Harold North Fowler
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Harold North Fowler's Book and Story
A History of Roman Literature
LGBT+ Formatted for the Kindle. Linked Contents:<br>Introduction<br>PART I<br>I. Prehistoric man \u2014 His language one of signs and sounds \u2014 The story of Psammetichus and the Two Babies \u2014 Idiom of language a survival of primitive peoples<br>II. Modern types of early man \u2014 Sign-language of people living on the globe to-day \u2014 The custom of the Uvinza grandees \u2014 The \"good-morning\" of the Walunga tribe \u2014 Signs of hospitality in the sign vocabulary of the North American Indian \u2014 The \"attingere extremis digitis\" of the Romans \u2014 Clap-hands one of the first lessons of the Nursery \u2014 The modern survival of hand-clapping \u2014 \"Is it rude to shake hands, Nurse?\" \u2014 A hypercritical mother \u2014 Plato's rebuke \u2014 Agesilaus and his children \u2014 Nursery classics and critical babies \u2014 \"Lalla, lalla, lalla\" of the Roman child \u2014 The well-known baby dance of \"Crow and caper, caper and crow\"<br>III. Writers on comparative religions show that entire religious observances come down to modern peoples from heathen sources \u2014 The Bohemian Peasant and his Apple Tree \u2014 A myth of long descent found in the rhyme of \"A Woman, a Spaniel, and Walnut Tree\"; our modern \"Pippin, pippin, fly away,\" indicates the same sentiment \u2014 The fairy tale of Ashputtel and the Golden Slipper, the legend from which came our story of Cinderella \u2014 Tylor on Children's Sports \u2014 The mystery of Northern Europe at Christ's coming \u2014 The Baby's Rattle \u2014 Ancestral worship follows sun and moon worship, and gives us the tales of fairies, goblins, and elves \u2014 Boyd Dawkins' story of the Isle of Man farmer \u2014 A Scandinavian Manxman \u2014 Modernised lullaby of a Polish mother \u2014 \"Shine, Stars\" \u2014 \"Rain, rain, go away\" \u2014 Wind making \u2014 Lullabies \u2014 Bulgarian, German, \"Sleep, Baby, Sleep\" \u2014 The lullaby of the Black Guitar \u2014 \"Baby, go to Sleep\" \u2014 English version, \"Hush thee, my Babby\" \u2014 Danish lullaby of \"Sweetly sleep, my little Child\" \u2014 \"Bye, baby bunting\"<br>IV. Elf-land \u2014 Old-time superstitions \u2014 A custom of providing a feast for the dead known in Yorkshire, North-west Ireland, and in Armenia \u2014 The Erl King of Goethe \u2014 Ballet of the Leaf-dressed Girl \u2014 The Spirit of the Waters \u2014 An Irish legend of Fior Usga \u2014 Scotch superstition \u2014 Jenny Greenteeth of Lancashire \u2014 The Merrow of the West of Ireland \u2014 Soul Cages \u2014 The German rhyme of \"O Man of the Sea, come list unto Me\" \u2014 Mysticism among uncivilised races \u2014 The Corn Spirit \u2014 The Rye-wolf \u2014 \"The Cow's in the Corn\" \u2014 \"Ring a ring a rosies\" \u2014 \"Cuckoo Cherry Tree\" \u2014 Our earliest song, \"Summer is a-coming in\" \u2014 \"Hot Cockles\" at Yorkshire funerals \u2014 \"Over the Cuckoo Hill, I oh!\" \u2014 Indian Lore<br>PART II<br>I. Games \u2014 Whipping-tops, Marbles, etc. \u2014 \"I am good at Scourging of my Toppe,\" date 15 \u2014 (?) \u2014 Dice and Pitch-and-Toss \u2014 \"Dab a Prin in my Lottery Book\" \u2014 \"A' the Birds of the Air\" \u2014 Hop Scotch \u2014 \"Zickety, dickety, dock\" \u2014 \"All good Children go to Heaven\" \u2014 \"Mary at the Cottage Door.\" <br>Marriage Games \u2014 \"If ever I Marry I'll Marry a Maid,\" 1557 A.D. \u2014 London Street Games \u2014 A Wedding \u2014 \"Choose one, choose two, choose the nearest one to you\" \u2014 \"Rosy Apple, Lemon, and Pear\" \u2014 The King of the Barbarines \u2014 \"I've got Gold and I've got Silver\" \u2014 A Lancashire Round Game \u2014 \"Fol th' riddle, I do, I do, I do\" \u2014 Round Game of the Mulberry Bush \u2014 \"Pray, Mr. Fox, what time is it?\" \u2014 \"Mother, buy me a Milking Can\" \u2014 \"Here comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay\" \u2014 \"Can I get there by Candle-light?\"<br>II. Nursery Games\u2014 A Game for a Wet Day \u2014 \"Cows and Horses walk on four legs\" \u2014 A Game nearly 300 years old \u2014 \"There were two birds sitting on a stone\" \u2014 A B C Game \u2014 \"Hi diddle diddle\" \u2014 \"I Apprentice my Son\" \u2014 An Armenian Child's Game, \"Jack's Alive\" \u2014 Russian Superstition<br>III. Jewish Rhymes<br>... You might like
Fake Amnesia, Real Betrayal
Gavin The call came at 7:05 PM on our tenth wedding anniversary.
My husband, David, was in an accident.
At the hospital, he was awake, but a young woman, his assistant Chloe, was holding his hand, acting like his wife.
When I walked in, he looked at me, a blank stranger' s stare, then asked, "Who are you?"
He laughed when I said I was his wife, then demanded security remove me, while Chloe, smiling, pretended to cry.
It wasn't just memory loss; it was a cruel, targeted erasure.
I tried proof, the marriage certificate, but he pushed it away as "just a piece of paper."
Then Chloe waltzed in with his favorite soup, and he defended her when I confronted her.
"She' s the only one who' s been here for me!" he screamed.
He snarled that I was "exhausted, haggard," compared to Chloe, who was "kind and gentle."
My wedding ring, a symbol of our forever, flew from my hand as he slapped it away, clinking under the bed.
"Don' t come back," he said, turning his back on me to comfort Chloe.
Later, I learned why: he had been having an affair with Chloe, his mother's 65th birthday ruined by his absence and her answering his phone.
My world shattered when Mark Johnson, David's estranged best friend, told me what David said: "The fake amnesia was a stroke of genius, right? A clean break."
My husband had faked a brain injury to throw me away.
A car hit me, sending me to the hospital, and I knew what I had to do.
When Mark came in, I looked at him, my face blank, then asked, "Are you… my husband?" Mummery
Gilbert Cannan This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1919 Excerpt: ...loss of humanity. Henceforth she must deal with realities, leaving him to his painted mummery.... She could understand his frenzy, his fury, his despair. \"That will do, Charles,\" she said very quietly. \"I will see what can be done about Mr. Clott, and whatever happens I will see that you are not harmed.... If you like, you can dine with Verschoyle and me tonight. You can come home with me now, while I dress. I am to meet him at the Carlton and then we are going on to the Opera.\" \"Does Verschoyle know?\" \"He knows that you are you and that I am I---that is all he cares about.... He is a good man. If people must have too much money, he is the right man to have it. He would never let a man down for want of money--if the man was worth it.\" \"Ah!\" said Charles, reassured. This was like the old Clara speaking, but with more assurance, a more certain knowledge and less bewildering intuition and guess-work. A Few weeks later, with Verschoyle and a poor relation of his, a Miss Vibart Withers, for chaperone, Clara left London in a 60 h.p. Fiat, which voraciously ate up the Bath Road at the rate of a mile every minute and a half.... It was good to be out of the thick heat of London, invaded by foreigners and provincials and turned into a city of pleasure and summer-frocks, so that its normal life was submerged, its character hidden. The town became as lazy and drowsy a spectacle as a field of poppies over which danced gay and brilliant butterflies. Very sweet was it then to turn away from it, and all that was happening in it, to the sweet air and to fly along between green fields and orchards, through little towns, at intervals to cross the Thames and to feel that with each crossing London lay so much farther away. Henle...