Tuesday, June 25, 2013


I’ve spent the morning reading poor quality, digitalized microfilms looking for a statement I read once, know to be in there somewhere, and can’t find. I’m a frustrated pixie.

I’ve been sickish. Nothing new in that. My meds have been increased some, leaving me feeling as if my head is stuffed with cotton. The kitchen faucet went flooie and dripped water into the cabinet underneath it. Knobby Knees is out buying a new one and some special tool thingie he needs to remove some hard-to-reach connection. In the meantime my kitchen is pretty much an unusable mess.

I lost my wallet, but finally found it under a file folder. One of my shopping buddies dragged me off to the Goodwill Store, suggesting that it would do me good to get out of the house. I found a history book and a box of sheet protectors both for really cheap. The sheet protectors are not archival quality, but I can use them for printouts that don’t need that level of protection. Two people interested in our research send me copies of letters and old documents. I tend to put those in protectors.

I found three books we need. They’re fairly inexpensive, but we are flat out of money in our research fund, and I have too many expenses coming up to fund the purchase. I’ll have to pick one and buy it and let the others go unless we can come up with about forty dollars. That seems so little, but it’s a lot for us right now.

When I’m more ambitious I’ll clean out the china cabinets. A cousin dumped boxes of old china on me, saying, "I know you like this stuff." Some of it is really nice. Bunches of it is not so nice. But I need to find room for the nice stuff, which means a huge sort and assess day. I foresee a yard sale.

We have an unexpected large bill coming due. I’d throw things at someone, but that probably wouldn’t make either of us happy.

Knobby Knees leaves for Europe on July 5th. So, everyone will be home and makin’ noise about two weeks after that. Annie reports that the "French guys" were not rude, and that they were fed "nice food but I don’t know what some of it was," adding she "didn’t eat the snails at all not even a taste."

I’m worried about Ton. Not a word from him for a long time. I’ll email him after I post this.

Snakes! Or what I find when I'm lookin' for somthin' else. ...

The Miles City, Montana, Yellowstone Journal
August 3, 1889

Near the Alton Bay, New Hampshire, Camp Ground -1906

Outskirts of the town of Alton, New Hampshire

Monday, June 24, 2013

The Babies


Von Herr Professor Doktor Occasional Reader


It all started in South Africa with Solomon Linda and his Evening Birds.

Linda was a part-time singer from the townships, who worked as a cleaner and record packer at a local record company office.

He called his song Mbube (the Zulu for "lion") and had his group repeat the base line Uyimbube ("I am a lion") over and over, while his falsetto soared above it.

It would have stayed unknown in the townships of South Africa had folk singer Pete Seeger not been looking for new material for his group The Weavers in the late 1940s. He heard Solomon’s song and since his Zulu wasn’t too good, misheard it as Wimoweh. The latter title has stuck.

The Weavers did their version in due course, totally ruined by the commercial sound of the Gordon Jenkins Orchestra and Chorus behind them. It was soon everywhere. There was Yma Sumac, who claimed to be a descendant of an Incan princess and also claimed a singing range of more than four octaves. She did an execrable version (truth be told, rumors abounded that she was a Brooklyn housewife whose name was Amy Camus, now spelled backwards). When Seeger split from the Weavers (objecting to their endorsing a cigarette commercial) he took the song to his solo concerts and got his audiences to fill in the gaps.

Later the pop group the Tokens picked it up, threw in some English words and "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" became a standard. They were a one hit wonder – I mean how do you follow THAT? The ultimate accolade was when the song featured in the Disney film "The Lion King."

None of this was much good for poor old Solomon Linda. He died penniless in 1962. His family couldn’t even afford a headstone for him. Seeger had heard of their plight and sent them money but it took a lawsuit for associates of the Disney Corporation to finally cough up something decent for his descendants.

So where does Occasional come into all this?

I first heard Seeger and the Weavers perform the song on a long forgotten radio show on Radio Luxembourg – the commercial station for a United Kingdom then denied commercial radio, which beamed its wares from the little European Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. Lying in bed with a valve portable radio the size of a large brick clamped to my head, this was a revelation.

The very first folk record I ever bought was to obtain Seeger and audience doing Wimoweh. It was an early vinyl EP (that’s ‘extended play’ to you) and introduced me to folk protest as well – the song Talking Atom Blues – with the parody line "all men shall be cre-mated equal") This was before the Greenwich Village folk boom led by the likes of Joan Baez and Bob Dylan.

I always wanted to sing it – and in the bathroom sometimes did – to the horror of family who would thump on the door and ask me not to frighten the neighbors.

But then in recent years my daughter embraced all things folk and inveigled us into joining her at folk clubs from time to time.

So on a recent vacation – suitable over-wined and over-dined and secure in the knowledge that if it all went pear shaped I would never have to see these people again – I had a go.

Son in law, daughter and Mrs O started the base line – and the audience joined in! Daughter had helped me get the pitch right (there can be nothing worse than starting Wimo-screech with the horror for singer and audience of a further two minutes to come) and away we went.

I was pleased. Daughter has threatened to put it on YouTube as the Yodelling Pensioner Strikes Again...

Strikes Again? Don’t Ask.

But I did it. I am content, glad, actually delighted.

Yes – I can now die happy.

But hopefully not just yet.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Just because I like it ....

It fell from the sky ... or stuff you find lookin' for other stuff

Goat tails ...

Goat-boy (AKA, Knobby Knees) came home very early in the morning. Poor man has a bad cold. I’m pretty sure he didn’t breath Harry’s air or anything, so I can‘t blame Harry. It’s after one o’clock now and he’s all medicated up and sleeping.  Daughters two and three are due home on Sunday. My aunt is bringing them. Apparently they shopped to their hearts content, and their new favorite mall is Southcenter Mall.

Knobby Knees’ trip went well despite his cold. He was very pleased. He signed two new contracts. It means a small bonus for him (we’re always in need of money so this is good.) He’ll be project lead on the larger of the two new contracts.

I was going to weed the front garden today, but it’s raining. If it lets up before two pm, I’ll drag my scrawny butt outside and pull weeds. Cheat grass seeds itself everywhere this time of year. I poisoned the lot of it, and now I have to pull it up.

This is my last day of vacation. I have a very long shift ahead of me tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to it.

Anthony? Where the heck are you?

I’ve worked on the “last chapter” since early morning. This keeps changing. That’s not a new phenomenon. But it’s a frustrating one. I’ve changed the outline again. I added a small section based on someone’s August 22, 1878, letter. Now that letter intrigues me more for what it doesn’t say than what it says. I spent maybe forty minutes discussing it with my WP. He emailed me a suggested new paragraph. It seems to fill the bill, but I’d like to have more detail. I put a help request on the history blogs, but I’ll be surprised if it results in anything.

There’s a funny (though a bit umm umm odd) comment in a book I just finished about goatherds in ancient and medieval times having sex with their goats to try to father fauns or satyrs. I have this mental vision of some benighted herder watching for any signs of pregnancy and counting the 150 days gestation wondering if the kid would look like him. So, it’s born, and it’s a baby satyr. What does he do? Why take it home, of course.

[Goatherd, hopefully] Look, wife! I found this in the field. Can we keep it?

[Wife, looking askance.] You’ve been fornicating with goats again, haven’t you? I’ll tell the priest!

[Goatherd, with look of wounded innocence.] I have not! … I’d not tell the priest. It’s probably his child.

So this happened when I spent too much time with Goat-Boy

[Wife, raised eyebrows] Nonsense. He likes the pig herd’s daughter. … Okay you can keep it but you change its clout or you keep it outside.

There was a reason for reading this book, though I got distracted by all sorts of nonsense. I started out looking for material on the Mediterranean Goat Cults. They persisted into medieval times, and much of the witch mythology is really a remnant from a fertility cult. One of these days I’m gong to write a small book on the Goat Cult. The problem is, there is less material for that than I have for what we’re writing now. Maybe I’ll just write a bit of fiction and make it all up.

So much for that … unless you’ve seen a really handsome goat wandering around your back yard. Ask him if he’s Scottish, and if he says “yes” send him home.

One too many Goat-Boy snuggles can change your appearance.

I’m really puzzled by some of the events we’re exploring in the chapter we’re writing. (To return to that) This group was very, very small, more so in the summer of 1878 than previously. They lost members to a failed prediction. So finding details is difficult, especially from outside the movement. They weren’t worth press notice. The editor of their magazine published letters that supported his point of view. Those that didn’t saw the inside of a trash bin. I’d love to see the ones he discarded. It’d make for a much more interesting history.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

OR asked if I really had dragons. Herewith is a photo from our last vacation ....

The madness of Scotsmen ... and the Pixies married to them

So … I never made it to the thrift stores yesterday. My shopping buddy had car trouble, and I rescued her instead. Instead of shopping we sipped coffee at a Starbucks while the tire and battery store worked on her electrical system.

Maybe I’ll go today. I need a break from head-ache inducing research.

My baby sister begged to stay the night. We had a ‘camp out’ in the family room. Watched Pooh’s Grand Adventure, ate Malt Balls, sipped milk and played Mouse Trap. She won. Twice.

Her mom picked her up about an hour ago. I miss having a child that age. But … I’m not havin’ another no way no how. Five is enough.

I have this very clear mental picture of something for a story I’m playing with, but it doesn’t translate well into words.

I’m very tired. I don’t know why. Probably comes from sleeping in a play tent with a four year old. Well, we don’t get her overnight all that much. And it was fun. But I’m blurry-eyed today.

There is a wildlife area near our pasture. All the old roads are gated, and access is by hiking trail only. It’s an interesting place. I read once that one of the first pioneer settlements was out there. I’ve never found it, and it may have washed off into the stream that crosses that area. I found an arrowhead or two out there, but never any sign of a homestead.

There is an old stone house on our property. It was built in 1846 as a trading post. When we acquired the place it was just a shell. Only the stone walls remained. We restored it. In the process we found some old coins partly melted by fire. The oldest of these was a seated half dollar from 1856. The face was good, the back had bubbled from fire.

This is a "seated half dollar" similar to the one we found.

We did a good job, I think, with the restoration. The hardest parts were finding appropriate flooring, the windows, and electrifying it without damaging the original appearance. We visited a number of old cabins and homes. The flooring in most of them is fairly wide, loosely jointed. Knobby Knees found a small tumble down barn and got permission to dismantle it. It was more of a horse shed than an actual barn. The roof supports were six by six beams. With a little work they fit the holes in the stone walls where the original floor joists went. The wide cut flooring was harder. We supposed it was pine. That would have been the closest native wood. We found piles of old pine flooring in a scrap and salvage yard, but it was very narrow.

Ultimately we drove around the county looking for tumble down structures, finding one in a farmer’s field about forty miles from town. We stopped and talked to the owner who was more than pleased if we removed any of it. The side boards were the right width. K.K. talked some of his workmates into helping demolish the thing, and load the lumber into our truck bed.

We demolished sheds like this one for bits and parts.
Probably it was a two room structure. We surmised that by marks on the interior stone walls. We kept that plan. It was a lot of work. It was also fun.

The glass came from a house on the east side of town. It was built about 1900 and all the glass was antique rippled glass. We bought some of the windows, and a friend of mine who makes art glass windows and lamps turned it into something that would fit our stone house.

When KK and his buddies go fishin’ we use it as a base camp. Or we just spend a day or so out there. It’s a nice place. Or it is now. The amount of junk we’ve cleaned off the land is astounding.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Snapshot in the Park

Left to right: Margaret, George, Elizabeth

The bath!

Well … I’ve reached my limit today. I’ve been working on the last chapter all day, since 6 am. It’s now 2:12 pm. I’ve drunk a full pot of coffee; called my writing partner three times and emailed him five times. I’ve deleted junk, written new junk, and deleted that too. However, it’s looking good. The problem is telling a very complex story that will be foreign to most of our readers’ experience. When I’m done with the first write-through, we’ll sit down and simplify this. As much as we can.

I have about four more paragraphs for the subsection I’m on. Then I move into new research. This story makes the best sense told chronologically. Even though that interrupts the flow a bit. As my writing partner told it back about 1990, all the "side issues" were omitted. That doesn’t fully explain the story. My WP used 123 separate references back in the day. We’re trying to cut that down too.

We should be able to do that; he wrote for a different purpose than we are now, and we don’t need some of the repetitious detail he needed to prove his point way back when.

I sill need a bath. I’m taking one as soon as I get off this computer. And then I’m going thrift store shopping! Books! I need more books!

What the well dressed Pixie Child is wearing ...

Cow tails don't belong there ...

I’m writing this post to avoid fixing the last eight paragraphs I wrote. I’m still "tinkin’ about stuff." (See photo in previous post) Much of the research for this chapter was done by my writing partner in the late 1980s and early 1990s. I’ve been condensing his work, dropping repetitious things and adding new research.

So I wrote these few paragraphs. Mostly they’re okay. But one statement by a Mr. Barbour, written in 1875, changes what I wrote. My brain is too foggy to revise it. I made coffee instead. An infusion of coffee will help.

So … I got an email from Annie and Kat. They make me laugh long-distance:


Aunty is taking us to Paris. We get to watch her take photos of a model. She says we get to meet really rude French men. Are they really rude? Aunty says they are.

I won’t notice anyway. I only know ‘oui’ that should be spelled wee and I know bonjour. The girl who lives next door speaks French. She’s fun to talk to, but I don’t understand any of it.

I bought you some chocolate but we ate it. I’ll get more before we come home. If I get it now we’ll eat it.

I’ll tell you if they’re rude.

Love you and dad,


Hi mom, it’s me, Kat. Do you know how to make the rice and meat dish aunty makes? I really like it.

I’m home sick.


That was all in one email. I don’t know which rice and meat dish Kat means. My mom used to make one that came from her mom. We all liked it, my sister especially, and I have an idea that’s what we’re talking about.

So … Things have gone a bit wild here. The goat is misbehaving. The green girl is back. I yelled at the beastly hot sky and we had an instant rain storm followed by hail. I asked the professor about satyrs. He doubts their reality. He’s wrong, of course. A vacationing meteorologist is asking too many questions. The deer that we thought surely dead because a truck hit it came to life at the green girl’s touch. This is all very confusing. I need a bath.

Did that confuse you?

Where did Roberto go?

I have two more days of vacation after today. I’m reading but not answering work emails. I AM on vacation. Knobby Knees is off to Portland and Salem this week. I have my baby half sister for the day. She talks all the time. Fits right in. She’s lost her baby fat and is tall and skinny, for a nearly four year old.

Her mom dropped her off at six am. I fed her breakfast. We played furiously for an hour and she fell asleep on the floor. She’s still sleeping. I may nap too. I didn’t sleep well last night. Knobby Knees and I had a very long good-bye cuddle, if you just want to know.

I’m surprised how many "artists" draw goat-girls with cow parts. There’s even a picture of a goat with a cow udder. Don’t they look at the animals they draw? One artist – he’s really quite good – invariable puts a cow tail on his satyrs. Dork!

Update: I checked my classes for next year. All but one are nearly full. One is full. That's fast enrolement. We still have all of the start of term enrolements. That's when my classes usually fill. The principal said he would double the size of one of the classes, moving it into a larger room. I have mixed feelings about that. I try to keep my classed to ten or less. That allows for intensive study and individual attention. I can't give the same attention with twenty in a class. What ever we need to do though ...

Saturday, June 15, 2013

I hope Harry gets well soon ... or he may have to go to the doctor ...

Probably Scotland, maybe about 1910


After neglecting it for a few years, I’ve been working on my German stamp collection. I seldom buy stamps as singles. I look for largish messy lots that usually receive low bids. Usually they’re common stamps, things I have, and I don’t bid. Sometimes I find a lot with a huge amount of really common stuff and one or two things that interest me.

Yesterday I bid on a lot like that. Most of it is mint (unused) inflation era postage. I have all of those as mint stamps. They’re very common that way, except for a few misprinted or odd varieties. But I look at each lot, especially if it’s offered by three or four dealers I know. They tend to "salt" their common stuff with at least one interesting item. Usually the interesting item isn’t worth much; it’s just … well … interesting.

So … yesterday I bought a lot like that, just to get two items. The first is a block of nine used early in the inflation era. It has very clear postal marking, and these are from the appropriate dates. (That’s important.) This was printed with two kinds of watermark. I don’t know which this is, and I really don’t care. I’ll sort that out when the lot arrives. I’ve just started collecting multiples from the hyper-inflation era. As you can see, this block paid 27,000 Marks worth of postage.

Also in this lot was a block of four from some months further into the inflation. This totals forty billion Marks. It’s not a rare stamp, usually. This is a misprint. The Scott Catalogue doesn’t list these, but a German catalogue does. This is a really good find.

I like my new tail. It wags nicely and attracts my pet Scotsman. I’ve noticed that the grass turns greener where ever I step too. One of the benefits of Goat-boy sex, I suppose. I won’t have to fertilize the lawn, just dance and skip all over.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Old Guys Singing

A Goat-Girl's Life

Okay, so I grew a tail. Let's not get excited.

After a hard day's research

 Thinkin' about stuff.

The terrible accident involving food die, a rabbit and a Scotsman.

The Happy Dance

Goat Tails

I think the chapter I’m working on is going to make some people uncomfortable. Our rule is, we go where ever the evidence takes us. It remains our rule. But there is one section in the newer research that will raise eyebrows. It’s a prequel to current issues among the principal descendent group. And it deals with personalities.

I’ve passed what I’ve written on to my writing partner. I can tell it makes him a feel a bit “iffy.” But he said to go ahead and write all up, but make it brief (most of the issues really belong in book three) and support it with good, solid references. Then, if he agrees it’s accurate, we’ll include it.

The issue is the self-view of the three most important actors. One wrote that God chose him for the ministry. One believed he was the spokesman and prophet for the Bride of Christ. And the third called himself the ‘mouthpiece of God.’ There is an interesting transition for the last one. In 1881 he suggested he was one of God’s specially chosen “teachers” for the last days. In 1890 he said the brotherhood was together “the mouthpiece of God.” He republished that article in 1906 and changed it to “I” instead of “we.” When (if) we write book three in this series, we will have to delve into this at length. It’s much more a story for later years. But it is a factor in 1878. We can’t escape it.
If one has three God-chosen – at least in their own view – individuals, each of whom is teaching something different, you cannot escape conflict.

My artist friend person read my comment about growing a tail. She sent a sketch, but this is a PG blog and I won’t post it. Fun though in a naughty sort of way. She got the goat tail right … and the rest of the anatomy too. Which is why you won’t see it on my blog.

An older friend of mine lost her husband maybe ten years ago. She spends her winters in Florida and comes back here in the spring. Her husband was a stamp accumulator, rather than a collector. She brought me a box of stuff, stamps mixed all together in envelopes and tied with string. I’ve been sorting it when I need a break. Some of this stuff is damaged. I’m just tossing that, but some of it is very nice. I’ve found some stamps from Venezuela I didn’t have. I found a small envelope of stamps from the Netherlands from the 1920s, most of which I didn’t have.

There haven’t been many stamps from Germany so far. I found one I can use. I’ve sorted out a small pile of Latin American Stamps, but I haven‘t check to see if I need any of them. I think I do, but I can’t remember every stamp in my albums. 

When this gets tedious, I put it away and go back to writing or what ever I’m doing. I dumped a bunch out on a tray. I’m still working on the first batch. I may be at this on my death bed. There must be thousands of stamps in this mess.

Zu Dionys, dem Tyrannen, schlich Damon, den Dolch im Gewande:
Ihn schlugen die Häscher in Bande,
“Was wolltest du mit dem Dolche? sprich!”
 Entgegnet ihm finster der Wüterich.
“Die Stadt vom Tyrannen befreien!”
“Das sollst du am Kreuze bereuen.”


Not that that’s relevant of anything ….  

Neither does this, except I like it …


Hidden Things

So … I’ve been on vacation all this week. I have a day or so of vacation next week too. I had big plans, most of which went by the wayside. I don’t feel well at all and not just from my usual problems. I was exposed to a really bad chest cold and… yes, I got it.

But I’ve spent my fair share of time snuggling Knobby Knees. (He took the week off too.) We’re pretty much alone. Daughters two and three are off in Tacoma with their grand aunt. Anastasia and Katarina are off in Belgium with my oldest sister. Only daughter one is home, and she’s a working woman these days, spending part of her days in classes and the rest in the Bank where she works. So we have the “freedom of the house.” We have managed to be inventive.

Annie and Kat email every day. They make me laugh. Annie complained that her aunt can’t make pancakes as well as I can. Apparently my sister threw up her hands and told them to make their own. They did. I could have warned my sister that was a bad idea. Anyway, they took her up on it and made a royal mess. Sister says that they did a good job though. They had a pancake feast, and only a few of them were a bit underdone.

I haven’t medicated myself today. I’m on the mend, I think. I wrote for a while under the influence of decongestant meds. Bad idea. When they wore off, I found I’d written nonsense and had to fix it all.

The basis for this chapter is something my writing partner wrote back in the day. It’s not usable as is, and we have more material and more understanding of the subject now. So I’m researching additional points and re-organizing the material. It’s been interesting. We found an entirely new trail. I haven’t written it up yet. But it is key, I think, to what followed.

I think we need a youtube video for the book. I’ll probably need a volunteer. Neither of us has the skill to make one.

My medications sometimes bring very vivid dreams. The color is brighter, the subject often off beat, and they are usually short “novellas.” Since the dosage was increased, I’ve had a surprising number of them. One of them had a character from a story I’ve never finished. I should probably settle down and write it after this next book is finished.

I don’t know where dreams come from, and I’ve never really wondered. I take them as they are. Most of my dreams entertain me. A few frighten me for no good reason.

I’m back. (didn’t know I’d left, did you?) With coffee. Smells good. I like good coffee.

Sometime this month I need to write lesson plans for my writing classes next year. They’re not very complex. I bring an object as a writing prompt and give them a theme. I have them tell stories about what ever I bring. Sometimes it’s an odd rock. I brought a huge decorative marble once, telling them it was not what it appeared. They each told a story. One girl looked into it, held it to her breast, and sighed. “This is a dragon’s egg,” she said.

I have an additional class of very young writers next school year. These are second and third graders. I’ll follow much the same procedure. I like children most days. Some I don’t. But mostly I do.

I think I’m growing a goat tail. Probably too much sex with “goat boy.” I’ll keep you posted.

Our moribund public history blog has come alive. Average visits have climbed from under 20 to nearly fifty. I know that’s not much, but for the subject it is. A short essay is being passed around via email. I’m getting hits from email attachments. That’s interesting. We got a visit from the US National Archives. (I’d like to know what prompted that.) And we’re getting visits from Africa. We usually don’t get visits from there.

We made a private blog and neglected the public blog because of some low-grade, but very irritating harassment. I beat those responsible with a stick, and their techies blocked access to our blog. If any of them still visit (and I think they do), they keep a very low profile.

I would like to visit the Oregon Caves National Monument. We won’t have time this year. It’s a spectacular place, much nicer than the volcanic tubes near Bend, Oregon. I like caves. Tame ones, anyway. I’m not interested in crawling into cramped spaces with cave spiders and sightless fish.

I’ve spend some time on a controversialist’s web page connected to one of the religions I research. Mostly former adherents use that site. I have to say that most of those who post there are a bit mindless. A steady stream of Bible questions filters into the posts. Most of those are easily answered with a little personal research. There is a profound sense of neediness and ignorance that explains why some of them became adherents in the first place and why they left. Faith does not thrive on self-perpetuating ignorance.

We have babies! Four of out goats gave birth in the last week. One set of twins. Ever hold a newborn kid? Warm and cuddly. Fun.

Okay, so I’ve sipped my coffee cup dry. I need to return to writing while I can.

Tuesday, June 04, 2013

Green-eyed Jealousy

Just to make one or two of you jealous, here’s an update to one of my archival folders. These are all originals:

1. Phenix XXV: Of the Torments of Hell: the foundation and Pillars thereof discovered, search’d, shaken, and remov’d. London, 1658.

2. John Gale: Universal Charity, the Bond of Christian unity, London, 1718.

3. William Whiston: The eternity of hell torments considered; or a collection of Texts of Scriptures and testimonies of the three first centuries, London 1748.

4. Thomas Emlyn: Extracts from an Humble Inquiry into the scripture account of Jesus Christ, Boston, 1790.

5. Extracts from Doctor Priestly’s Catechism, Salem, 1796.

6. Aaron Kinne: Display of Scriptural prophecies with their events and the period of their accomplishment, Boston, 1813.

7. Archibald Mason: Two Essays on Daniel’s Prophetic Number of two thousand three hundred days, Newburgh, 1820.

8. Orville Dewey: The Unitarian’s answer, Boston, 1826.

9. Two chapbooks by "Mrs. Sherwood."

10. David R. Tandy: Daniel’s vision of the 2300 days, no date, but about 1830.

11. The Reformer and Christian, February 1832.

12. Henry Giles: The Christian view of retribution hereafter, London, 1839.

13. The Western Messenger: Devoted to Religion and Literature, October 1840.

14. Hugh M’Neile: Prospects of the Jews, The Literalist, 1841.

15. Bishop Hopkins on the prediction of the second advent in 1843, Burlington, 1843.

16. Calvin French: Immortality the gift of God, Boston, 1842.