Entries from July 2005 ↓
July 7th, 2005 | People, Same Today
1879, Ann Arbor Democrat, March
The walking mania is at feverish height in this country to-day, and a very pretty dissertation might be written about the effects of legs upon the brain. As a psychological study we recommend it to the students in the university, and to all others who are fond of metaphysics. The effect of legs upon the American people at this time is marvelous. Play-houses all over the country are nightly filled with a motley crowd, who applaud and encore until the welkin rings the disgusting “acting” of the actress who lavishly displays her shapely limbs; and who would be hissed from the state if it were not for these substantial auxiliaries. So, too, in the legitimate drama, the occasional display of a pretty ankle enhances the attraction, and has more than once been the salvation of a piece. But it is not alone upon the stage that “legs draw.” Thousands of persons daily rush to see some phenomenal feat of walking, paying as much for the privilege of witnessing a pair of legs traveling a saw-dust path, as they would have to pay to see forty pairs of legs upon the stage, while at the same time enjoying the comfortable seats of the modern theatre. We do not mean to put O’Leary and Harriman and Mrs. Anderson upon a level with ballet dancers, nor to class walking with the can-can, for the latter is immeasurably more degrading. We simply ask what is there in legs that attracts thousands to the comique and Gilmore’s garden, while lecture halls, libraries and churches are deserted? Legs and not brains command attention to-day, and while the possessor of the former received a pittance for years of severe, menial labor, the owner of the latter earns a fortune in a few days. Why is it thus? Can Prof. Cocker tell us?
I think they perhaps meant the last bit to read the other way around. The tone of the article is familiar to anyone who’s read any article on the dumbing down of American culture. Seems to me we’ve been having this “slide” for quite a while now.
The most famous walker was “Weston the Pedestrian,” though the O’Leary mentioned in the story took the title “Champion Pedestrian of the World” from him in 1875.
Walking was quite the mania, though I imagine that it waned in popularity as manias do. The six-day walking events described in some of the articles survive as bicycle races.
Professor Cocker was Benjamin F. Cocker, a businessman turned adventurer turned Methodist Preacher turned Professsor of Mental Philosophy at the University of Michigan.
July 6th, 2005 | Announcements
Bloggish
Odd Ends has a new look, thanks to the nice, graphics-free Boxy but Gold theme by Kafkaesquí Oseo. Thanks, Kaf!
July 6th, 2005 | Science & Natural History
1878, Ann Arbor Democrat, November
The song to which the little creature gave utterance again and again in our full view was as sweet and varied as the warbling of any bird. It most resembled that of the canary, but the melody of the nightingale was occasionally introduced. Every note was as clear and distinct, but withal so soft, so gentle, tender and pianissimo, that I can only compare it to the voice of a bird muffled by being heard through a down pillow. In the room was a canary, whose cage was suspended in one of the windows. He had settled himself to roost, and his head was under his wing, but at the sound of “Nicodemus’” serenade he awoke, and, listening attentively, and fantastically leaning alternately to right and left, peeped curiously down to the floor. I learned that the mouse and bird were intimately acquainted with each other, and that the former frequently visited his feather friend and stayed to supper. Accordingly, while we looked on with pleasure, “Nicodemus” climbed up the drawn curtains, entered the bird’s cage, and partook of the seed–the canary showing no symptom of disapprobation or disturbance, but merely from his perch peeping down on his visitor in a ludicrously quaint and odd manner. During his supper time, “Nicodemus” obliged us from the cage with several repetitions from his song, “The Chirper,” down below on the carpet, occasionally coming in with a monotonous contralto accompaniment, and sometimes emitting a sound like the squeaking of a corkscrew through a cork. The two little songsters, having done their best to please us, were rewarded with all that mice could wish for as components of a feast, and after selecting the portions they severally preferred, gracefully retired.–Popular Science Monthly.
This probably wasn’t an Alston’s Singing Mouse (Scotinomys teguina). Accounts of singing mice are not rare, according to a contemporary edition of The Great Round World
His singing mouse was a deer or white-foot mouse. This mouse is found all over the United States, and while several other kinds are known to sing, the deer-mouse is the sweetest of the singers.
but I have never heard one to my knowledge. But maybe it’s those odd sounds we hear and say “What’s that bird?”
Here’s a later article about a singing mouse from Time Magazine.
Franz Kafka wrote a tale of Josephine the Singer, or the Mouse Folk in his story The Hunger Artist.
July 3rd, 2005 | Project Gutenberg
1877, Fiction, Poetry
Harry, by The Author of Mrs Jerningham’s Journal (Fanny Wheeler Hart). This 1877 work is a Romance in Poetic Form — the story of a young wife and her, er… misunderstood husband.
It actually is a pretty entertaining read for 19th century romance fiction. The poetry is simple, which forces the narrator to not be quite so florid.
Thanks to William Flis for Post Processing this book!
July 3rd, 2005 | Project Gutenberg
1890, Fiction
In Luck at Last, by Walter Besant. This edition published circa 1890. This is a little novel that was published originally as the Christmas number of All the Year Round in 1884. All the Year Round was edited by Charles Dickens, and this story has a bit of the same social commentary that Dickens is noted for.
There is also a short story (”The Yachtsman”) tacked onto the end, with an unknown author.
Thanks to Sankar Viswanathan for Post Processing this book!