Major A.R. Calhoon - "How to Get on in the World"

Thomas Hill Green - "An Estimate of the Value and Influence of Works of Fiction in Modern Times"

Various - "Legend Land, Volume 2"

Mary Hallock Foote - "The Desert and The Sown"

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 Atlantic Monthly, Vol. I., No. 3, January 1858

V >> Various >> The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. I., No. 3, January 1858




The opinion, that the winds move around the central point or line of
the storm, was strenuously maintained by the late Mr. Redfield,
whose activity in his favorite pursuit has connected his name
inseparably with meteorology. Others have maintained the same opinion,
and the rotatory motion of the tropical hurricanes is offered as a
principal proof. It is obvious from the causes of motion already
considered, that, if the air is carried far, by its tendency toward a
rainy district, it will acquire a secondary relative motion from its
change of latitude; and this, in our hemisphere, if the air move
toward the south, will be westward,--if toward the north, eastward.
Hence the motion of the air from both directions toward a stormy
district is deflected to the right side of the storm; and this gives
rise to that motion from right to left which is observed in the
hurricanes of the northern hemisphere.

To suppose, as many do, that regular winds, arising from constant
and extensive causes, can come into bodily conflict and preserve
their identity and original impetus for days, without immediate and
strongly impelling forces to sustain their motion, implies a
profound ignorance of mechanical science, and is little better than
those ancient superstitions which gave a personal identity to the
winds. The momentum of ordinary winds is a feeble force in
comparison with those forces of pressure and friction which
continually modify it. Hence sudden changes in the direction and
intensity of winds must primarily arise from similar changes in
these forces. But there are no known forces which change so suddenly,
except the pressure and latent heat of suspended vapor; and therefore
the fall of rain is the only adequate known cause of those
storm-winds which, interpolated among the gentler winds, keep the
atmosphere in perpetual commotion.

Storms have, however, certain habits and peculiarities, more or less
regular and distinct, which depend upon locality and season. And
this is what ought to be expected; for, though the storms themselves
are essentially anomalous, yet many of the causes which cooperate to
induce them are constant or periodic, while others are subject to
but slight perturbations. It is obvious that no more moisture can be
precipitated than has been evaporated, and that the winds only gain
suddenly by the fall of rain the forces which they have lost at their
leisure in the absorption of moisture. Thus the rage of the storm is
kept within bounds, and though the exact period at which the winds
are set free cannot be determined, yet their force and frequency
must be subject to certain limitations. The study of the habits and
peculiarities of storms is of the greatest importance to navigation
and agriculture, and these arts have already been benefited by the
labors of the meteorologist.

The lawlessness of the weather, within certain limitations, though
discouraging to the physical philosopher, has yet its bright side
for the student of final causes. The uses of the weather and its
adaptation to organic life are subjects of untiring interest. The
progression of the seasons, varied by differences of latitude, is
also diversified and adapted to a fuller development of organic
variety by irregularities of climate.

The regular alternations of day and night, summer and winter, dry
seasons and wet, are adapted to those alternations of organic
functions which belong to the economy of life. The vital forces of
plants and of the lower orders of animals have not that
self-determining capacity of change which is necessary to the
complete development of life; but they persist in their present mode
of action, and, when they are not modified by outward changes,
reduce life to its simplest phases. Changes of growth are effected
by those apparent hardships to which life is subject; and progression
in new directions is effected by retrogression in previous modes of
growth. The old leaves and branches must fall, the wood must be
frost-bitten or dried, the substance of seeds must wither and then
decay, the action of leaves must every night be reversed, vines and
branches must be shaken by the winds, that the energies and the
materials of new forms of life may be rendered active and available.

Some of the outward changes of nature are regular and periodic, while
others, without law or method, are apparently adapted by their
diversity to draw out the unlimited capacities and varieties of life;
so that as inorganic nature approaches a regulated confusion, the
more it tends to bring forth that perfect order, of which fragments
appear in the incomplete system of actual organic life.

The classification of organic forms presents to the naturalist, not
the structure of a regular though incomplete development, but the
broken and fragmentary form of a ruin. We may suppose, then, with a
recent physiological writer, that the creation of those organic
forms which constitute this fragmentary system was effected in the
midst of an elemental storm, a regulated confusion, uniting all the
external conditions which the highest capacities and the greatest
varieties of organized life require for their fullest development;
and that as the storm subsided into a simpler, but less genial
diversity,--into the weather,--whole orders and genera and species
sank with it from the ranks of possible organic forms. The weather,
fallen from its high estate, no longer able to develope, much less to
create new forms, can only sustain those that are left to its care.

Man finds himself everywhere mirrored in nature. Wayward, inconstant,
always seeking rest, always impelled by new evils, the greatest of
which he himself creates,--protecting and cherishing or blighting and
destroying the fragmentary life of a fallen nature,--incapable
himself of creating new capacities, but nourishing in prosperity and
quickening in adversity those that are left,--he sees the workings of
his own life in the strife of the elements. His powers and activities
are related to his spiritual capacities, as inorganic movements are
related to an organizing life. The resurrection of his higher nature
is like a new creation, secret, sudden, inconsequent. "The wind
bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but
canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every
one that is born of the Spirit."

* * * * *




AKIN BY MARRIAGE [Continued]


CHAPTER IV.

The designs of Mr. Elam Hunt upon the hand of Laura Stebbins have
already been mentioned, in a former chapter of this history, as well
as the fact that his hopes were encouraged by Mrs. Jaynes who
(to make no secret of the matter) had pledged her word to the
enamored Elam, that when he should be settled in a parish of his own,
Laura should be added to complete the sum of his felicity.

To this agreement Laura herself was not a party; nay, her consent
had never been so much as asked; for though Elam knew that marriage
by proxy was impossible, and, indeed, would doubtless have preferred
to be the bridegroom at his own wedding, he had no objection
whatever to a vicarious courtship; for he was not a forward suitor,
delighting to prattle of his pains to his fair tormentor, as the way
of many is. But touching all the terms and conditions of this
contract Laura was informed by Mrs. Jaynes, who, when the other
protested with tears and sobs against this disposition of her person
without even asking her leave thereto, replied, with a quiet voice
and manner, that she had the right to make the promise in Laura's
name, and had done so upon due consideration.

This ominous reserve frightened Laura far more than an angry reply
would have done; for when her sister spoke with such brief decision,
it was a sign that her mind was made up; and Laura knew full well
the resolute purpose with which Mrs. Jaynes was wont to pursue any
design that she had once formed. She distrusted her own ability to
withstand her sister's inflexible will, and felt a secret misgiving,
that, in spite of herself, she would by some means be forced or
persuaded to yield at last. This very lack of faith in her own power
of resistance caused her more distress and terror than all her other
fears. Sometimes she almost fancied a spell of enchantment had been
put upon her, which would render all her efforts to escape her fate
as unavailing as the struggles of a gnat in a spider's web.

A friend in time of trouble is like a staff to one that is lame or
weary. But when Laura, in these straits, leaned upon her dearest
friend, Cornelia, for aid and comfort, she found but a broken reed;
for, instead of words of consolation and encouragement, Cornelia
uttered only dismal prophecies that Laura was surely doomed to be
the young parson's bride.

"If you only had another lover to run away with, now," said she,
"why, then it would be delightful to have your sister act as she does;
but, as it is, I'm sure I don't see any way to avoid it."

"Nor I," cried Laura, sinking still deeper in despair. "Oh, dear!
what shall I do?"

"In novels, you know," pursued Cornelia, "where there's a cruel,
tyrannical father, like your sister, there's always a hero in love
with the heroine----"

"I'm sure I wish there was a hero in love with me," said Laura,
thinking of her own hero in regimentals. "I'd run away with him,"
she added, with animation, "if--if both his legs were shot off,"--not
considering duly, I dare say, how greatly such a dreadful mutilation,
however glorious in itself, would conflict with the rapid locomotion
essential to her plan of elopement.

But when Tira Blake came to be told of Laura's trouble, and the
reasons of it, that sage and prudent friend gave counsel that
cheered her like a cordial, telling her it would be sinful to marry
a man whom she disliked so heartily, and that in such a matter no
one had the right to demand or enforce obedience.

"It's bad enough to be married when you're willin'," said she;
"but when you a'n't willin', there's no law nor no gospel to make you."

"But if Maria should compel me, what should I do?" cried Laura, to
whom her sister's will seemed more mighty than both law and gospel.

"She can't," replied Statira, sententiously; "she can't. Her 'yes,'
in such a case, is only good for herself; it can't make you any
man's wife.--What shall you do? Why, nothin',--nothin' in the world.
If they should bring bridegroom and parson, and stand you up side of
him by main force, (which of course is foolish to think of their
doing so, only I suppose it just to show you what I mean,) even in
such a case you needn't do anything. Keep your mouth shut and your
head from bobbin', and there a'n't lawyers, nor squires, nor parsons,
nor parsons' wives either for that matter, enough in all Connecticut
to marry you to a mouse, let alone a man. Humph!" added Miss Blake,
with scornful accent, "I should like to see 'em set out to marry me
to anybody I didn't want to have!"

There was nothing in all that Tira said which Laura did not know
before; but it was uttered in such a way that it sounded in her ears
like a new revelation, filling her heart with peace and comfort, and
inspiring her with hope and courage. The magic spell that had
enthralled her spirit was broken by the power of a few cheery,
confident, assuring words. A heavy weight seemed lifted from her
heart, and, relieved from the pressure, her spirits rose, joyous and
elastic. The shadow was dispelled which had darkened her future, and
the sun seemed to shine brighter and the birds to sing more sweetly.
She herself was changed,--or at least it was hard to believe she was
the same Laura Stebbins who, the night before, had cried herself to
sleep, and whose doleful visage, that very morning, had looked out
at her from the mirror. She flew at Tira in a transport, and,
without asking her leave, kissed her twenty times in less than a
minute, after a fashion that (I say it with reverence) would have
tantalized even a deacon. She clapped her hands, she laughed, she
danced, she went swaying on tiptoe around the room with a jaunty step,
singing and keeping time to a waltz tune; and finally, pausing near
the window, she doubled a tiny fist, as white as a snowball,
bringing it down into the rosy palm of her other hand with a gesture
of resolute determination, at the same time uttering, through closed
teeth and with compressed and puckered lips, an oft-repeated vow,
that, never, _never_, the longest day she lived, would she marry
Elam Hunt, to please anybody,--as her sister Maria (said she, with a
saucy toss of the head) would find, if she tried to make her!

I doubt greatly, whether, if Laura had known what I am now going to
tell my reader, she would have indulged in such vivacious pranks,
and bold, defiant words: namely, that Mrs. Jaynes was hearing
everything she said, and, in fact, had listened to and taken special
heed of nearly the whole conversation, a part of which has been set
forth above. Coming through the wicket in the garden fence, on an
errand to the Bugbee kitchen, the sound of her own name, in Laura's
excited tones, struck Mrs. Jaynes's ear and excited her curiosity.
Walking nearer to the house, and concealing herself behind a little
thicket of lilac bushes, near the open window of Statira's bedroom,
she was enabled to hear with distinctness almost every word uttered
by the unconscious conspirators, who were plotting against the
fulfilment of her cherished project.

There is good reason for believing that what Mrs. Jaynes overheard,
while lying in ambush, as has been related, excited in her heart
emotions of indignation and resentment. Be that as it may, no trace
of displeasure was visible upon her face or in her voice or manner,
when, a few minutes afterwards, she stood by the side of the
unsuspicious Tira, in the back veranda of the house, holding in her
hand a plate containing a pat of butter she had just borrowed from
the Doctor's housekeeper, while the latter, peeping through the
curtain of vine-leaves, gazed at as pretty a spectacle as just then
could have been seen anywhere in Belfield. On the grassplot, in the
shade of a great cherry-tree, Laura and Helen were playing at graces.
Both were full of frolicsome glee; the former, with spirits in their
first glad rebound from recent despondency, being wild with gayety,
enjoying the sport no less than the merry child, her playmate.
Laura's glowing face was fairly radiant with beauty, and her figure
was unconsciously displayed in such a variety of bewitching
attitudes and dainty postures, that even a pair of frisky kittens,
that had been chasing each other round the grassplot and up and down
the stems of the cherry-trees, ceased their gambols and lay still,
crouching in the grass, and watching her graceful motions, as if
taking heed for future imitation. If Kit and Tabby really did regard
Laura with admiration and complacency, it was more than I can say
for Mrs. Jaynes, in whose heart a secret rage was burning, though
her aspect and demeanor were as placid and demure as if the butter
she held in her hand would not have melted in her pursed-up mouth.

Mrs. Jaynes, for reasons of her own, thought proper to keep
her temper in control, abstaining from any manifestation of
displeasure for a much longer time than while she remained
standing in the back veranda of Doctor Bugbee's house. She did not
think it prudent to apprise Laura that her rebellious conference
with Statira had been discovered, nor to forbid her from holding
further communication with her evil counsellors; but contented
herself, for the present, with keeping a stricter watch over her
sister's conduct, by practising with increased rigor and vigilance
that efficient system of tactics hereinbefore commemorated, by which
the ardor of Laura's chance admirers was repressed and their
advances repelled, and by alluding, from time to time, to Laura's
prospective nuptials, as to an event predestined and inevitable, or,
at least, no less sure to come to pass than if Laura herself had
engaged her hand to Mr. Hunt of her own free will and accord, and
was only waiting to be asked to name the wedding-day.

It was many months after Elam left the shady height of East Windsor
Hill before he received a call to settle; for though he preached in
different parts on trial, before many congregations that were
destitute of pastors, none of these fastidious flocks would listen
to his voice a second time, or agree to choose him for its shepherd.
At last, however, the people of Walbury, a town in Windham County,
lying nearly twenty miles from Belfield, made choice of Mr. Hunt to
be their spiritual guide, and accordingly extended to him an
invitation to be ordained and installed as the settled minister over
their ancient parish. Upon receiving this proposal, Elam at once
despatched a letter to his friend and ally, Mrs. Jaynes, informing
her of his good fortune, and suggesting that Laura should at once
bestir herself in preparations for their wedding, in order that this
blissful event might precede his ordination. Then, after waiting for
the lapse of that period of decorous delay which immemorial usage
has prescribed in such cases, he indited an epistle to the church in
Walbury, stating, in proper and accustomed form, that his native
humility inclined him to refuse their request; but that, after a
wrestle with his inclinations, he had got the better of them, and
had resolved to sacrifice his own wishes and feelings, and to enter
the field of labor to which the Israel in Walbury had invited him.

A year and more had elapsed since Laura, encouraged by Tira Blake's
assuring words, had begun to hope that a better fate was in store
for her than to become the wife of a man she detested. Meanwhile,
Elam had often come to Belfield, sometimes preaching a sermon for
Mr. Jaynes, and going away again, after a brief sojourn, without
having opened his mouth to Laura to speak of love or marriage. At
his later visits it was evident that he was inclined to despond
about his prospects of getting a settlement, and Laura began to
entertain strong hopes that he never would be successful; for she
would have given up all the chances of beholding her military hero
in person, and would have been content to live a maid forever,
continually waiting for Elam, if she could have been assured the
time would never come for him to claim her.

But, one morning, after breakfast, having made her bed and arranged
her chamber, singing blithely all the while, she was just going to
sit down by the window with her sewing, when Mrs. Jaynes came in
with a letter in her hand. Laura guessed at once that the letter was
from Elam, and that it contained the news of which the reader has
been apprised already. Though she did not need to read the letter in
order to inform herself of its contents, she took it in her hand,
when her sister bade her read it, and made a pretence of obedience,
shuddering, meanwhile, with disgust and terror. At last she came to
the conclusion of the epistle, where Elam had mentioned his desire
to be married before being ordained, and had subscribed himself as
united in gospel bonds to the worthy lady to whom the letter was
addressed. Then, folding up the paper with trembling hands, she held
it towards her sister, without daring to look up, or to say a word.

"Now, Laura," asked Mrs. Jaynes, in a quiet tone, "when can you be
ready to be married?"

Laura tried to speak, and looked up, with a pale, frightened face,
into her sister's impassive countenance. Her white lips failed to
form the words she strove to utter.

"When shall the wedding be?" said Mrs. Jaynes, with a smile of
affected sportiveness. "Name the happy day, my love."

"Happy day!" repeated poor Laura. "Oh, Maria!"

"Why, what's the matter, child?" said Mrs. Jaynes; "what are you
crying for?"

"Oh, dear, dear sister!" sobbed Laura, falling on her knees at
Mrs. Jaynes's feet, "do hear me! You are my mother, for you fill her
place."

"I have endeavored to do so," said Mrs. Jaynes.

"Then, for God's sake, don't make me marry this horrid man!" pursued
Laura. "Don't tell me that I must! Don't force me to such a fate!"
And with many passionate words like these, Laura implored her
sister not to lay any command upon her to marry Elam Hunt.

"Hush, Laura! hush, my dear child!" said Mrs. Jaynes, who had
anticipated this scene, and was well prepared with her replies.
"Be calm; you behave absurdly. I have no power to force you to marry
any man. I don't expect to compel you to accept Mr. Hunt for a
husband. For at least two years past I had supposed, however, that
it was your intention to do so. If you have changed your mind, and
if you wish to break an engagement that has subsisted so long,
whether for or without cause, I cannot prevent it. You have read so
many foolish romances, that your head is turned, and you fancy
yourself a heroine in distress. But let me tell you, my dear, that
in real life, here, in New England, a woman cannot be forced to marry.
So calm your transports, wipe your eyes, and get up from your knees.
I'm not to be kneeled to, pray remember."

Laura did as she was told,--so much abashed that she dared not look
up. To increase her confusion, her sister began to laugh.

"I beg your pardon, dear," said she, "but, ha, ha, ha! it was so
funny!--like a scene in a play, I should think."

"I know I've been silly, Maria," said Laura, weeping again,--with
shame, this time.

"Never mind, dear," said her sister, in a kind tone, "we're all
silly sometimes. You'll never be guilty of the folly again, at any
rate, of supposing that girls can be married, in spite of themselves,
by cruel sisters; eh, Laura?"

"Oh, Maria, do forgive me!" cried Laura, blushing crimson. "I was so
very silly!"

"Well, let it all go," said Mrs. Jaynes, kissing her. "Now we'll
talk about this letter. Tell me why you don't wish to marry Mr. Hunt.
If you have any good reason against it, I'm sure I don't desire it;
though, I confess, having supposed so long it was a settled thing, I
had set my heart upon it. Perhaps this disappointment has been sent
to me for some wise purpose," added Mrs. Jaynes, with a pious sigh.

Thus encouraged, Laura opened her heart and began to talk, saying
that she didn't like Mr. Hunt, that she didn't love him, that she
disliked him, and hated him, and that he was hateful, and horrid, and
awful, and dreadful, and so homely, and pale, and pimpled, and, ugh!
she should never like him, nor love him, but always dislike him, and
hate him. And on she went in this manner, till her fervor was cooled,
and she had exhausted, by frequent repetition, every form of speech
capable of expressing her great repugnance to a union with Elam Hunt.
In conclusion, she said she was willing never to marry, but would
remain with her sister and work for her and the children all her life.

"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Jaynes. "We'll talk of your kind offer
presently; and you will see, I think, that I have no desire that you
should live and die an old maid, even in case you do not marry
Mr. Hunt."

"I'm sure I'd rather than not," said Laura, with a twinge of
conscience at the thought of her hero.

"Have you said all that you've got to say?" asked Mrs. Jaynes, very
quietly.

Laura looked up into her sister's grave, sober face, and felt a
chill of vague apprehension begin to take the place of the hopeful
glow in her heart.

"Eh?" said Mrs. Jaynes, inquiringly.

"Y--yes," faltered Laura, "only this,--I don't like him, and he's
such a horrid, disgusting man,--and--and--that's all, I believe,
except that I don't like him, and think he's so disagreeable,--and--
oh, yes! there's another thing,--he wears blue spectacles,--ugh!
_blue_ spectacles!"

"Is there anything more?" said Mrs. Jaynes, still speaking with the
same even, quiet voice.

"N--no," said Laura, "only I--" and here she paused.

"Don't like him," added Mrs. Jaynes, supplying the words.

"Yes, that's it," said Laura. "I know I'm foolish, but--"

"It's much to confess it," said Mrs. Jaynes. "Now that I've
patiently heard all that you have to say, I wish to be heard a few
words in favor of a dear and worthy friend of mine, against whom you
appear to entertain a groundless antipathy."

"No, not groundless," interposed Laura.

"Well, I'll agree that a pale, studious face and blue spectacles are
good reasons for hating a man. Now let me say a word or two in his
favor, notwithstanding, and also in favor of a plan which I had
supposed was agreed upon, and which I dislike extremely to see
abandoned. You have reasons against it, which you have stated. I
have reasons for it, which I will state. But first answer me two or
three simple questions, 'yes' or 'no,'--will you, dear?"

And Laura assenting, she went on to ask if Mr. Hunt was not good,
and pious, and of blameless life and reputation; extorting from
Laura an affirmative reply to each separate inquiry.

"He's all these good qualities, then, to offset the complexion of
his face and spectacles," resumed Mrs. Jaynes. "Now let us look at
the matter in a worldly point of view. He is able to give you not
only a place, but the very highest position in society; he can offer
you, not wealth, but competence, which is better than either poverty
or riches. Why, my dear, there are a hundred girls in this town,
many of whom excel you in everything which men think desirable in a
wife, except, perhaps, the poor, perishable quality of beauty,--
girls of good family, rich, or likely to be so, intelligent, well
educated, some of them, to say the least, almost as pretty as you,
any one of whom would think herself honored by this offer which you
despise; for most people are aware that to be a minister's wife, in
New England, is, my dear, to occupy, as I have just said, the very
summit of the social structure."

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