Category Archives: Uncategorized

Bohemian Melbourne exhibition

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Well, as usual I am writing about an exhibition in its last days, and what is even more annoying is that I went to see it months ago, before Christmas and forgot to blog it!  If you want to see it, you’ll need to put your skates on.

Some time ago I reviewed Tony Moore’s book Dancing With Empty Pockets and I see that he has been a subject adviser for this exhibition at the State Library of Victoria.   As a proud Melburnian, this is  a satisfyingly home-based exhibition, with plenty of familiar names and places.  It starts with Marcus Clarke, complete with his cabbage tree hat which I was surprised to see was a much more stylish construction than I imagined. (I can’t believe that I’ve lived this long without ever seeing a cabbage tree hat- or perhaps I just didn’t realize what it was I was looking at.)  It’s all very masculine in the first section, with bohemian gentlemen’s clubs and bonhomie. Women  are thin on the ground until the 1930s onwards, when they emerge in the artistic enclaves and on the stage.  Lovely Mirka Mora gets a look-in, there’s the definitely weird Percy Grainger (whose own museum is well worth a look if it’s open when you’re going along Royal Parade) and look- there’s Red Symons (and what does it say about Bohemia that an ex-Bohemian ends up the morning host on ABC local radio?)

All good fun, although I must admit that I found the layout confusing and somehow missed the chronological thread of it all which, in this case, was important.

I see that the State Library have a self-guided walking tour of Bohemian Melbourne too.  Might be a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll sometime.

‘Burial Rites’ by Hannah Kent

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2013, 352 p.

The problem with coming to a much-talked-about book after the wave of publicity and interest has broken is that there’s not really much else left to say about it.  I’ve just dabbled in some of the reviews and it’s hard to get away from the fact that Kent received a very large advance for the novel; that she’s young and doing a PhD in creative writing, and  that it has been translated into twenty languages.    Ben Etherington has written an interesting piece in the Sydney Review of Books  about the marketing context that has many links- well worth reading.

As probably everyone knows, the book is a ‘speculative biography’ of Agnes Magnusdottir, who was executed for murder in Iceland in 1829. Awaiting sentence, she is interned on a remote farm, where enforced proximity draws her into the circle of her keeper’s family.

Everything that I would want to say about the book has been said before.   Reviewers speak of the historical setting, and I’ll talk about it too. Historical documents preface each of the chapters, that not only lend verisimilitude, but also act as a fence to constrain this speculative biography.  The research is obviously deep, and  its occasional didacticism can be excused when writing about such an unfamiliar historical setting.  Just as in history-writing itself, the endpoint is known, and it’s the author’s task to make it plausible and real.

Many reviewers rave about her descriptions of settings, and I need to join with them in praise. Her descriptions of setting are so evocative that you can almost see it. It’s a very cinematic book, and of course it has been optioned for a movie.  In your head you can see the opening scenes and hear the voice-over already.

I was struck in the opening pages by the story-ness of it.  Of course, story-telling is one of the themes of the book, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was reading the sort of book I might have read as a teenager, where all the people and events were set out in place, then ‘action’- the story proper began.   I still can’t decide whether it’s slightly clunky and old-fashioned, or very clever and self-reflexive. The device of the priest worked to usher in a first-person story-telling narrative, but I didn’t find myself particularly interested in him as a character.

And yes, several reviewers have squirmed under the buffeting of poetic imagery, and at times I felt rather overwhelmed by it as well.  But then she’d capture an image in a couple of words so cleanly and sharply that you’d nod and forgive her everything. I enjoyed the viscerality of her descriptions as Agnes is released from her cell as she smells herself and the grunge of captivity.  I felt the smoky fug of too many people in a small cottage  that evoked  shades of Halldor Laxness’ Independent People.

Then there’s the cover. Is it trite to talk about the cover? I don’t think so- it was part of my experience of settling down with a real-life, hold-in-the-hand book to read a bit more.  You won’t detect it on screen, but the cover has a beautiful pearlescent sheen, inside and out, and I often found myself running my hand over it as a thing of beauty.

aww-badge-2015-200x300This book has already been read so many times under the Historical Fiction category in the Australian Women Writers Challenge that I feel a little redundant putting it under the 2015 reviews as well.  Never mind.  Two years on from its publication, it should be standing on its own two feet. It does.

Abbott’s blues

Will there be a leadership spill? Personally, I’m watching the ties.  You know, the blue ties that Julie Gillard warned us about.

Well, she wasn’t wrong

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I’m watching the men in blue ties coming out to offer their support for Abbott in varying degrees of warmth.  I’m watching, too, to see if they break ranks with their ties.

Snappy young Christopher Pyne this morning…..hmmmm.

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So watch the tie.  Remember, you heard it here first.

‘Colonization and the Origins of Humanitarian Governance’ by Alan Lester and Fae Dussart

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2014, 275 p. & notes

When I read Rowan Strong’s book on Anglicanism and the British Empire recently, I found myself somewhat surprised that historians coming out of  a different academic stream- in this case, the history of Christianity- were  wading in the same waters that I splash around in through studying colonial communities through a transnational lens.  There were similar questions and concerns, but when I checked the bibliography, I found that the author had drawn from a largely unfamiliar body of literature written by strangers (to me!). Why hadn’t I heard of any of these people before?

This was not at all the case with this book, which felt very much like ‘home’ for me.  Alan Lester and Fae Dussart have written a couple of  papers together, and Alan Lester is perhaps best known for his concept of ‘imperial networks’ of people, goods and ideas- a concept that I’ve found really useful.  Lester is a Professor of Historical Geography at the University of Sussex, where Dussart is a Visiting Research Fellow, lecturing in Modern British and Imperial History (originally from the University of North Carolina).   Looking through their bibliography, I found very familiar names- Catherine Hall, Zoe Laidlaw, Antoinette Burton, Julie Evans etc.   These are my people!

Their book explores the paradox that at the very time that the British Empire was embarking on its violent dispossession of indigenous land across multiple sites, it was also professing humanitarianism and a deep desire to ‘do the right thing’.  Is it possible to reconcile two such disparate impulses?

Lester and Dussart choose to use the term ‘humanitarian’, even though other historians  have chosen other terms more commonly used at the time (for example, Jessie Mitchell’s In Good Faith? uses the term ‘philanthropy’) .  But in the opening chapter of this book, it is clear that their observations extend beyond the 19th century settler colonies when they discuss present-day humanitarian campaigns and organizational structures.

As in Strong’s book, they draw a longer timespan for humanitarianism than just the 19th century evangelical movement, while acknowledging its fundamental importance for the settler colonies under discussion  They describe humanitarianism as a chain, with donor/philanthropist/recipient links, noting that it is always an unequal power relationship. Actors at each point perform roles for the benefit of those next along the chain with missionaries, protectors or aid workers on the ground always having to perform dual roles for the benefit of donors above them and recipients below them (p.11).

The book combines biography and geography.  Humanitarian governance during the 19th century was mediated through the men (for it was, in this case always men) who took it upon themselves to govern the empire.

To get to know what feelings and behaviours, what affects and effects, a humanitarian moral code engenders, one has to try to understand these men at various levels of governmental structures as complex individuals with varying capacities in a world of dynamic social relations that they only partially comprehended and controlled, but sought to improve, in the process raising their self-esteem and the esteem in which they were held by others.

The book emphasizes the importance of the sequential locations of its main ‘characters’, and by picking up on Doreen Massey’s idea of ‘place’ as the juxtaposition of intersecting trajectories, highlights the fact that these mobile men of empire encountered differentially contrived sets of relations between Britons and ‘others’ in the colonies they administered.

It traces the genesis of humanitarian governance as it moved from the idea of  ’emancipating’ and  ‘ameliorating’ the conditions of slaves in the West Indies through to ‘conciliating’  ‘protecting’ , and attempting to  ‘develop’ the indigenous peoples in the expanding British empire.  It focusses in particular on the Protectorates established as secular schemes in the Cape, Port Phillip and New Zealand, and the experience of the men working, often for the very noblest of motives, in a program- for Port Phillip at least-  that always had eventual assimilation and dispossession as its ultimate intention.

The book opens with Sir George Arthur, whose career took him from Honduras, to Van Diemens Land, to Canada and then India and then closes with another George- Sir George Grey, who career traversed South Australia, New Zealand and the Cape Colony.  Historians in these erstwhile colonies often have a very different ‘take’ on the slice of career spent in their homeland, and the nuanced approach in this book gives them a coherence not easily detected in colony-bound biographies.

I really enjoyed this book, and not just because it is right in my area.  Many of the chapters have been published in article-form in different journals, and I enjoyed having them integrated into a single text like this.  It was easy to read, and the interweaving of observations about current-day humanitarianism was insightful.  Once again, it’s damned expensive in both hard cover and even in e-book form ($65A), so it’s one for the  academic libraries, I guess.  A shame really, because I think its appeal could well stretch further than that.

What I did on Australia Day

So what did I do on Australia Day?  I received an award!!  Not one of the big ones that they print in the paper, but a JagaJaga Community Australia Day Award for my work as Secretary of the Heidelberg Historical Society.  I’m touched and unexpectedly chuffed!

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A historian’s nightmare

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390p , 1979

On my shelf there are two books that I have borrowed about William Lyon Mackenzie.  I pick up the first one, The Firebrand and check out the publication date- 1956.  I pick up the second one William Lyon Mackenzie: A Reinterpretation, thinking from the title that it would probably be the more recent book.  Ah, but I’d be wrong.  Although it was published in 1979 for the first time, the text itself was written seventy-one years earlier.  And in this case, the story about this book and its troubled publication history is probably even more interesting for a 21st historian on the other side of the world, than the book itself.

A household name in one country can be greeted with a quizzical “Who??” in another.   William Lyon Mackenzie (1795-1861) is such a person.  Newspaper editor, entrepreneur, and controversial politician, he was one of the leaders of the rather disorganized and immediately suppressed Upper Canada Rebellion of 1837  (although he escaped fairly lightly compared with the rebels he led, many of whom were transported to Australia as Tony Moore’s recent book- review here-  explains).  Particularly for Canadian schoolchildren, in a historiography  that can seem (like Australia’s)  rather, well, bland, the rebellion and William Lyon Mackenzie stand out as flashpoints, rather like Peter Lalor and the Eureka Stockade might stand out in Australia’s similarly ‘colourless’ schoolroom historiography.

The first book about William Lyon Mackenzie was a two-volume ‘official’ biography written by his son-in-law Charles Lindsey and published within a year of Mackenzie’s death. As might be expected, it was a highly laudatory appraisal and set the scene for Mackenzie to be embraced as the Father of the Upper Canada Rebellion and Founding Figure of Canadian Democracy.

When, in the early 1900s,  Toronto publisher George Morang embarked on his multivolume biographical work ‘Makers of Canada Series’ to celebrate the makers of Canada’s national and independent  history (with none of that servile backward-looking Colonial stuff) Mackenzie was a shoo-in.  But William Dawson LeSueur was not originally approached to write the Mackenzie volume.  Instead, as a  recently-retired prolific essayist and historian, he was asked to review the Mackenzie biography that was originally commissioned for the Makers of Canada series.   On LeSueur’s advice, the manuscript was rejected.  Publisher George Morang asked LeSueur to take up the challenge, but he refused.  It was only when the replacement biography fell through that LeSueur was contracted for the job, commencing in 1905 .

LeSueur contacted Mackenzie’s son-in-law, Charles Lindsey (who had written the very first biography) and arranged to have access to the Mackenzie Papers in the Lindsey home- in fact, he was invited to stay at the house to work on them.  LeSueur told Lindsey that he was writing the biography for the Makers of Canada series, but did not mention that he had been responsible for the rejection of the first manuscript.  Some family members were concerned that LeSueur was rumoured to be ‘a Tory’ and were concerned that the new biography would tarnish the reputation of their much-lauded forebear.  Most concerned of all was Mackenzie’s grandson and up-and-coming politician Dr William Lyon Mackenzie King who was at the time the Minister for Labour and would just happen to end up Prime Minister. Given the family’s misgivings,  LeSueur offered to withdraw, but Morang encouraged him to keep writing.

But having handed over the single longhand manuscript, Morang rejected it.  LeSueur was keen to recover his manuscript and offered to return the $500 cash advance he had received during the two years it took him to write it.  Morang refused his offer and insisted on keeping the manuscript.  Charles Lindsey had died by this time, but his son asked LeSueur to return all the Mackenzie papers he had in his possession, which LeSueur did, but he refused to hand over his own notes.

And so the matter headed into the courts.  The first case involved LeSueur’s attempt to recover his manuscript from Morang.  Morang’s lawyers argued that because he had purchased the manuscript, property had passed to him and he could use it or not as he pleased.  The case finally ended up in the Supreme Court which found for LeSueur on the grounds that where the inducement to write a book was both pecuniary and reputational (because it was based on the prospect of publication), the mere payment of the money without publication could not convey a title to the possession of the work.  An appeal was unsuccessful. So, after three and half years, LeSueur regained his manuscript.

But then the Lindsey family sought an injunction to stop LeSueur using any of the family materials that they had made available to him, arguing that he had breached their confidence when they gave him access to the papers. There was much argument over the distinction between an ‘agreement’ and a ‘contract’ to write a fair and balanced biography.  LeSueur was ordered to hand over any papers and any extracts or copies that he had made in his own notes.  He was prevented from publishing or making public any information he had gleaned from those papers.  That’s an interesting thought for a historian. How, having read something, do you then separate out one particular idea from the whole general picture that you’ve developed?

In 1915 LeSueur rewrote the book, citing other readily available sources to support the same argument that he had mounted in the original book.  He wrote a lengthy preface, putting his side of the controversy.  This revised book and its preface, however, were never published- and remained unpublished until A. B. McKillop published Willian Lyon Mackenzie: A Re-interpretation in 1979 with his own foreword, LeSueur’s preface to the 1915 expurgated text and the original 1907 manuscript.

As for the book itself?  Yes, it certainly does challenge the Mackenzie-as-Hero characterization, and argues that the Canadian Rebellion would have occurred without him- and that, in fact, his actions cruelled it. I find it quite amazing that a family could have stopped publication of what, to me now, reads as a historical argument rather than a warts-and-all biography.

I must confess that while I’m aware of the ‘fair dealing’ approach for research and study purposes here in Australia, I haven’t really thought (or been encouraged to think) about the legal ramifications of dealing with primary documents.  Interesting, too, given that with the current push to have universities place theses online blurs the line between ‘research’ and ‘publication’ even more.

If you have a look at the articles I’ve listed below, it’s quite sobering what a law court in America could do to the writing of history/biography if a published biography ended up there.  The distinction between fact and expression, a narrow definition of ‘fair use’ for unpublished materials, privacy issues– is there any scope for primary source, critical biography at all? I have read Janet Malcolm’s The Silent Woman and been aware of biographer/family tensions over recently deceased biographical subjects, but reading these articles is rather chilling.  If you have a library registration that allows access to academic databases, you can find out more in these very legalistic, American-law articles:

Harvey, Cameron, and Linda Vincent. “MacKenzie and LeSueur: Historians’ Rights.” Manitoba. Law Journal  10 (1979): 281.

Bilder, Mary Sarah. “The Shrinking Back: The Law of Biography.” Stanford Law Review (1991): 299-360.

Vale Wisteria….

It’s never good when things go BANG at 7.00 a.m. on a drizzly, humid Saturday morning in January.

Oh dear. Not good at all.  Down came the pergola on the back deck, weighed down no doubt by about fifteen years’ growth of wisteria.   I had noticed the previous day that it was very dark out there, and didn’t realize how thick the leaves had become on the top of the pergola.  We used to prune it fairly hard to stop it getting up into the roof- but obviously not quite hard enough.

My wisteria gave me much pleasure.  Sure, it dropped blossom and covered the deck with its purple haze, but it smelled beautiful and the bees loved it.

We spent all weekend pulling it down.  The pergola had rotted underneath it- in fact, I suspect that the wisteria was holding up the pergola rather than the other way round.  It looks very bare and glare-y out there.  I’ve had to cover the fern with a sheet. I think I shall call it Miss Havisham.

I used to love how green and cool it was under the pergola in summer looking out from the kitchen sink.  Not quite the same now.

My deck and the large sliding doors leading into the dining room face north, so I’m keen to have another pergola with a deciduous vine, to get the winter sun and shade in summer.  I’m thinking an ornamental grape, hoping that it doesn’t have quite the voracious wandering habit of the wisteria.

But, oh dear, I do grieve its loss.  Yes, I know- first world problem.

Australian Women Writers Challenge—-I’m back

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And so here I am again, signing up for the Australian Women Writers Challenge again  for the third year.  I’ll go for the Franklin again, and I’ll try a bit harder this year to concentrate on women historians.  And just think of all the reading I can do after the thesis is finished!!

Pudding people first at Christmas

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I have had half of last years Christmas pudding in the freezer all year. “Must eat that pudding sometime” I’d think each time it tumbled out. So here I was in December, thinking about Christmas lunch, wondering if it would be TOO bad to serve up half an elderly pudding? I decided that perhaps, all things considered, it might be.  The reality is that I’m the only person in the family who really likes plum pudding, which is why there was probably half a pudding in the freezer in the first place.    Did I really want to make another pudding only to add yet another half-pudding to the freezer?  (I suppose at this rate, by Christmas 2015 I’d have a whole pudding in two bits!)

Then I spied a recipe in the Age for a Christmas Bombe.  That sounds interesting- a mashup of pannetone, ice-cream, plum pudding and pavlova. Delicious or disgusting?  It looked good in the picture.

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So by Christmas morning, there was a  pannetone-lined basin filled with plum-pudding icecream securely tucked away in Dad’s freezer (my freezer is too full of old puddings, you see….) ready for the great bombe-ing later in the day.  The table was set, waiting for my guests.

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So, first thing to get the pudding out of the bowl.

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Sh*t! It won’t come out!!!

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Oh yes it did. (Phew!)

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Now the great smothering with meringue.

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Someone can always be trusted to clean the bowl and lick the beaters. (In this case, my 85 year old father!)

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Hey, this doesn’t look too bad.

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Now, for the Great Flaming.   I don’t have a kitchen blowtorch, but my stepson has two.  Not kitchen ones, though.  Which shall I go for?  The industrial-strength flame-thrower? Or the little one?

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Will the big one shoot my pudding into the venetian blinds, incinerating us all?  Will the small one take an hour as a feeble flicker s-l-o-w-l-y adds a tinge of colour to the meringue?

I’m not brave.  The little one it is.

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If I’m going to immolate myself as well as the pudding, you’re all coming with me.

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Damn. We’ve forgotten how to turn the blowtorch off.  Oh well, it will run out of gas soon.

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And here it is!!

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Guess what? I’ve got half a Christmas Bombe in the freezer.  But, unlike Albert, the  Magic Pudding, this cut-and-come-again pudding probably won’t still be here this time next year.

After all, now that we have an Andrews Labor Government,  it’s all about pudding.

Christmas in Port Phillip 1841

We haven’t visited Judge Willis’ Port Phillip for a while.  Now that Christmas is here, let’s read an article about Christmas that was published in the Port Phillip Patriot of 1841, Judge Willis’ first year in the Port Phillip District.

CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRALIA  (Author not identified)

…Hitherto…no one has attempted to give us a sketch of an “Australian Christmas”. This festive season, in our country, has not yet been described, and in order to make up for a deficiency so glaring, I shall endeavour to convey to the reader unacquainted with our genial clime, an idea of the twenty-fifth of December in this portion of the Southern hemisphere…

…The inhabitants of this colony have adopted a great many of those customs of their ancestors and the Australians look forward to the arrival of Christmas with the same degree of fondness and veneration as a Briton. Variations in the mode of living and a difference of soil and climate may cause this season to be celebrated with less precision and minuteness here than in England. We certainly have not the same associations [?] of antiquity to instigate us, and fill us with any degree of enthusiastic ardour, yet our love of Christmas is by no means of an ordinary description…

The author then indulges in some reminiscences of Christmas back ‘home’ before remembering that it’s Christmas in Australia that he’s writing about.

During the week immediately preceding the twenty-fifth of December, every family in the whole colony appears to be thrown into a state of bustle and activity. The farmer hurries to the metropolis with his eggs, his poultry, and the produce of his lands, and purchases an ample supply of Christmas dainties for the due celebration of the approaching holiday. Raisins, currants, wines, spirits, and a large variety of other niceties, which it would be impossible for me to enumerate, are obtained by the active housewife to adorn and set off the Christmas dinner. Every one is employed in providing for the eventful day, and the ordinary avocations of society seem to be almost forgotten.

I was particularly interested in some of the comments below, most particularly the mention of Aborigines  bearing Christmas Bush.  In his book Aboriginal Victorians, Richard Broome reminds us that early Melbourne (c. 1835- approx 1841) was an Aboriginal town, with the visible presence of Aboriginal people quite a common sight.  (See Section III p. 15 of Broome’s book, available through Google preview here). Although Superintendant La Trobe issued orders in September 1840 that ‘no Aboriginal blacks of the District are to visit the township of Melbourne under any pretext whatever’, this directive was impossible to enforce.   I wonder if there was some sort of exchange going on here, with the aborigines  collecting the Christmas bush and bringing it into town, knowing that it was prized by the settlers for decorating their houses?  Were the aborigines ‘in crowds’ or were they wandering through the crowds of settlers, I wonder?

Christmas-eve at length arrives, and the scene which it presents both in town and country is of a very peculiar and pleasing description. The aborigines themselves seem influenced by the day, and may be seen in crowds strolling through the town, bearing “Christmas bushes” for the purpose of adorning the houses.

I must admit that I’m not familiar with Christmas Bush, and the writer mentions that it is no longer common around Melbourne.  I assume that he’s referring to Ceratopetalum gummiferum, but I note that it now only seems to be found in New South Wales.

[These “Christmas bushes” are plucked from a beautiful tree which is now becoming very scarce in the vicinity of our towns. This tree usually attains the height of about twenty feet, and when in full bloom has a very picturesque appearance. The bark is smooth and frequently mottled, the leaves vary from two to three inches in length, are rather narrow, and terminate in a point, have the edge indented like a saw, and are of a glossy dark-green colour. The flowers are of the cruciform species, similar in shape to a cabbage blossom, and when in full vigour are of a fine red colour. Indeed, I think the whole vegetable kingdom could scarcely furnish a more appropriate shrub than this for the purpose of adorning our houses on Christmas Day.]

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Here in Melbourne the weather on Christmas Day  tends to be highly variable.  I remember hot Christmas Days, but I also remember huge hail storms and some pretty ordinary weather.  Nonetheless, it was the novelty of a hot Christmas that impresses our author.

… In Australia the difference of climate causes the scene to bear a different and less animating aspect. Instead of the cool breezes and snow storms of an English winter, the sultry winds of summer and the scorching rays of an almost vertical sun, effectually put a stop to all sorts of amusement. In the towns, clouds of dust occasionally darken the atmosphere and render the weather peculiarly disagreeable. Under these circumstances every one is constrained to rest quietly within his doors, and wait patiently until the approach of night may in some degree moderate the oppressive blast. Even then there is a warmth in the air- a calm, sultry heat, which renders it totally impossible for any one to arouse himself to exertion. Instead of blazing fires glowing in the hearth, every fire-place is ornamented with evergreens; and instead of sitting opposite the burning ‘yule clog’ the peasant seats himself quietly in the open air on the outside of his humble cottage.

Well, this little ‘peasant’ here in 2014 won’t be sitting quietly in the open air outside my humble cottage.  She will, however, be relaxing on Christmas night after lunch with her family.  Happy Christmas readers – or whatever salutation you prefer.