Anonymous - "The Book Of The Thousand Nights And One Night, Volume II"

George Sumner Weaver - "Aims and Aids for Girls and Young Women"

Various - "The Arena"

Anonymous - "The Book Of The Thousand Nights And One Night, Volume I"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Englishwoman in America

I >> Isabella Lucy Bird >> The Englishwoman in America




In the _America_, as it was a winter-passage, few persons chose to walk on
deck after dinner, consequently the saloon from eight till eleven
presented the appearance of a room at a fashionable hotel. There were two
regularly organised whist-parties, which played rubbers _ad infinitum_.
Cards indeed were played at most of the tables--some played backgammon--a
few would doze over odd volumes of old novels--while three chess-boards
would be employed at a time, for there were ten persons perfectly devoted
to this noble game. The varied employments of the occupants of the saloon
produced a strange mixture of conversations. One evening, while waiting
the slow movements of an opponent at chess, the following remarks in
slightly raised tones were audible above the rest:--"Do you really think
me pretty?--Oh flattering man!--Deuce, ace--Treble, double, and rub--
That's a good hand--Check--It's your play--You've gammoned me--Ay, ay,
sir--Parbleu!--Holloa! steward, whisky-toddy for four--I totally despise
conventionalisms--Checkmate--Brandy-punch for six--You've thrown away all
your hearts"--and a hundred others, many of them demands for something
from the culinary department. Occasionally a forlorn wight, who neither
played chess nor cards, would venture on deck to kill time, and return
into the saloon panting and shivering, in rough surtout and fur cap,
bringing a chilly atmosphere with him, voted a bore for leaving the door
open, and totally unable to induce people to sympathise with him in his
complaints of rain, cold, or the "ugly night." By eleven the saloon used
to become almost unbearable, from the combined odours of roast onions,
pickles, and punch, and at half-past the lights were put out, and the
company dispersed, most to their berths, but some to smoke cigars on deck.

Though the Cunard steamers are said by English people to be as near
perfection as steamers can be, I was sorry not to return in a clipper.
There is something so exhilarating in the motion of a sailing-vessel,
always provided she is neither rolling about in a calm, lying to in a
gale, or beating against a head-wind. She seems to belong to the sea, with
her tall tapering masts, her cloud of moving canvas, and her buoyant
motion over the rolling waves. Her movements are all comprehensible, and
_above-board_ she is invariably clean, and her crew are connected in one's
mind with nautical stories which charmed one in the long-past days of
youth. A steamer is very much the reverse. "Sam Slick," with his usual
force and aptitude of illustration, says that "she goes through the water
like a subsoil-plough with an eight-horse team." There is so much noise
and groaning, and smoke and dirt, so much mystery also, and the ship
leaves so much commotion in the water behind her. There do not seem to be
any regular sailors, and in their stead a collection of individuals
remarkably greasy in their appearance, who may be cooks or stokers, or
possibly both. Then you cannot go on the poop without being saluted by a
whiff of hot air from the grim furnaces below; men are always shovelling
in coal, or throwing cinders overboard; and the rig does not seem to
belong to any ship in particular. The masts are low and small, and the
canvas, which is always spread in fair weather, looks as if it had been
trailed along Cheapside on a wet day. In the _America_ it was not such a
very material assistance either; for on one occasion, when we were running
before a splendid breeze under a crowd of sail, the engines were stopped
and the log heaved, which only gave our speed at three miles an hour. One
lady passenger had been feeding her mind with stories of steamboat
explosions in the States, and spent her time in a morbid state of terror
by no means lessened by the close proximity of her state-room to the
dreaded engine.

On the sixth day after leaving Halifax the wind, which everybody had been
hoping for or fearing, came upon us at last, and continued increasing for
three days, when, if we had been beating against it, we should have called
it a hurricane. It was, however, almost directly aft, and we ran before it
under sail. The sky during the two days which it lasted was perfectly
cloudless, and the sea had that peculiar deep, clear, greenish-blue tint
only to be met with far from land. There was a majesty, a sublimity about
the prospect from the poop exceeding everything which I had ever seen.
_There_ was the mighty ocean showing his power, and _here_ were we poor
insignificant creatures overcoming him by virtue of those heaven sent arts
by which man

"Has made fire, flood, and earth,
The vassals of his will."

I had often read of mountain waves, but believed the comparison to be a
mere figure of speech till I saw them here, all glorious in their beauty,
under the clear blue of a December sky. Two or three long high hills of
water seemed to fill up the whole horizon, themselves an aggregate of a
countless number of leaping, foam-capped waves, each apparently large
enough to overwhelm a ship. Huge green waves seemed to chase us, when,
just as they reached the stern, the ship would lift, and they would pass
under her. She showed especial capabilities for rolling. She would roll
down on one side, the billows seeming ready to burst in foam over her,
while the opposite bulwark was fifteen or eighteen feet above the water,
displaying her bright green copper. The nights were more glorious than the
days, when the broad full moon would shed her light upon the water with a
brilliancy unknown in our foggy clime. It did not look like a wan flat
surface, placed flat upon a watery sky, but like a large radiant sphere
hanging in space. The view from the wheel-house was magnificent. The
towering waves which came up behind us heaped together by mighty winds,
looked like hills of green glass, and the phosphorescent light like fiery
lamps within--the moonlight glittered upon our broad foamy wake--our masts
and spars and rigging stood out in sharp relief against the sky, while for
once our canvas looked white. Far in the distance the sharp bow would
plunge down into the foam, and then our good ship, rising, would shake her
shiny sides, as if in joy at her own buoyancy. The busy hum of men marred
not the solitary sacredness of midnight on the Atlantic. The moon "walked
in brightness," auroras flashed, and meteors flamed, and a sensible
presence of Deity seemed to pervade the transparent atmosphere in which we
were viewing "the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep."

I could scarcely understand how this conjunction of circumstances could
produce any but agreeable sensations; but it is a melancholy fact that the
saloon emptied and the state-rooms filled, and the number of promenaders
daily diminished. People began to find the sea "an unpleasant fact." I
heard no more Byronic quotations about its "glad waters," or comments on
the "splendid run"--these were changed into anxious questions as to when
we should reach Liverpool? and, if we were in danger? People querulously
complained of the ale, hitherto their delight; abused the meat; thought
the mulligatawny "horrid stuff;" and wondered how they could ever have
thought plum-puddings fit for anything but pigs. Mysterious disappearances
were very common; diligent peripatetics were seen extended on sofas, or
feebly promenading under shelter of the bulwarks; while persons who prided
themselves on their dignity sustained ignominious falls, or clung to
railings in a state of tottering decrepitude, in an attempted progress
down the saloon. Though we had four ledges on the tables, cruets, bottles
of claret, and pickles became locomotive, and jumped upon people's laps;
almost everything higher than a plate was upset--pickles, wine, ale, and
oil forming a most odoriferous mixture; but these occurrences became too
common to be considered amusing. Two days before reaching England the gale
died away, and we sighted Cape Clear at eight o'clock on the evening of
the eleventh day out. A cold chill came off from the land, we were
enveloped in a damp fog, and the inclemency of the air reminded us of what
we had nearly forgotten, namely, that we were close upon Christmas.

The greater part of Sunday we were steaming along in calm water, within
sight of the coast of Ireland, and extensive preparations were being made
for going ashore--some people of sanguine dispositions had even decided
what they would order for dinner at the _Adelphi_. Morning service was
very fully attended, and it was interesting to hear the voices of people
of so many different creeds and countries joining in that divinely-taught
prayer which proclaims the universal brotherhood of the human race,
knowing that in a few hours those who then met in adoration would be
separated, to meet no more till summoned by the sound of the last trumpet.

Those who expected to spend Sunday night on shore were disappointed. A
gale came suddenly on us about four o'clock, sails were hastily taken in,
orders were hurriedly given and executed, and the stewards were in
despair, when a heavy lurch of the ship threw most of the things off the
table before dinner, mingling cutlery, pickles, and broken glass and
china, in one chaotic heap on the floor. As darkness came on, the gale
rose higher, the moon was obscured, the rack in heavy masses was driving
across the stormy sky, and scuds of sleet and spray made the few venturous
persons on deck cower under the nearest shelter to cogitate the lines--

"Nights like these,
When the rough winds wake western seas,
Brook not of glee."

I might dwell upon the fury of that night--upon the awful blasts which
seemed about to sweep the seas of every human work--upon our unanswered
signals--upon the length of time while we were

"Drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main"--

upon the difficulty of getting the pilot on board--and the heavy seas
through which our storm-tossed bark entered the calmer waters of the
Mersey: but I must hasten on.

Night after night had the French and English passengers joined in drinking
with enthusiasm the toast "_La prise de Sebastopol_"--night after night
had the national pride of the representatives of the allied nations
increased, till we almost thought in our ignorant arrogance that at the
first thunder of our guns the defences of Sebastopol would fall, as did
those of Jericho at the sound of the trumpets of Joshua. Consequently,
when the pilot came on board with the newspaper, most of the gentlemen
crowded to the gangway, prepared to give three cheers for the fall of
Sebastopol!

The pilot brought the news of victory--but it was of the barren victory of
Inkermann. A gloom fell over the souls of many, as they read of our
serried ranks mown down by the Russian fire, of heroic valour and heroic
death. The saloon was crowded with eager auditors as the bloody tidings
were made audible above the roar of winds and waters. I could scarcely
realise the gloomy fact that many of those whom I had seen sail forth in
hope and pride only ten months before were now sleeping under the cold
clay of the Crimea. Three cheers for the victors of Inkermann, and three
for our allies, were then heartily given, though many doubted whether the
heroic and successful resistance of our troops deserved the name of
victory.

Soon after midnight we anchored in the Mersey, but could not land till
morning, and were compelled frequently to steam up to our anchors, in
consequence of the fury of the gale. I felt some regret at leaving the
good old steamship _America_, which had borne us so safely across the
"vexed Atlantic," although she rolls terribly, and is, in her admirable
captain's own words, "an old tub, but slow and sure." She has since
undergone extensive repairs, and I hope that the numerous passengers who
made many voyages in her in the shape of rats have been permanently
dislodged.

Those were sacred feelings with which I landed upon the shores of England.
Although there appeared little of confidence in the present, and much of
apprehension for the future, I loved her better when a shadow was upon her
than in the palmy days of her peace and prosperity. I had seen in other
lands much to admire, and much to imitate; but it must not be forgotten
that England is the source from which those streams of liberty and
enlightenment have flowed which have fertilised the Western Continent.
Other lands may have their charms, and the sunny skies of other climes may
be regretted, but it is with pride and gladness that the wanderer sets
foot again on British soil, thanking God for the religion and the liberty
which have made this weather-beaten island in a northern sea to be the
light and glory of the world.

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