk Grove road, my neighborhood is the first one on the left.” I explain. J.D. responds with ‘okay’ and then starts driving. Once we pull into my neighborhood, he slows down so I can tell him where to go from there.

“Thank you so much for the ride. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.” I thank J.D. as I climb off of his bike. I suddenly think about the fact that I’ve slept at his house before but I don’t even know his phone number. “Wait, stay right here, I will be right back.” I tell him before running inside to get a notepad. Luckily my parents aren’t in the living room so I don’t have to stop to talk to them and keep J.D. waiting.

Once I get a pen and a notepad, I run back outside to J.D.. “Here, I just realized that I don’t have your number.” I say, handing him the pen and paper. He quickly writes down his phone number before handing everything back to me. On another peace of paper I write down my number and give it to him. “Thanks, just in case I need saving again.” I smile. I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek as a small thank you before saying goodbye and walking back inside.

I decide to look around for my parents to let them know that I’m home. I first go to their bedroom, since that’s where the most likely are. I knock on the door and then hear my mother say ‘come in’. I walk inside and see her and my father sitting on their bed.

“Hello, I just wanted to let you know that I’m home.” I say, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, thank you dear.” My mom smiles as she glances up from her magazine. I step out of the doorway and close the door. I get a glass of water from the kitchen before waking upstairs to my room.

I see the remnants of makeup on my face from last night in my dressing table mirror and immediately sit down to take it off. I rub cold cream over my eyes and lips before wiping it, along with the makeup, off of my face with a wet cloth. I’m also still in a party dress, petticoat has begun to itch severely, and my garter belt was digging into my waist. I step into my closet and change into a blue slip and a robe.

I walk back out into my room and grab my work basket from atop my dresser. Hunting through it, I find the main blanket I’ve been working on recently. I retrieve the correct size hook I’ve been using to make the blanket and sit down on my bed to continue working on it. I reach over to my bedside table and turn on my radio to have some nice background music and begin crocheting.