A Secret Revealed

“ When I go musing all alone
Thinking of divers things fore-known.
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow and void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.”



From The Anatomy of Melancholy by Robert Burton, published in the 1600s.

This copy I have the pleasure of now owning is dated 1898...
In a sense even the pages of this book reveal it's inner thoughts......






The key to the true identity of the original owner of "Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy" Ernest Paterson…..any relation to Robert Patterson of “Twilight”…Oh wait double TT’s; I’m afraid not…unless the family thru time changed the spelling of the family’s name….I wonder…Ha!
Anyhow, it really did remind me of the opening credits of the movie "National Treasure".; doesn’t lend that secretive air, mysterious and intriguing , luring you on to fold back the pages of time and uncover more riches to rouse one’s senses?



An interesting treasure for sure; It not only gave me insight to a wealth of varied knowledge but it also has proven to be quite a book for drawing inspiration in the way it has aged thru time in it’s impressive moldy discoloration of creams, pinks and mushroomy browns.




The lovely effect of water , mold and time on the pages of a most unusual book...." The Anatomy of Melancholy" Robert Burton.






Need to seriously start capturing better photos of these lovely textures and some to use in my ongoing art works. Who knows I may reveal another secret or two en route.
Annabelle

~ Spooks ~

SPOOKS

Oh, I went down to Framingham
To site on a graveyard wall;
"If there be spooks," I said to myself,
"I shall see them, on and all."

I hugged the knee to still the heart,
My gaze on a tomb 'neath a tree.
Down in the village the clock struck nine
But never a ghost did I see.

A boy passed by and his hair was red,
He paused by a sunken mound.
"How goes it with all the ghosts," said he,
have you heard any walking around?"

Now the taunt was the sign of the boy's disdain
For the study I did pursue.
So I took the hour to teach that lad
Of the things unseen but true.

I talked of howler, banshee, ghoul
The gristly and the lean.
I sat on that graveyard wall and told
of all the things I had never seen.

And suddenly a bat swung by
Two cats began to bawl,
And that red-haired boy walked off in haste
When I needed him most of all.

I lost a slipper as I fled―
I bumped against a post,
But nevertheless I knew I'd won
The secret of raising a ghost.

And the method is this―at least for a miss,
You must sit on a graveyard wall,
And talk of the things you never have seen
And you'll see them, one and all.

The Singing Crow and Other Poems, by Nathalia Crane.
Illustrated by Mac Harshberger.
New York, Albert & Charles Boni, 1926.

Happy Halloween !