Showing posts with label Journalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journalism. Show all posts

Saturday, 8 July 2017

The History of the American News Media

It's a pleasure to welcome Mari Anne Christie for a delve into the history of the American news media!


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Back when the American news media could be trusted…

“A gruesome clash between North and South is inevitable—
if only because newspapermen are screaming about it.”
— Blind Tribute

America is a country divided; it cannot be argued. Perhaps more so than any time in our history, barring only the Civil War of 1861-65. And the environment now is beginning to look remarkably similar to 1860.
While it seems logical to say that, as Americans, we have more in common than not, myriad forces continue to tell us we are wrong, chief among them, that broad, varied and variable category, “The Press.” Whether “fake news” or “Russian partisan propaganda” or “opening up the libel laws” or the role of comedic satire or the need for (or advisability of) “Woodward-and-Bernstein-style” exposés, all we seem to hear about on the news is… the news.
Conventional wisdom says the media environment wasn’t so hyper-partisan before President Reagan pressured the FCC to abolish the Fairness Doctrine, which mandated balanced reporting in broadcast journalism, requiring broadcasters to discuss controversial matters of public interest and air opposing views. Back then, the story goes, the press existed to provide a service, to act as part of the systems of checks and balances—the “Fourth Estate” in the triumvirate of American checks and balances. Reporters acted with integrity and forethought, exposed corruption, spent more time informing than imposing electoral dogma. The news business used to be trustworthy. Right?
Not exactly. 
The Fairness Doctrine, when instituted, was sorely needed. The ethics the Fairness Doctrine meant to codify in the face of new broadcasting technologies were still quite young in 1949. They weren’t even industry norms until the early 20th century. (It should be noted that, even now, media ethics are entirely voluntary and, ironically, unenforceable by virtue of the First Amendment.) While the question of ethics and values in this industry goes back to the 17th century in Europe, the answers, in America at least, are much more recent.
The Society of Professional Journalists (SPJ), arguably the modern keeper of this canon of ethics, was not formed until 1909 (then—and until 1960—a men’s fraternity called Sigma Delta Chi). The American Society of Newspaper Editors (as of 2009, the American Society of News Editors) (ASNE) was formed in 1922 for the express purpose of developing and codifying norms and ethics for the industry, which were set in type the following year. The SPJ borrowed this code in 1926, and these remained their central tenets until 1973. 
However, if we travel further back, sixty or so years before the ASNE and SPJ began their work to make the news business honest, trustworthy, and accountable, we reach the beginnings of the Civil War, when the glorious olden days of media integrity didn’t exist. Not only that, just about any reporter, if presented with the concept of “fair and balanced,” would have either given you a blank stare or laughed at you outright.
On the question of partisanship, our modern media has nothing on the early 19th century. 
So, back to the Civil War: the current president asks, “Why couldn’t we just work that out?” Of course, the thought process is reductive; in short, it couldn’t be worked out because slavery could not, should not, and would not stand. But as to why emotions ran to such a fever pitch at just that moment in history? Perhaps because newspapermen were screaming about it.
Even given the risk inherent in trying to separate a man from his money (even when that “money” is invested in ownership of other humans); and given the (pseudo)religious and (im)moral justifications for slavery, and their opposite refrains in the Abolitionist movement; and given the innate tension between federalism and community sovereignty that threads through our entire democratic history; and given that Europe would quite possibly have used slavery (in due course) as a pretext for embargo or another war; and given, finally, that an armed black uprising probably would have eventually succeeded, why did the rhetoric heat to a boil then? Why did we end with a conflagration then
At the risk of also becoming reductive (probably inevitable when discussing the causes of the Civil War): 
It might have had something to do with the fact that nearly every newspaper in America was associated with one political party or another, and no political party was without its conjoined newspapers. Not only was this the norm and accepted practice, it wasn’t even considered unethical. If a man (and, of course, it was always men) was smart enough to own a printing press, erudite enough to make his opinions matter to his readership, and wealthy enough to expand his newspaper’s reach, why would he not use it to trumpet his own views? If he had once held elected office or planned to in the future, would that not just make him better informed about the issues of the day? And why would he not affiliate with the politicians who agreed with him, to expand his circulation, lend weight to his message, and defray his costs? It is capitalism in action. The American Way. (For both Americas—freedom of the press was enshrined in both Constitutions, and the norms of the burgeoning industry crossed the Mason-Dixon line.)
Thus, a partisan, vocal, and influential news media (in part) drove conflict into war, and now, it seems, we have forgotten the lessons of the past. To provide a bit of necessary perspective, it should be noted that without the constraints of the Fairness Doctrine, and owing, in part, to the expanded technological landscape, partisanship in the news business is once again the norm, as are the use of political relationships and affiliations for purposes of profit and influence. The primary differences between the media now and in 1860 are: the increased speed with which news travels and the expanded breadth of its reach.
References:
"American Society of Newspaper Editors Code of Ethics or Canons of Journalism." (1923) Illinois Institute of Technology Ethics Codes Collection, 10 Nov. 2016, http://ethics.iit.edu/ecodes/node/4457.
"American Society of Newspaper Editors: History." (2014) ASNE website, 10 Nov. 2016, http://asne.org/content.asp?contentid=83.
"American Society of Newspaper Editors: Statement of Principles." (2014) ASNE website, 10 Nov. 2016, http://asne.org/content.asp?contentid=171.
 “Society of Professional Journalists: Code of Ethics [2014]." SPJ website, 10 Nov. 2016, https://www.spj.org/ethicscode.asp.
“Society of Professional Journalists: History of the Society." SPJ website, 10 Nov. 2016, https://www.spj.org/spjhistory.asp.

https://youtu.be/m9oihJUkTBk
 Excerpt from Blind Tribute
The general looked as if he were sucking a lemon. “As it happens, Mr. Wentworth, your note was prescient. The Army has need of your services.”
“I can’t imagine what the Army could possibly need from me.” Harry didn’t need to imagine, as the subject had been raised twice by his contacts in Lincoln’s cabinet, and both times, he had politely declined their requests. Harry was not of a mind to be as polite a third time, and this man wasn’t nearly important enough to warrant restraint.
“Clearly, I am here to discuss it.” 
Judging by the shade of his face, the general’s mood was devolving every minute, and Harry expected it wasn’t going to get any better before he left.
One might assume a man wanting someone’s help would at least drink his whiskey. 
“As we move into new territory,” the general said, “we are coming across abandoned newspaper offices.”
“Abandoned?”
Stevens looked away briefly. “What do you call it when a building full of printing presses is found with no owner?”
“I’d call it violent suppression of information at the hands of an invading army. In line with President Lincoln’s actions against the Journal of Commerce and other newspapers in the North, but presumably involving more bloodshed and fewer arrests.” Harry struggled to calm his tone, in pursuit of the other goals to be accomplished before the general left in his inevitable huff. “But I’ve seen such actions all over the world, both subtle and brazen. Perhaps, for some, it isn’t so easy to identify.” 
“The president had every right to—”
Harry held up a hand and shook his head, stopping the general’s speech. He smiled, taking in every motion as Stevens shifted in his seat. Showing his teeth, he said, “No. There is no argument to be made on Lincoln’s side of this issue, if you would call yourself a patriot. Not if you wish to be received in my home. So, what is it you’d like me to do about these newspaper offices?”
A wiser man would have been distracted by Harry’s canines. “We’d like you to organize them into a logical structure to… assist us in achieving our military objectives.”
“Is it not enough you have a stranglehold on the Associated Press and American Telegraph? Now you want to operate a misinformation service, and you think I should manage it?”
The general stiffened. “I would not express it in those words.”
“Of course not.” Harry sat back silently, and Rink followed his lead. The captain tapped out and refilled his pipe, and Harry took out a cigar. He offered the box to Stevens, but the man declined with a quick shake of his head. Stevens sat staring, but was more than self-disciplined enough to also remain quiet. Eventually, Harry said, “You’d like me to print articles favorable to the Union in areas you’ve occupied.”
“Well… yes.”
“The dictionary definition of misinformation. No.”
“No?”
“No. To begin with, Lincoln and I do not see eye-to-eye on the role of the Fourth Estate. He may thank his treatment of the opposition press, in part, for this decision, and he well knows it, as he has heard my opinion on the topic at great length. This is why he did not approach me directly, and why you have been sent against your will to have your ears blistered in his stead. There are plenty of correspondents milling around the South who believe far more in your cause; I daresay some would do it purely for the dubious prestige. Choose one of them.”
“We have… I mean, for individual… we need someone who can oversee the entire…” The general trailed off at the look on Harry’s face. He managed a blush before he regained his military composure. “It’s a sizable enterprise…”
“I imagine. The more sizable, the more my answer is no.”

To pre-order Blind Tribute for July 28 delivery: www.Books2Read.com/BlindTribute

Giveaway

Mari will be giving away a quill pen (like Harry's) and powdered ink, a swag pack including Harry's Editorials Collection, and a e-copy of the book to one winner.

If you can’t embed here is the direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/16e4beaa15/?

Book Blurb
Every newspaper editor may owe tribute to the devil, but Harry Wentworth’s bill just came due.

As America marches toward the Civil War, Harry Wentworth, gentleman of distinction and journalist of renown, finds his calls for peaceful resolution have fallen on deaf—nay, hostile—ears, so he must finally resolve his own moral quandary. Comment on the war from his influential—and safe—position in Northern Society, or make a news story and a target of himself South of the Mason-Dixon Line, in a city haunted by a life he has long since left behind?
The day-to-day struggle against countervailing forces, his personal and professional tragedies on both sides of the conflict, and the elegant and emotive writings that define him, all serve to illuminate the trials of this newsman’s crusade, irreparably altering his mind, his body, his spirit, and his purpose as an honorable man. Blind Tribute exposes the shifting stones of the moral high ground, as Harry’s family and friendships, North and South, are shattered by his acts of conscience.

Author Bio

Mari was “raised up” in journalism (mostly raising her glass at the Denver Press Club bar) after the advent of the web press, but before the desktop computer. She has since plied her trade as a writer, editor, and designer across many different fields, and currently works as a technical writer and editor. 
Under the name Mari Christie, she has released a book-length epic poem, Saqil pa Q'equ'mal: Light in Darkness: Poetry of the Mayan Underworld, and under pen name Mariana Gabrielle, she has written several Regency romances, including the Sailing Home Series and La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess. Blind Tribute is her first mainstream historical novel. She expects to release the first book in a new family saga, The Lion’s Club, in 2018.

She holds a BA in Writing, summa cum laude and With Distinction, from the University of Colorado Denver, and is a member of the Speakeasy Scribes, the Historical Novel Society, and the Denver Press Club. She has a long family history in Charleston, South Carolina, and is the great-great niece of a man in the mold of Harry Wentworth.


Links

Universal Link
books2read.com/blindtribute

Mari’s Website
Amazon

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Scribd

24Symbols.com

Indigo
Mari Christie Social Media  
Facebook Launch Party, July 28th, 2pm - 8 pm MDT: https://www.facebook.com/events/724880974366499/

Author Website & blog: www.MariAnneChristie.com 
Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/marismuses/

 ASNE Code of Ethics table


Wednesday, 18 January 2017

Scandal Sheets

I'm delighted to welcome Anngela Schroeder, author of A Lie Universally Hidden!

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“Scandal sheets” are a term that have become synonymous today with the numerous forms of gossip pages that surround us in all shapes and sizes. Let’s also not forget the various kinds of digital platforms that we have today streaming “news” at us from all directions! Whenever I think about Lady Catherine and Elizabeth’s tumultuous relationship, I always wonder what the scandal sheets would have been saying about Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship, don’t you?

The Oxford English Dictionary states that the term “scandal sheet” didn’t enter the lexicon until the first decade of the twentieth century, with a Google Books search revealing the possibility of an earlier date in the 1890’s. Even with gossip columns and gossip pamphlets making an earlier appearance, newspapers devoted entirely to scandalmongering weren’t published until the 1820’s. (Reference: Susan’s Parlour)

Times_1788.12.04.jpg
(The London Times, still going strong today, started life in 1785 as the Daily Universal Register. John Waters was its founder)

In Roger Wilkes’ book, Scandal: A Scurrilous History of Gossip, he provides examples of the eighteenth and nineteenth century love of gossip, and how newspaper reporters purchased their juicy tidbits from loose-lipped servants and gentlemen and ladies willing to expose their friends. Not only did newspapers purchase gossip, they also blackmailed their potential victims, taking money to not print some embarrassing incident. (The Risky Regencies)

However, the scandals grew even greater because there were people who became invested in spreading false stories. Theodore Hook,  a man who not only became friendly with the Prince Regent, he also was the editor of the Sunday paper, The John Bull, and he published all sorts of scandalous stories and many were a fabrication of his vicious lies! The Regent’s estranged wife Queen Caroline and the ladies who attended her, were some of his favorite targets. (The Risky Regencies)

Theodore_Edward_Hook.jpg
(Theodore Edward Hook)

Obviously, gossip generated certain scandals and no one was looking to be involved with a scandal, even though the Regency Era was rife with them! Today I thought it would be fun if I shared a “scandal sheet” with your readers, based on my new book, A Lie Universally Hidden. Of course we know that gentleman like Fitzwilliam Darcy were looking to avoid scandals, but that certainly doesn't mean it always kept him out of the gossip columns!

Scandal Post Pg 1 ALUH Jan 2017 A Covent Garden.jpg
Scandal Post Pg 2 ALUH Jan 2017 A Covent Garden.jpg


Book Description:

“The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favorite wish of his mother…” —Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Fitzwilliam Darcy was raised to never stray from the path set before him: ensure the continued prosperity of his estate, Pemberley, protect and educate his sister to become an accomplished woman, and marry the woman his mother chose for him—his cousin Anne de Bourgh. With a letter bearing his late mother’s signature, Darcy presumes his fate is sealed and prepares to wed one he does not love. However, his destiny begins to unravel when he glimpses a pair of fine eyes on a quiet, country road.

Elizabeth Bennet is the second daughter of a respectable though insignificant gentleman. She is flattered to have captured the attention of a local squire, a childhood friend, and everyone believes her path is secure—until a handsome, rich gentleman arrives at a neighboring estate. Happenstance begets the unlikely pair together, bridging a forbidden love long past a mere friendship.

In “A Lie Universally Hidden”, two of literature’s most beloved romance characters are destined to marry for fortune and obligation rather than love. How will Darcy and Elizabeth fulfill their true destiny under such circumstances? Shall honor, decorum, prudence—nay, a signed letter from the grave—forbid it?

"A Lie Universally Hidden" is a Regency Romance suitable for most audiences, teen and up.


Author Links:
Twitter: @schros2000


Author Biography
I have a degree in English with a concentration in British Literature and a Masters in Education. I love to travel, bake, and watch college football with my husband of 16 years and 3 rambunctious sons. My goal in life is to make not only my children, but also my students feel that they are loved, and to bring magic into everyone's world. My weaknesses are yellow cake with chocolate frosting, French bread with real butter, and my father's Arabic food, namely grape leaves, and falafel. I live in California where I dream of Disney adventures and trips across the pond.

January 16/ My Jane Austen Book Club/Launch Post & Giveaway
January 17/ From Pemberley to Milton/ Book Review & Giveaway
January 19/ So Little Time…/ Excerpt Post & Giveaway
January 20/ My Vices and Weaknesses/ Book Review & Giveaway
January 21/ Babblings of a Bookworm/ Book Review 
January 22/ Just Jane 1813/ Excerpt Post
January 23/Austenesque Reviews/ Author Spotlight & Giveaway
January 24/ Obsessed with Mr. Darcy/ Book Review & Giveaway
January 25/ Every Savage Can Dance/Book Review & Giveaway
January 26 / Diary of an Eccentric/Book Review & Giveaway
January 27 / Austenesque Reviews/ Book Review & Giveaway
January 28/ My Kids Led Me Back to Pride and Prejudice/ Excerpt & Giveaway 
January 29/ Savvy Verse & Wit/ Guest Post & Giveaway


Thursday, 25 August 2016

The Kindness of Fairy Children

Today, we take our last visit to the pages of  The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, Volume 82 (1818). This time, the mysterious CTCS shares the tale of a sickening girl whose life was saved by the kindness of fairy children.

Many, indeed, are the traditionary stories afloat in Clydesdale, which prove that the fairies are not to be looked upon as uniformly malignant, but rather that there are two orders, the members of the one distinguished for their goodness, generosity, and loving kindness towards man, while those of the other are no less remarkable for their irritableness, peevishness, and malignity. 

An old woman in the moors of Avondale, who lived with her only daughter, a lively lass of twenty-two, was entirely dependent upon the industry of her child for bread. A wasting seized the industrious girl, and, after consultations had been held with every medical gentleman in the neighbourhood, her case was given up as hopeless, and her aged and helpless parent was plunged into the utmost distress. In her extreme necessity she applied to the only never-failing source or consolation, and besought the Father of mercies “that he would not leave her when she was old and grey-headed, but that he would yet spare her beloved bairn to close her auld an’ feeble sen, whilk had lang sensyne been shut to all the vanities of this wearie world.” 

The prayers, says the story, of the waefu’ widow, are always accepted. A coagful of loaf and milk was placed at her door every morning, and a little phial, of a reddish liquid, and a small loaf, as white as snow, which she rightly conjectured were for her daughter. Upon this diet she lived sparely, but was contented and thankful, and her daughter recovered slowly, but surely. Anxious to behold the immediate hand that blessed her in so extraordinary a manner, the old woman watched one morning and saw two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, bring the food, and place it on the threshold, the girl carrying the medicine for the daughter, and the boy the provisions for the mother. Having carefully performed this operation, their eyes were thrown upwards for a moment, with an expression of great devotion. 

As they were turning to depart, the old woman, who, as the story goes, declared that “they war sae unco bonnie, an’ sweet-lukan, that she couldnae be fleyit,” could not help exclaiming, “fair fa’ ye, my bonnie bairns, may ye be as gude as ye’re bonnie, an’ as happy as ye’ve made me.” 

The boy looked on her with an evanescent frown, mixed with pity. “Was it not aneuch, wanweirdit woman, that ye sould hae been servit wi’ meat and drink, but ye boud alsae pry into things on whilk ye maun na turn your ee? Nevertheless, lest ye sould imagine an evil thocht agains the hand that feeds, I will tell you that we are Gude Fairies an’ live for ever mare in happiness an’ bliss.” The fairies instaritly vanished, and the old woman continued to receive her daily supply of provisions till her daughter recovered when it ceased. 

There are innumerable stories remaining in this country, illustrative of the peculiarities of the fairy mythology; but, as I have not Scott's Essay on that superstition by me, I am afraid to mention any more at present, lest I should perhaps transmit to you some which are already contained in that curious and valuable performance. 

I shall, therefore, in the meanwhile, conclude with saying, that, if this be deemed worthy of a place in your valuable Miscellany, I shall as soon as possible transmit you several more stories of the Scottish fairies hitherto unpublished, and likewise some account of the Clydesdale belief concerning Wraiths. 

I remain your obedient servant,


CTCS 

Thursday, 18 August 2016

The Spirits of Auchenleck

Today, we return to The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, Volume 82 (1818). This time, the mysterious CTCS shares some tales of the spirits of Auchenleck and William Wallace.

Upper and Nether Auchenlecks are said to have been anciently the property of one of the relatives of Wallace, and to have been so denominated after the possessions of his family in Ayrshire. At Nether Auchenleck, or as it is usually called Nether Affleck, there is a very curious relic of antiquity called Wallace's Syles, which, as tradition reports, was made by that matchless man while he was staying with his kindred at Killbank and Nether Auchenleck. The Syles, which are of a very curious and complicated construction, and exceedingly strong, are made of oak, which, having stood for centuries in one of the smokiest hovels in Scotland, has long ago become quite saturated with soot, and rendered almost incombustible. The feet of the Syles are placed on the ground, with the sides built firmly into the wall; and though the house has been twice burned down to the ground, this venerable relic of Wallace has escaped unharmed. The people around, fond of the memory of their beloved chief, attribute this preservation to the interposition of some superior power; for they contend that Sir William Wallace was not only the greatest hero and most disinterested patriot that the world ever saw, but also an eminent Christian. 

Nether Auchenleck has always been a peculiar haunt of the fairies and other spiritual beings. The late tenant, Alexander Waddel, having, in the course of his improvements, grubbed up a broomy brae where the fairies were wont to hold their revels, incurred the displeasure of these irritable spirits.

“They rade his horses in the night till they were quite blawn, shot his ky, an; did na even haud aff him sell. 




For ae nicht as he was sharpan his saw by the fire-en’, ben cam an elfshot-stane wi’ unco birr frae the door, an’ dang a tuith out o’ the saw. But nae doubt it was ettlet to break his arm, gif no to do him war skaith.”

At another time as he was felling some trees, he perceived an arm strike at him several times with a hatchet; “but the shaft o’ his ain axe was made o’ rowan-tree, sae they could nae harm him.” 


There is a deep glen at Nether Auchinleck, called Hellsgili, wherein a spirit has frequently appeared in the very extraordinary shape of a cart-wheel, or rather of the ring of a cart-wheel, trundling down the brae. It appears always rolling right against the beholder, and often has the eirie night-traveller been terrified that he would be overturned by this whimsical apparition: but after coming bounding from brae to brae, thundering to his very feet, all of a sudden it vanishes, and a loud unearthly laugh, or, as it is expressed in our country dialect, “an eldritch nicheran gaffaw” is heard in the bottom of the ravine.

Thursday, 11 August 2016

The Fairy, the Child and the Red Worm

Today, we return to The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, Volume 82 (1818). This time, the mysterious CTCS shares the tale of a woman whose daughter was stolen by fairies, and returned by fairy magic!

But let us return to Thomas the Rhymer, - who appears, from the most authentic accounts, to be a very beneficent prince, and to have still a very great regard for the inhabitants of his native land, to take delight in promoting their interest, and in doing all in his power to release them from the thraldom of superhuman malicious powers. A worthy old woman who lived in a small cottage, (the remains of which were lately discernible on the banks of the Taigillin burn, a small streamlet in the parish of Lesmahag,)o and who had no other means of support than what she earned by spinning, and what she drew from a cow which the neighbouring fanners very kindly allowed her to pasture on the uncultivated braes, and by the waj, sides and hedges, - was harassed almost to death by loud and unearthly noises; so that what with terror and want of sleep she was nearly driven distracted. Her cow, which lowed continually, either produced no milk, or what she gave was sour as vinegar: and let her spin ever so diligently, she could make no progress; she had just as much thread when she began as when she stopped. 

Tibbie knew not what to do; her neighbours judging her uncannie, deserted her; and she was in the utmost distress. 

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6a/Fairy_King_and_Queen_1910.jpgOne day exactly at noon, having passed a most fearful nigh,t and when after much consideration, she had just determined to flee from the house and all that was in it, a gentle tap came to the door, and a mild voice inquired if any were within. The good woman rose and opened the door, but saw nothing. Imagining that she had been mistaken. she went and sat down. when she again heard the same tap with the same inquiry. A second time she went to the door, and a second time she saw nothing.  She had no sooner returned again to her seat, than the tapping and inquiry were repeated. Tibbie’s patience was inexhaustible. She went a third time to the door, and again seeing nobody, she stepped round the corner of her hut to see if any boys had been playing her a trick. Nought was there, and, not a little agitated, she returned into her house, when, to her amazement she found the floor occupied by a tall young man, clad in green, attended by seven blooming boys dressed in the same habiliments. 

The youth told her not to be alarmed: that, being out a hunting he had taken the liberty of calling for a drink, to which, as he was somewhat hungry, he would be much obliged to her if she would add a little bread and cheese, for which he would most willingly pay. He apologized for their conduct at the door, by saying, that his young attendants wished to give her a little surprise, but he should be sorry if it had occasioned her any alarm. 

“I am vext I canna gie ye a drink of ocht but water, my bonnie bairn, but that ye’s hae clear as the bell; for though I hae tholit muckle wearie ill, He has nae luiten them scaithe the siller well.” 

She bustled about, and set before them excellent bread and cheese, the last indeed which she had in the house, and, taking a white bowl, she filled it with crystal water, and, according to the invariable practice of the Scottish peasantry, after having wished them good health, and God's blessing, she took one sip and placed it before them.

They ate very heartily, though still the good woman's bread and cheese appeared to be growing no less; which she perceiving, after looking for some time, she could no longer contain herself, but in great anxiety exclaimed, “I doubt, Sirs, ye binnae cannie!” The eldest smiled, and told her not to be alarmed, that he was indeed no longer a man, but Thomas the Rhymer, King of the Fairies, and that these were seven of his pages. He further told her, that he perfectly knew her situation, and what it was that had long haunted her abode, but that, if she would take his advice, she should get quit of all her misluck, as well as of her nocturnal, visitors for he was well aware of her great kindness in setting before unknown strangers her only provisions. 

Mongolian Death Worm by Belgian painter Pieter Dirkx.
“Ony thing, ony thing, that tramps nae on Him that is abune us a’, an if ye’ll but say the Lord is gude an’ gude till a’, whate’er ye bid I’ll do.” His Majesty smiling, satisfied the good woman's fears, and told her to watch till eight o’clock exactly, when she would perceive the outer door to open apparently of its own accord, and a gentle whirlwind to enter thereat. This would move slowly forwards, till, having arrived at the middle of the floor, it would stand there whirling a few moments, when a red worm would come up between the stones. The instant that appeared, she was to throw a few drops of the liquid contained in the phial, which he now put into her hands, upon it, and say, “

“Gin God made ye sae, 
   Remain as ye are,
But if ye be in wae,
   Beturn to what ye war.”

Whatever she might see she was not to be afraid, and if at any time she grew alarmed, she was to sprinkle a few more drops on the object of her apprehensions and repeat the above words. If she grew terrified and forgot this advice, it was a thousand chances to one but both she and her house would be destroyed. The fairies, having said this, immediately vanished, leaving a large purse of money behind them, which the good dame would not touch till she had sained it, when finding that it did not turn into withered leaves, nor bits of “sclate stands, but bade still gude white siller,” she adventured to put it into the press. 

About eight o’clock she watched with great anxiety, and no sooner had the church clock of Abbey Green struck, than the door slowly opened. The whirlwind moved to the middle of the floor, where, according as “True Thomas: predicted, a red worm came crawling up from between two stones. Tibbie immediately threw some of the liquid upon it, repeating the incantation. A large black boar in a moment stood before her, gnashing its tusks, and apparently just going to fly at her. Some more of the phial was bestowed upon the boar, which was instantaneously changed into a most enormous serpent coiled around the room, and crawling towards her with glaring eyes and open mouth. Tibbie dashed some more of the liquid in its face, when suddenly a corpse was extended at her feet, with its cold and glassy eyes fixed sternly upon her. 

In great terror she dropped the phial at her feet, when the stiffened corpse began to relax, an; extended its arm to seize the bottle. Suddenly recollecting herself, she snatched up the phial, and dashed it, liquid and all, with her whole force, upon the corpse, roaring out, “His presence be about us! what will come neest!” 


https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a6/Goya_-_Caprichos_(49).jpgThe room grew dark as midnight,- a loud peal of thunder shook the house, and, by the momentary glare of the lightning, the goodwife could perceive a little ugly thing, somewhat resembling a man, but exceedingly hideous, come out of the mouth of the corpse, and fly away on the firefiaucht. All was light, and a young woman, whom Tibbie recognized to be her daughter, who had been lost when an infant, was lying on the floor in the manner of one recovering from a swoon. The child told her mother that one day when she had “gane out to blade some kail for the pat, a little man, no that doons braw,” came to her, and asked if she would go with him. “He shew me a wheen rings an’ braw flegairies. I replied, scorninwise, ‘Tweel I may gang wi’ you, for wow but ye are a bonnie strappan body!’ - ‘Chapse ye at your word! quo he; an’ wi’ that the grun’ claveaneth us, and we sank down till a frichtsome den, whar naething was to be seen but the cauld clattie sides o’ the cove, shawn by a blae wanyoch glare. Because I wadnae submit to be his sin, he dumit me to torment an’ fley my kind auld mither, an’ this I bude to do, whill I was winfreeit by a mare powerfu’ being nor himsell. Ilka nicht I was turnit intil a laithsome worm, an’ the ilkleetlie fuirie entered the house by a whirlwind, an’ forcit me, sair agains my will,  to talc an active han; in a; the trouble an; mischief whilk has happcnit to you sen ye war trystit wi’ this sare visitation.”

The old woman was also informed, by this communicative daughter, that she had lived fourteen years in the fairy's dungeon, during which time she had resolutely withstood all the dishonourable attempts of the elf who, by anointing the crown of her head, and the palms of both hands, with a very fragrant oil, “gart her grow woman-muckle in twathree days.” 

She also informed her mother that the real reason why the Fairy King did not enter her dwelling at the first, was because she had only opened her door a-jar, at which the dignity of the gude fairies would not permit them to enter, it being only evil spirits who come in at doors in this situation.