cousin braithwaite and the children

miss quail waited until tea was almost finished before making her announcement to the two children. i have invited cousin braithwaite to dinner tomorrow, she informed them. oh no, cried darius. oh no , echoed persephone. what is your objection to cousin braithwaite? miss quail asked. he is the most boring person who ever lived, said darius. darius was an outspoken and literal-minded child, not at all given to making allowances for other persons’ fantasies and frailties. persephone was also an outspoken and literal-minded child, and much given to random acts of spite and malice. if you invite cousin braithwaite, persephone announced , i promise we will make it uncomfortable for him. nonsense, miss quail replied. you will do nothing of the sort. and what, exactly, do you so object to in poor cousin brsaithwaite? he is a bore, darius repeated. well, miss quail expostulated patiently, everybody can not be fascinating, can they? if everybody in the world was fascinating, fascination itself might lose its luster, don’t you think? and besides, is not a person only as boring or as fascinating as you wish them to be? is not boredom in the ear of the listener? no, persephone replied firmly, that is not the case at all. cousin braithwaite is a bore, plain and simple. it seems to me, added darius, that bores are a supreme example of the pitiless irreducibility of reality, and its imperviousness to opinion. if a person bores his fellow humans, then he is, by definition, a bore. what possible recourse does he have, and to whom or what, to reverse the decision? that is all very well, said miss quail, but it is settled that cousin braithwaite is coming to dinner tomorrow. let us move on. how are coming along, darius, with your translation of suetonius? * cousin braithwaite duly arrived on the following evening, and the children immediately began quizzing hm unmercifully. tell us, cousin, persephone began, has anything exciting happened to you lately? exciting? why no, i don’t suppose so. the funds have been up a little , down a little , in their usual way, you know, life goes on, all that sort of thing. that’s very deep, cousin, darius interjected. tell us, how have you been getting on with the ladies? met any charming creatures lately? ladies, ladies, yes i believe i have. of course. after all they are everywhere you go, aren’t they? ladies and gentlemen. fifty percent of the human race are ladies, are they not? isn’t that so? then you have the servants of course. have you saved the world lately, cousin, persephone asked. or slain any dragons? ha, ha, slain any dragons? yes indeed, i may have. ha ha, that’s jolly, quite droll. quite droll indeed. cousin braithwaite continued with an incoherent narrative of slaying a dragon in front of the nelson monument, thinking the children were finding it amusing, and never suspecting the depth of their contempt… the evening passed, and from miss quail’s perspective passed successfully enough. at least persephone refrained from playing any of her typical pranks, such as putting a spider or a scorpion into braithwaite’s glass of eggnog. * how, if at all, do you think this narrative should proceed? a) cousin braithwaite suddenly inherits a fortune, and marries miss quail. they invite darius and persephone to dinner once a year, on or about st swithin’s day. b) cousin braithwaite suddenly inherits a fortune, darius and persephone successfully ingratiate themselves with him, he makes them his heirs, and they murder him. c) darius and persephone become anarchists, and blow themselves up making a bomb. cousin braithwaite remembers them fondly, and writes a book defending their memory, and presenting them as tragically idealistic youth. d) in time darius becomes prime minister, or at least home secretary. one day he encounters cousin braithwite in the street, old, destitute, and incoherent. darius takes braithwaite to his club, where he treats him to a good dinner, brandy, and cigars, and they sit by the fire until dawn, talking about old times. e) other ( specify )

professor wilson's conclusion

professor wilson was putting the finishing touches on his paper when there was a knock on his study door. it was sort of sunshiny outside, but the blinds were drawn on the windows, and the room was in shadow except for the light cast on professor wilson’s paper by the old fashioned lamp his colleagues had presented to him at a testimonial dinner a few years back. the professor enjoyed working by the light of his testimonial lamp, but he did not like to be disturbed - a fact well known to all. who can that be, he wondered irritably as the knocking continued. come in, he called. the door opened and parker and perkins, two of his youngest and most callow colleagues, entered. professor, cried parker, something amazing has happened! there is no need to shout, parker, professor wilson remonstrated as mildly as he was capable of. just say what you have to say. sir, an alien space ship has just landed outside on the quad! don’t listen to him, professor, perkins said. there is no space ship on the quad, or anywhere else in the vicinity. professor wilson leaned back in his chair. he took his glasses off his face and twirled them in his left hand. it seems we have a problem, gentlemen, he announced. one of you says a space ship has landed on the green grass outside, the other says no such thing has happened. you can not both be right. let me think. the professor, still twirling his glasses, stared at parker and perkins. i have known you both a long time, he said. actually he had only known them for about a year, as they were his youngest and most callow colleagues. you, perkins, though you made no great impression on me at first, i have always found to be respectful at least, and willing to learn, and to learn from your mistakes. i particularly remember your conduct at the dean’s autumn dinner, when dr marchmont’s wife made her series of abysmal disclosures, and i thought, that young fellow can keep a cool head at least. and i thought your most recent paper showed, if not exactly anything that could be called promise, at least a decent concern for proper procedure. you, parker, have not made so favorable an impression even as that. i have found you the particular type of cringing little toady that i had thought the modern world, whatever else might be said of it, and with its relentless and tiresome glorification of disrespect, had dispensed with. i have always found you quick to agree, and slow to comprehend. i also recall that there was some consideration, at your last review, as to whether you had always properly documented your sources. from all this i have decided to believe you, perkins, rather than parker, and i conclude, therefore, that were is in fact no alien space ship on the lawn of the quad. good day, gentlemen. parker and perkins left, closing the door gently behind them. * what do you think of the way professor wilson handled the situation? do you think he came to the right conclusion, given the evidence at his disposal? do you think he might have found some surer, more effective way of determining if a space ship had landed on the quad?

morning glory

by samantha monday sternwall

little flower outside my window shaking in the breeze i heard a story about you tell me if you please all these years i thought you were the same every day but now i am told different this is what they say that every night you die and in the morning are replaced by another little flower with the same smiling face every night i go to sleep and i every night i dream and in the morning i wake up having floated down night’s stream am i the same or different every morn? have there been 10,000 mes since i was born? o little flower let us face the day are we, or they, or anything real? who are we to say?

the traveler

a weary traveler walks down a lonely road to a deserted garden. where are you going, o traveler, and why are you so weary? i am weary because i have traveled a long way, and because i am lonely. why are you lonely, o traveler? i see a light in the distance. perhaps it an inn or a pub, you could retreat to its cozy warmth and rub elbows with your fellow creatures, consume a warm or cold beverage as your fancy suits you, perhaps share your thoughts on politics or art or philosophy or religion. such things are not for me, i walk alone. alone, always alone. night is falling, o traveler, are you not afraid of losing your way? i have already lost my way, a long time ago. the moon is rising, o traveler, perhaps it will light your way. i have no way - no way except to doom. look at this deserted garden, traveler, does it remind you of happier days? no, not of happier days, but of all i ever loved. and what might that have been? the flowers. ah, the flowers, always the flowers. yes, the flowers that bloomed, the flowers that never bloomed, the flowers that were cut and placed in vases, that were displayed in lit windows, the flowers that blew away, that blew away in the dust, even as i…. ah, poor traveler, i will delay you no longer. the flowers that blew away, that blew away in the dust, even as i….

the stranger

by manfred corrington sternwall

i was born to rule the earth but nobody noticed it at first and treated me as just another anonymous little earthly brother my early years were filled with woe i had no place much to go it should come as no surprise my brain was streamed with endless lies how i waited for the day when i could stand up and say i have had enough - hereafter you shall be pupils - i shall be master the years went by- i was assigned my place in society’s waiting line i expected as i grew older for the world to tap me on the shoulder and say, you should not be here there is some mistake, i fear you are not number 21,876,943,501 you are the child of the sun the years disappear in the breeze but somehow nobody sees will they never learn? must again and again i return?

thomas and samantha

thomas and samantha lived for many years in the house left to them by their parents, attended by a painfully small number of servants. they were both creatures of routine. every morning samantha would come down to breakfast before thomas, and when thomas finally arrived, she would say to him, “good morning, thomas. if you have nothing to say, please do not say anything.” and thomas would nod, pick up his coffee cup and his copy of the times, and say nothing. then one day, shortly after a war had ended, samantha made her usual statement, and themes responded, “yes, i have something to say.” “oh? and what is it that you have to say, thomas?” “that you would look nicer if you smiled.” “really? well, thank you so much for that astute observation.” and they both resumed their breakfast. thomas never again broke his silence at the table. after a number of years samantha died of pneumonia during a bitter winter, and thomas followed her in the spring, of a heart attack which he had never attempted to forestall through healthy living. they were both buried in the garden they had loved so well, though thomas had perhaps loved it a bit more than samantha.

ask for mr black and tell him you are feeling blue

johnny had a number he kept it in his head he decided to play it every day until he was rich or dead danny stood on the corner and took down johnny’s number with a philosophy of life danny was not encumbered johnny had a number and danny took it down eddie wore a hat of straw and was a man about town florence wore a girdle to keep her tummy flat edna sat in the window and did not approve of that harry drive a taxicab in order to pay the rent joe remembered doris and wondered where she went sometimes i sit in the darkness and ponder what to think but my pencil has no lead and my printer has no ink