Amanda Minnie Douglas - "A Little Girl in Old Salem"

Ignatius Donnelly - "The Antediluvian World"

Charles Darwin - "More Letters of Charles Darwin Volume I"

Gertrude P. Dyer - "Little Pollie"

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 International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II

V >> Various >> The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II




During the whole of this noisy altercation, our erudite neighbor, the
_aficionado_, had been very scientifically descanting on the various
points of the combat, to our no small annoyance; for he could not rest a
moment in his seat, and was continually intercepting our view. The
_picador_, provoked by the bitter sarcasms lavished upon him by the more
vulgar part of the spectators, now advanced with an air of determination a
little farther into the arena; but the sagacious bull kept retreating as
his enemy advanced, in order to render escape more difficult, and his
vengeance certain. At length he rushed on the cavalier with such fury and
overwhelming force, that both _picador_ and horse rolled on the ground:
unluckily, the man not being very dexterous, could seek no protection from
the horse, but lay exposed to the fury of his powerful antagonist.

Cries of horror and alarm for the safety of the unfortunate _picador_ were
now heard on every side, and strange to say, those very persons, who had
but just driven him to encounter the danger, were now the most clamorous
in shouting for protection for him. The _chulos_ lost no time in applying
their art to extricate their companion, by harassing the animal on all
sides, who was thus compelled to abandon his prey in order to meet his new
tormentors. Thus the fallen cavalier was rescued from his jeopardy, whilst
his poor horse, dreadfully gored, ran wildly about the arena. The bull, as
if satisfied with these feats, now stood tranquilly looking on the
spectators, who filled the air with _vivas_ in praise of his prowess.

The trumpet again sounded the signal for the second part of the combat,
and forthwith the _chulos_ advanced nimbly with their _banderillas_, each
striving to fix his weapon in the neck of the animal, as in their
hazardous course he passed under their extended arms. The smart of the
_banderillas_ tended to goad the bull to greater fury, and tormented on
every side he bellowed out in agony, and bounded from place to place,
turning first to one, and then to another of his aggressors.

Thus, after he had vented his rage, foaming at the mouth and flashing fire
from his eyes, the moment arrived when it was deemed expedient to put an
end to his protracted sufferings, and at a given signal the _chulos_
retired and made place for the _prima-espada_.

This was Candido, who though arrived at an advanced age, still retained
much of the strength and agility of his youth, which, combined with the
experience he had acquired in the game, rendered him a very formidable
opponent. He advanced with a stately pace, bearing in one hand a piece of
scarlet cloth to entice the animal, and in the other his sword. Having
arrived in front of the seat of the presiding authorities, he made a
graceful salute, and then performed the same ceremony before his friends,
who hailed him with many hearty _vivas_; whilst a deadly silence was
observed on the part of the admirers of his rival Leoncito. Candido
proceeded slowly, and warily towards the bull, endeavoring to entice him
by waving the red cloth. The animal, however, would not suddenly rush
against his foe; but calmly watched for the moment when he might find him
less upon his guard.

Candido, with all the skill of a practised _matador_, appeared to guess
the sinister intentions of the bull, and followed his every movement with
an active eye--nay, he seemed to penetrate into the inmost feelings of the
animal.--Irritated by the defiance, the bull sprang upon his foe; but was
baffled in his vengeance, for he pierced only the floating piece of cloth;
the _matador_ very adroitly turning aside, and plunging his sword into his
flank as he passed. The wound however was not mortal, and the combat was
renewed. The bull, somewhat intimidated, did not again charge his
adversary; but preferred awaiting his approach;--after some appropriate
evolutions, Candido at last boldly advanced towards him, and with a
successful thrust pierced him to the heart. Nothing had been wanting to
complete the success of Candido but the solitary triumph of retaining his
sword in his hand after the death-blow was inflicted, this being
considered the _ne plus ultra_ of the art. The bull had no sooner fallen
to the ground than a set of most beautiful mules, splendidly caparisoned,
and ornamented with a profusion of ribbons and small flags, were brought
into the circus to convey from it the lifeless carcass. This operation was
performed amid the stormy sounds of martial music, and the shouts of the
multitude; the tremendous animal was dragged from the field, leaving in
its progress a long crimson track upon the scattered sand.

The signal now sounded for a second fight; the doors were once more thrown
open, and a huge bull rushed forward, and without a moment's loss ran
furiously at the nearest _picador_. He was, however, soon sobered, and
smarting with the pain of the first wound he received, prudently
retreated, in no hurry to taste a like favor from the second cavalier. In
vain did the _picadores_ provoke him by advancing into the arena, he
invariably declined the re-offered combat. The spectators, impatient at
this delay, grew expressively clamorous, some crying shame! shame! and
others _vaca! vaca!_ (poor cow! poor cow!)--but all these energetic
remonstrances were lost upon the pacific animal.

With much difficulty, and after a pretty long interval, the three wounds
of the _pica_ (according to rule) were at length inflicted; and the
_chulos_ came forward to perform their part. It was here that the same
difficulty arose, for alas! it could not be expected that the poor bull,
who had shown no relish whatever for the _pica_, should evince any taste
for the _banderillas_. Consequently a great confusion arose, and a
simultaneous call for _banderillas de fuego_, was heard on every side.
This it was expected would prove a stimulus to the too tranquil
temperament of the animal.

Accordingly the furs was planted upon his neck; but scarcely had the
fireworks began to crack and whiz around his head, than stunned no doubt
by the noise as well as the pain, he actually turned and fled. The
_chulos_ ran after him, and thus continued _nolens volens_ to thrust their
spears into his unresisting carcass, until it was thought expedient to
desist in order to give him the _coup de grace_. Leoncito the second
_espada_ then came forward, and was hailed with joyful acclamations by his
partisans, especially the _manolas_, for he was a young, light-made,
dapper man. It proved however an exceedingly difficult task to kill the
bull according to the rules of art, owing to the animal's unequivocal
disinclination for the combat. Leoncito was a brave, daring man; but
hardly so well skilled as Candido. He rushed boldly against the bull, and
strove to inflict upon him a mortal wound. He missed, however, his aim at
the right place, and the animal began to pour forth its blood in a stream.
This is considered an enormous fault in the art--and it met with a becoming
storm of groans and hisses. The bull, agonized by his wounds, ran wildly
about. Leoncito gave him another blow--when he sat down, and quietly looked
around him, as the wounds were not immediately mortal. This reposing
attitude gave immense annoyance both to the combatants and the spectators.
Of course it was out of all question to inflict on so gentle and resigned
an enemy another _estocada_--and yet the public could not afford to wait
the bull's leisure to die, as it was necessary to continue the sport. To
expedite, therefore, the animal's last moments, and the progress of public
business, the _eachetero_, a butcher, came forward and performed his
function of inflicting the death-blow on occasions when, owing to the
perversity of the bull or the clumsiness of the _matador_, his final
assistance becomes requisite. Grasping firmly a short sharp dagger, he by
a steady and well directed blow put a period to the agonies of the
animal--applauses and abuse were then liberally bestowed upon Leoncito;
after which the fight was suffered to proceed, and the third bull sprang
into the arena. We will not, however, follow the perils and chances of
this encounter. It may e sufficient to mention, that the sport went on
much upon the same principle as before. The usual number of horses were
killed, good spanking falls were endured by the combatants, and the same
tumult and confusion prevailed throughout the circus. The combat had now
lasted three hours, and the shadows of evening were gradually descending
over the scene. Yet the spectators appeared by no means satisfied; some
even grew clamorous, and required that a fourth bull should be brought
forward. Amongst these unreasonable requisitionists, the _aficionado_
particularly distinguished himself. He was (unhappily for his neighbors)
blessed with most stentorian lungs, of which he made a liberal use, upon
the most trifling occasion,--no other bull, however, was produced, and
accordingly the spectators began slowly and discontentedly to disperse.

The fight being ended, the _picadores_ and the rest of the troop withdrew
to the little chapel, to return thanks for their escape. However, the
veracity expected from an historian compels me to say, that their evening
prayers were by no means of the same length as those which had preceded
the encounter of the morning. At the entrance of the chapel we perceived
many a dark-complexioned _manola_--many a terrible looking,
fierce-whiskered, cigar-smoking _majo_--awaiting the egress of their
friends; who, as soon as their devotions were concluded, stalked out with
a martial and haughty air to receive the congratulations of their
comrades. Meantime, the vast concourse of people so lately assembled
together, had gradually dispersed through the various avenues of the
Prado, affording the beholder a most striking and enlivening picture. The
Prado itself, that beautiful promenade, which has attracted the attention
of all who have visited Spain, now presented a most brilliant spectacle:
it was crowded with carriages, as well as with pedestrians, all pressing
to enjoy the coolness of the evening in that delightful spot. Having
strolled a few times up and down this fashionable promenade, we retired to
the _Neverria de Solos_, contiguous to the Prado, to take our _refresco_.
To this place, as to many others of the like nature, the more elegant
class of society retire early in the evening to eat ices, and drink
lemonade and other refreshing beverages. From hence each person retires to
his own _tertulia_ for the evening, and thus ends a day wholly consecrated
to pleasure.

Bull fights are now daily decreasing, both in number and splendor of
appearance, from what they were in former times. Either the Spaniards are
losing their relish for such spectacles, or the scarcity of good
_picadores_ and _espades_ detracts from the interest which attaches to
them. Not long since, the _matadores_ were favorites with the public, and
were regarded with considerable interest even by their superiors. Many
singular and gallant adventures are related of them and ladies of rank. It
was a common custom, no great while ago, to throw purses of gold to the
combatants, upon the achievement of some skilful feat. But unhappily the
secret of long purses is lost, and there is but little chance of a
stranger seeing any money thrown away in Spain at the present time.

The most renowned of the Matadores were Romero and Pepe-Hillo, the author
of a treatise entitled Tauromachia. The first retired from the arena full
of honors and considerable wealth. But being desirous of obtaining for his
son a canonship, he was commanded, in order to obtain that favor from the
queen, Maria Louisa, to re-appear in the arena, on some grand festival.

Romero joyfully obeyed; but his age and feebleness were inadequate to cope
with the fearful bull, and he would certainly have been killed, had not
his friends forcibly withdrawn him from the arena.

The will, however, was taken for the deed, and his son was accordingly
made a canon. With regard to Pepe-Hillo, like a gallant general, he met
his death in the field of his exploits. On a certain occasion, contrary to
the opinion of his friends, who knew him to be suffering from a wound in
the hand, he appeared in the arena. Unhappily he had to encounter a
tremendous animal. The bull hurled him on high twice; and when the
unfortunate man fell on the ground he was frightfully gored, and shortly
afterwards expired, amidst the most excruciating torments.





THE LADY AND THE FLOWER.


BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.

There be of British arms and deeds,
Who sing in noble strain,
Of Poictiers' field, and Agincourt,
And Cressy's bloody plain.

High tales of merry England,
Full often have been told,
For never wanted bard to sing
The actions of the bold.

But now I tune another string,
To try my minstrel power,
My story's of a gallant knight,
A lady, and a flower.

The noble sun that shines on all,
The little or the great,
As bright on cottage doorway small,
As on the castle gate,

Came pouring over fair Guienne
From the far eastern sea;
And glistened on the broad Garonne,
And slept on Blancford lea.

The morn was up, the morn was bright,
In southern summer's rays,
And Nature caroll'd in the light,
And sung her Maker's praise.

Fair Blancford, thou art always fair,
With many a shady dell,
And bland variety and change,
Of forest and of fell.

But Blancford on that morn was gay,
With many a pennon bright,
And glittering arms and panoply
Shone in the morning light.

For good Prince Edward, England's pride,
Now lay in Blancford's towers,
And weary sickness had consumed,
The hero's winter hours.

But now that brighter hopes had come,
With summer's brighter ray,
He called his gallant knights around,
To spend a festal day.

With tournament and revelry,
To pass away the hours,
And win fair Mary from her sire,
The Lord of Blancford's towers.

But why fair Mary's brow was sad
None in the castle knew,
Nor why she watched one garden bed,
Where none but wild pinks grew.

Some said that seven nights before
A page had sped away,
To where Lord Clifford with his power,
On Touraine's frontier lay.

To Blancford no Lord Clifford came,
And many a tale was told,
For well 'twas known that he had sought,
Fair Mary's love of old.

And some there said Lord Clifford's love
Had cooled at Mary's pride,
And some there said that other vows
His heart inconstant tied.

Foul slander, ready still to soil,
All that is bright and fair,
With more than Time's destructiveness,
Who never learned to spare.

The morn was bright, but posts had come,
Bringing no tidings fair,
For knit was Edward's royal brow,
And full of thoughtful care.

The lists were set, the parted sun
Shone equal on the plain,
And many a knight there manfully
Strove fresh applause to gain.

Sir Henry Talbot, and Sir Guy
Of Brackenbury, he
Who slew the giant Iron-arm,
On Cressy's famous lea,

Were counted best, and claimed the Prince
To give the sign that they
Might run the tilt, and one receive
The honors of the day.

"Speed, knights, perhaps those arms that shine
In peace," prince Edward said,
"Before a se'nnight pass, may well,
In Gallic blood be died.

"For here we learn that hostile bands,
Have gathered in Touraine,
And Clifford, with his little troop,
Are prisoners or slain.

"For with five hundred spears, how bold
Soe'er his courage show,
He never could withstand the shock,
Of such a host of foe."

Fair Mary spoke not, but the blood
Fled truant from her cheek,
And left it pale, as when day leaves
Some mountain's snowy peak.

But then there camp the cry of horse,
The east lea pricking o'er,
And to the lists a weary page
A tattered pennon bore.

Fast came a knight with blood-stained arms,
And dusty panoply,
And beaver down, and armed lance,
In chivalric array.

No crest, no arms, no gay device,
Upon his shield he wore,
But a small knot beside his plume,
Of plain wild pinks he bore.

For love, for love and chivalry,
Lord Clifford rides the plain,
And foul he lies who dares to say,
His honor e'er know stain.

And Mary's cheek 'gan blushing bright,
And Mary's heart beat high,
And Mary's breath that fear oppressed
Came in a long glad sigh.

Straight to the Prince the knight he rode,
"I claim these lists," he cried,
"Though late into the field I come,
My suit be not denied;

"For we have fought beside the Loire,
And stained our arms in blood;
Not ever lost one step of ground,
So long as rebels stood.

"Hemmed in, I one time never thought
To die in British land,
Or see my noble prince again,
Or kiss his royal hand.

"But well fought every gallant squire,
And well fought every knight;
And rebels have been taught to feel
The force of British might.

"And now in humble terms they sue,
To know thy high command,
And here stand I these lists to claim,
For a fair lady's hand.

"For Mary's love, and chivalry,
I dare the world to fight,
And foul and bitterly he lies,
Who dares deny my right"

"No, no, brave Clifford," Edward said,
"No lists to-day for thee,
Thy gallant deeds beside the Loire,
Well prove thy chivalry.

"Sir Guy, Sir Henry, and the rest,
Have well acquit their arms,
But Edward's thanks are Clifford's due,
As well as Mary's charms."

"My lord, you are her sire," he said,
"Give kind consent and free,
And who denies our Clifford's right,
Shall ride a tilt with me."

Gay spake the prince, gay laughed the throng,
And Mary said not nay,
And bright with smile, and dance, and song,
Went down the festal day.

And when Lord Clifford to the board
Led down his Mary fair,
A knot of pinks was in his cap,
A knot was in her hair.

For it had been their sign of love,
And loved by them was still,
Till death came quietly on their heads,
And bowed them to his will.

And now, though years have passed away,
And all that years have seen,
And Clifford's deeds and Mary's charms,
Are as they ne'er had been,

Some wind, as if in memory
Has borne the seeds on high,
To deck the ruin's crumbling wall,
And catch the passing eye.

It tells a tale to those who hear;
For beauty, strength, and power,
Are but the idols of a day,
More short-lived than a flower.

Joy on, joy on, then, while ye may,
Nor waste the moments dear;
Nor give yourself a cause to sigh,
Nor teach to shed a tear.





AN OLD MAID'S FIRST LOVE.


From Chamber's Edinburgh Journal.


I went once to the south of France for my health; and being recommended to
choose the neighborhood of Avignon, took my place, I scarcely know why, in
the diligence all the way from Paris. By this proceeding I missed the
steam-voyage down the Rhone, but fell in with some very pleasant people,
about whom I am going to speak. I travelled in the _interieur_, and from
Lyon had no one for companion but a fussy little lady, of a certain age,
who had a large basket, a parrot in a cage, a little lapdog, a bandbox, a
huge blue umbrella, which she could never succeed in stowing any where,
and a moth-eaten muff. In my valetudinarian state I was not pleased with
this inroad--especially as the little lady had a thin, pinched-up face, and
obstinately looked out of the window, while she popped about the
_interieur_ as if she had just taken lodgings and was putting them in
order, throwing me every now and then some gracious apology in a not
unpleasant voice. "Mince as you please, madam," thought I; "you are a
bore." I am sorry to add that I was very unaccommodating, gave no
assistance in the stowing away of the umbrella, and when Fanfreluche came
and placed his silken paws upon my knees, pushed him away very rudely. The
little old maid--it was evident this was her quality--apologized for her dog
as she had done for herself, and went on arranging her furniture--an
operation not completed before we got to St. Saphorin.

For some hours a perfect silence was preserved, although my companion
several times gave a short dry cough, as if about to make an observation.
At length, the digestion of a hurried dinner being probably completed, I
felt all of a sudden quite bland and sociable, and began to be mightily
ashamed of myself. "Decidedly," thought I, "I must give this poor woman
the benefit of my conversation." So I spoke, very likely with that
self-satisfied air assumed sometimes by men accustomed to be well
received. To my great vexation the old maid had by this time taken
offence, and answered in a very stiff and reserved manner. Now the whole
absurdity of my conduct was evident to me, and I determined to make
amends. Being naturally of a diplomatic turn, I kept quiet for awhile, and
then began to make advances to Fanfreluche. The poor animal bore no
malice, and I won his heart by stroking his long ears. Then I gave a piece
of sugar to the parrot; and having thus effected a practicable breach,
took the citadel by storm by pointing out a more commodious way of
arranging the great blue umbrella.

We were capital friends thenceforward; and I soon knew the history of
Mlle. Nathalie Bernard by heart. A mightily uninteresting history it was
to all but herself; so I shall not repeat it: suffice to say, that she had
lived long on her little income, as she called it, at Lyon, and was now on
her way to Avignon, where a very important object called her. This was no
other than to save her niece Marie from a distasteful marriage, which her
parents, very good people, but dazzled by the wealth of the unamiable
suitor, wished to bring about.

"And have you," said I, "any reasonable hope of succeeding in your
mission?"

"_Parbleu!_" replied the old maid, "I have composed a little speech on
ill-assorted unions, which I am sure will melt the hearts of my sister and
my brother-in-law; and if that does not succeed--why, I will make love to
the _futur_ myself, and whisper in his ear that a comfortable little
income available at once, and a willing old maid, are better than a
cross-grained damsel with expectations only. You see I am resolved to make
any sacrifice to effect my object."

I laughed at the old maid's disinterestedness, which was perhaps greater
than at first appeared. At least she assured me that she had refused
several respectable offers, simply because she liked the independence of a
single life; and that if she had remained single to that age, it was a
sign that marriage had nothing attractive for her in itself. We discussed
the point learnedly as the diligence rolled; and what with the original
turn of my companion's mind, the sportive disposition of Fanfreluche, and
the occasional disjointed soliloquies of Coco, the parrot, our time passed
very pleasantly. When night came Mlle. Nathalie ensconced herself in the
corner behind her parcels and animals, and endeavored to sleep; but the
jolting of the diligence, and her own lively imagination, wakened her
every five minutes; and I had each time to give her a solemn assurance, on
my word of honor as a gentleman, that there was no particular danger of
our being upset into the Rhone.

We were ascending a steep hill next day; both had got out to walk. I have
omitted to note that it was autumn. Trees and fields were touched by the
golden fingers of the season. The prospect was wide, but I forget the
precise locality. On the opposite side of the Rhone, which rolled its
rapid current in a deepening valley to our right, rose a range of hills,
covered with fields that sloped wonderfully, and sometimes gave place to
precipices or wood-lined declivities. Here and there the ruins of some old
castle--reminiscences of feudal times--rose amid lofty crags, and traced
their jagged outline against the deep blue sky of Provence. Nathalie
became almost sentimental as she gazed around on this beautiful scene.

We had climbed about half of the hill: the diligence was a little way
behind: the five horses were stamping and striking fire from the pavement
as they struggled up with the ponderous vehicle: the other passengers had
lingered in the rear with the conductor, who had pointed out a little
_auberge_ among some trees. We here saw a man preceding us upon the road
carrying a little bundle at the end of a stick over his shoulder: he
seemed to advance painfully. Our attention was attracted--I scarcely knew
why. He paused a moment--then went on with an uncertain step--paused again,
staggered forward, and fell on his face just as we came up. Mlle.
Nathalie, with a presence of mind that surprised me, had her
smelling-bottle out in an instant, and was soon engaged in restoring the
unfortunate traveller to consciousness. I assisted as well as I was able,
and trust that my good-will may atone for my awkardness. Nathalie did
every thing; and, just as the diligence reached us, was gazing with
delight on the languid opening of a pair of as fine eyes as I have ever
seen, and supporting in her lap a head covered with beautiful curls. Even
at that moment, as I afterwards remembered, she looked upon the young man
as a thing over which she had acquired a right of property. "He is going
our way," said she: "let us lift him into the diligence."

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