Efter att ha varit "avkopplad" i flera veckor har jag mycket att ta igen hos Gutenberg. Dags att brodera bårder på min "prettycoat" till exempel
Fig. 5 is a breakfast cap of alternate Swiss muslin insertion, the frill and fall surrounding the face; an old style reintroduced. Coques of ribbon separate it, and there are strings of the same.
Fig. 6 has also an entire frill, though falling more behind the ear. It is relieved by knots of ribbon. Either of them is suitable for a sick-room cap.
Det är från tidskriften Godey's Lady's Book, Philadelphia V 48, January, 1854, som jag hämtat dessa kunskaper.
THE machine is ready to start. The symbolic beasts grow resty, curveting where they stand at their places in the great blue circle of the year. The Showman’s voice rings out. “Montez, mesdames et messieurs, montez. You, sir, must bestride the Ram. You will take the Scorpion. Yours, madame, is the Goat. As for you there, blackguard boy, you must be content with the Fishes. I have allotted you the Virgin, mademoiselle.” . . . “Polisson!” “Pardon, pardon. Evidemment, c’est le Sagittaire qu’on demande. Ohé, les dards! The rest must take what comes. The Twins shall counterpoise one another in the Scales. So, so. Now away we go, away.”
Ha, what keen air. Wind of the upper spaces. Snuff it deep, drink in the intoxication of our speed. Hark how the music swells and rings. . . . sphery music, music of every vagabond planet, every rooted star; sound of winds and seas and all the simmering millions of life. Moving, singing . . . so with a roar and a rush round we go and round, for ever whirling on a ceaseless Bank Holiday of drunken life and speed.
But I happened to look inwards among the machinery of our roundabout, and there I saw a slobbering cretin grinding at a wheel and sweating as he ground, and grinding eternally. And when I perceived that he was the author of all our speed and that the music was of his making, that everything depended on his grinding wheel, I thought I would like to get off. But we were going too fast.
Om Aldous Huxely har jag skrivit tidigare, men då om hans prosa. Nu hittar jag hans Leda, poesi och korta texter. Eftersom det är hans födelsedag i morgon passar det väl bra att slå ett slag för denne författare som hade en sådan fantastisk språkkänsla. Vill du läsa om Aldous Huxely kan jag rekommendera