Pleased to have a book review (of @drdouglassmall.bsky.social's most excellent book on the history of cocaine) in this new journal, Advances in Nineteenth-Century Research. Some fascinating articles up so far! #c19
www.tandfonline.com/action/showA...
“During Covid” is RIGHT NOW!!
In Canada, government data shows that in the week ending March 8, 2026, 34 percent of COVID patients in the hospital acquired the virus while in the hospital.
#C19
#covid
#yallmasking
#saltingthevibes
#oneofthetwo
thetyee.ca/Analysis/202...
One Thousand Eight Hundred and Thirty-one by the Ettrick Shepherd O Eighteen hundred thirty one Thou hast been an intolera- Ble year for fume, for fudge, and flame For Burking and for Cholera! I’m glad that some thine end hast seen; And may Heav’n make thy follower a Better year than thou thou hast been With thy Fumes, Bill, and Cholera! “Hold, Shepherd! Hold thy impious breath! It would be most intolera- Ble thus to laugh at flames and death At Burking and at Cholera!” Alas! I neither laugh nor flout Nor give my tongue a tolera- Tion either to deride or scout The Burking, Bill, or Cholera! I only pray this year may send To chief, to hind, to scholar a Relief to drivelling without end ’Bout Burking, Bill, and Cholera! Farewell, farewell! I see a storm A rapper and a roller, a- Pproaching so fiercely ’bout Reform— Twill burke both Bill and Cholera! Farewell, farewell! God speed thy flight Far o’er the regions polar;—a Long farewell to thee,—jade outright! Thy Burking, Bill, and Cholera!
James Hogg crammed quite a few hyphenated line breaks into his poem “One Thousand Eight Hundred & Thirty-one”, bidding farewell to the year 1831 – for comic effect, & because not much rhymes with “cholera” (screenshot from Fraser’s Magazine, 1832)
#poem #C19
libraryblogs.is.ed.ac.uk/edinburghuni...
“Scott presents his Romani characters as positive forces… endowed with relatable and sympathetic qualities that emphasise their humanity”
—Paul Arant discusses Meg Merrilies & other Roma characters in Walter Scott’s Waverley novels
#romanticism #C19
www.thebottleimp.org.uk/2018/12/asls...
#ME #CFS #Corona #Virusinfektion #SARSCoV2 #C19
1/ Medizinische Studien zu #LongCovid #PostCovid bzw. #MECFS sollte man immer kritisch betrachten.
Falls z. B. Daten zu einer Verschlechterung der Krankheitssymptomen bei Probanden fehlen, dann ist diese Studie, aus meiner Sicht, nicht gut gemacht.
Eine Flomask mit verbrauchtem Filter, daneben neue FFP2-Filter.
Flomask mit verbrauchtem FFP2-Filter.
Nahaufnahme: Eine Flomask mit verbrauchtem Filter.
Ein verbrauchter Filter von einer Flomask, darunter ein neuer FFP2-Filter.
#CleanAir #Masken #Maske #Flomaske
#SARSCoV2 #Corona #C19 #FFP2 #Flu #Influenza #H3N2 #RSV #SaubereLuft
Ich habe den FFP2-Filter der #Flomask gewechselt.
Auf dem Foto sieht man, dass der alte Filter verbraucht ist, bei dieser Gelegenheit habe ich diese auch gereinigt.
Attended the #c19 conference @c19americanists.bsky.social in Cincinnati. They held a celebration of authors reception.
A year ago around this time, my book was released. Give it a read to learn about the long history of abolition war as a motor force shaping US class society.
@ucpress.bsky.social
Thank you, @scholarschoice.bsky.social, for including #FreemansChallenge in your display at @c19americanists.bsky.social!
@uchicagopress.bsky.social #c19
Last night’s #c19 @c19americanists.bsky.social plenary, with founders and past (and present) presidents reflecting on the last 15 years, was a beautiful thing to listen to and gave hope for the present and future. Lots of love to all involved, including Chris’s pants, for keeping this org growing.
Part of Joseph Goodsir’s diary entry for 19 January 1855 (Gen. 295. (Goodsir 7), Centre for Research Collections, Edinburgh University) Went with John at 6pm to the Warriston cemetery, where he was to superintend in one of the vaults the opening of a coffin to take the cast mark of a young man buried seven weeks ago - The young man has been a favourite pupil of Sir Wm Hamilton’s (“the most learned he ever had”), has been bedrid for 10 years and had died of consumption - a victim, we suppose, of too much study. The eyes had disappeared, the body was very much emaciated, and th grave clothes were damp and dank. The skin was quite fresh. It was a ghastly and strange spectacle! Two Ladies had come: they were not allowed to see the body. It was a curious - indeed a solemn scene to witness by night - this necropolis, and one of its mouldering inhabitants exposed to one’s eyes. The lights of the city, and all the signs of abounding life exhibited in it, presented a striking contrast as we drove home. Ah! May I remember to how frail and perishable a race I belong, and strive to “redeem the time”.
Question for #C19 people…in Jan 1855 Joseph Goodsir accompanied his brother John to an exhumation (legal!) to, according to Joseph, ‘take the ~cast~ mark’ of a body. Would this be like a death mask? And what is meant by ‘mark’ here?
Beautifully creative AnnaLois 😌👌🏼👌🏼 what a great capture for #PalacesAndGardens #AboveAndBelow
Awesome shot my friend ☺️👍🏼
#EastCoastKin #photography #ECK #ceiling #goldleaf #C19
#TheBowesMuseum #lookdown #lookup #CountyDurham
@thebowesmuseum.bsky.social
Zwei Luftreiniger von Taotronics.
Ein Taotronics Luftreiniger geöffnet, man sieht eine Platine mit Kabeln.
Ein Gliedermaßstab und eine Halterung für den Motor vom Luftreiniger: Länge ca. 145mm.
#SaubereLuft #CleanAir #SarsCov2 #SARS #Corona #C19 #Flu #Grippe #H5N1 #Covid #CovidIsNotOver #covidisairborne
1/ Der Taotronics TT-AP001 Luftreiniger hat mechanische Geräusche gemacht, ich habe den #Luftreiniger auseinandergenommen.
Schade, den Motor kann man leider nicht wechseln, dieser ist
We're all set up and ready to go at the
@c19americanists.bsky.social conference and have even had our first author visit! Below is @uchicagopress.bsky.social author Robin Bernstein with her book, Freeman's Challenge: The Murder That Shook America's Original Prison for Profit. #C19 #19thC
Photograph taken using my android phone camera of the very fancy gold leaf ceiling featuring coats of arms, at The Bowes Museum, Barnard Castle. Cleverly, visitors are encouraged to look at the ceiling using large mirrors...genius idea! The ceiling was designed by John Bowes in 1879 and brought to life by the phenomenal painting skills of Clement Heaton. The image shows a large, hand-held, rectangular mirror with a curved black edge above a beautiful herringbone floor. In the mirror is the reflection of the most tasteful 'ceiling of bling' I've ever seen. Orderly pattern of rectangles of gold each with a different coat of arms as the prominent design. Other touches of colour include russet, burgundy, deep green and antique white. The Bowes Museum is a worthy entrant for a 'Palace' because it looks like one externally and internally. Had it not been for the philanthropic efforts of its owners, it could very well have become a stately home. For further info, do take a look at their website which is really good: www.thebowesmuseum.org.uk
Look Down to Look Up
for #PalacesAndGardens theme of #AboveAndBelow
#EastCoastKin #photography #ECK #ceiling #goldleaf #C19
#TheBowesMuseum #lookdown #lookup #CountyDurham
@thebowesmuseum.bsky.social
(Android phone camera)
Catch Lauri Scheyer, editor of Selected Poems of Calvin C. Hernton and Between the Night and Its Music publishing in September, at the C19 Conference in Cincinnati tomorrow at 1:40 for her event on African-American Poets of the 19th Century Underground.
#laurischeyer #poetry #c19
Foto zeigt zwei Envomasken mit verbrauchtem Filtermaterial. Oben Vorderseite: Filter verbraucht. Unten Rückseite: Filter neu.
Foto zeigt die Vorderseite von einer Envomaske mit verbrauchtem Filtermaterial.
Foto zeigt die Rückseite von einer Envomaske mit verbrauchtem Filtermaterial.
Foto zeigt Filtermaterial. Oben Vorderseite: Filter verbraucht. Unten Vorderseite: Filter neu.
#LuftHygiene #CleanAir #SaubereLuft #CovidIsAirborne #CovidIsntOver #Envomask #H5N1 #Flu #Grippe #C19
Es war wieder Zeit die Filter von meiner #Envomaske zu wechseln.
Auf den Fotos sieht man gut den Vergleich zwischen einem neuen und einem verbrauchten Filter.
“Màiri… provides a model for ways of resisting centralizing power, of imagining community reinvigoration & renaissance… her songs were engagedly political”
—Peter Mackay, Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century 37 (2025)
#C19
5/5
19.bbk.ac.uk/article/id/1...
Òran Beinn Lì Màiri Nic a’ Phearsain Thugaibh taing dhan a’ mhuinntir Tha fo riaghladh na Bànrigh, Rinn an lagh dhuinn cho diongmhalt’ ’S nach caill sinn Beinn Lì. Cuiribh beannachd le aiteas Gu tuathanaich Bhaltois. Bha air tùs anns a’ bhatail, ’S nach do mheataich san strì. Thugaibh beannachd gu “Pàrnell”, Thug a’ bhuaidh air “An t-Sàtan”, Chor ’s nach fhaicear gu bràth e Tighinn air àrainn na tìr. Nuair a thàinig e chiad uair Leth-cheud “aingeal” fo riaghladh, Chuir e còignear an iarainn Ann an crìochan Beinn Lì. Chaidh an giùlan leis “na h-ainglean”, ’S an glasadh an gainntir; ’S a dh’aindeoin cumhachd an nàimhdean, ’S leò am fonn is Beinn Lì. ’S na mnathan bu shuairce ’S bu mhodhaile gluasad, Chaidh an claiginn a spuaiceadh Ann am bruachan Beinn Lì. Siud a’ bheinn a tha dealbhach, ’S dhan a’ Bhànrigh bha sealbhach, ’S chan eil beinn ann an Albainn ’N-diugh cho ainmeil ’s Beinn Lì. ’S ged tha ’n Cuiltheann is Glàmaig Measg nam beanntan as àille, Cha bhi ’n eachdraidh air a fàgail Ach aig sàiltean Beinn Lì.
Translation: Give thanks to the people under the Queen’s rule who gave us such a steadfast law that we will not lose Ben Lì. Send greetings with gladness to the farmers of Valtos who were at the front in the battle and who did not weaken in the struggle. Give greetings to “Pàrnell” who beat “The Satan”, to the extent that he will never be seen again approaching this area. When he came the first time, with fifty “angels” under his command, he put five men in irons at the boundaries of Ben Lì. They were borne away by the “angels” and locked in a prison, and despite the power of their enemies they still have the land of Ben Lì. The kind women who carry themselves so courteously, their skulls were broken on the slopes of Ben Lì. That’s the shapely hill which was fortunate for the Queen. There’s no hill in Scotland today as famous as Ben Lì. Although the Cuillins and Glàmaig are among the most beautiful of mountains, the history will only be associated with the slopes of Ben Lì.
Thugaibh taing dhan a’ mhuinntir
Tha fo riaghladh na Bànrigh,
Rinn an lagh dhuinn cho diongmhalt’
’S nach caill sinn Beinn Lì…
—Màiri Nic a’ Phearsain, “Òran Beinn Lì”
#poem #poetry #C19
3/5
A single Covid infection can cause long term damage to your immune system, even if you are vaccinated.
Mask up y’all.
N95s for the win.
#yallmasking
#Covid
#C19
www.sciencedirect.com/science/arti...
You can download all 20 of Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…
💙📚 #C19 #shortfiction #flashfiction
asls.org.uk/publications...
In James Hogg’s 1837 novella “The Surpassing Adventures of Allan Gordon” (included in POLAR HORRORS, @britishlibrary.bsky.social 2022) the hero orphans, then adopts a polar bear cub. But Hogg’s story is “a dark satire of nature pushing back”…
#BookWormSat #C19 #romanticism
shop.bl.uk/products/pol...
You can download all 20 of Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…
💙📚 #C19 #shortfiction #flashfiction
asls.org.uk/publications...
XI—THE READER “I never read such an impious book,” said the reader, throwing it on the floor. “You need not hurt me,” said the book; “you will only get less for me second hand, and I did not write myself.” “That is true,” said the reader. “My quarrel is with your author.” “Ah, well,” said the book, “you need not buy his rant.” “That is true,” said the reader. “But I thought him such a cheerful writer.” “I find him so,” said the book. “You must be differently made from me,” said the reader. “Let me tell you a fable,” said the book. “There were two men wrecked upon a desert island; one of them made believe he was at home, the other admitted—” “O, I know your kind of fable,” said the reader. “They both died.” “And so they did,” said the book. “no doubt of that. And everybody else.” “That is true,” said the reader. “Push it a little further for this once. And when they were all dead?” “They were in God’s hands, the same as before,” said the book. “Not much to boast of, by your account,” cried the reader. “Who is impious now?” said the book. And the reader put him on the fire. The coward crouches from the rod, And loathes the iron face of God.
“I never read such an impious book,” said the reader, throwing it on the floor.
“You need not hurt me,” said the book; “you will only get less for me second hand, & I did not write myself.”
—Robert Louis Stevenson, “The Reader”
For #WorldBookDay, a story about a book
#C19 💙📚
Long-COVID Sufferer Awarded Nearly $1M After Employer Refused to Let Her Work From Home
A jury in Nassau County awarded $954,000 to a longtime employee of Stony Brook University Hospital Blood Bank.
She was a NURSE. Got COVID, then long COVID , then she was fired.
#yallmasking
#Covid
#C19
This is the last known specimen of preserved vulture vomit from the 1876 Kentucky Meat Shower #c19
If you're attending #C19, please join us for Margaret Fuller Society's panel on Thursday, 12 March at 1:40-3:00 pm. It’s entitled “‘To Give Them All A Welcome To Our Shore':
Immigrant Voices and Advocates in Nineteenth-Century Periodicals." More details below ⬇️
We Need The Storm - ACLU Fundraiser
hotbrownpress.etsy.com/listing/4463...
#BlackHistoryMonth #c19 #19c #NoKings #letterpress
In 1852, Frederick Douglass gave a speech to an antislavery society in Rochester, NY, commonly known as "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?"
It was gray, harsh, easterly weather, the swell ran pretty high, and out in the open there were “skipper’s daughters,” when I found myself at last on the diver’s platform, twenty pounds of lead upon each foot and my whole person swollen with ply and ply of woollen underclothing. One moment, the salt wind was whistling round my night-capped head; the next, I was crushed almost double under the weight of the helmet. As that intolerable burthern was laid upon me, I could have found it in my heart (only for shame’s sake) to cry off from the whole enterprise. But it was too late. The attendants began to turn the hurdy-gurdy, and the air to whistle through the tube; some one screwed in the barred window of the vizor; and I was cut off in a moment from my fellow-men; standing there in their midst, but quite divorced from intercourse: a creature deaf and dumb, pathetically looking forth upon them from a climate of his own. Except that I could move and feel, I was like a man fallen in a catalepsy. But time was scarce given me to realise my isolation; the weights were hung upon my back and breast, the signal rope was thrust into my unresisting hand; and setting a twenty-pound foot upon the ladder, I began ponderously to descend. Some twenty rounds below the platform, twilight fell. Looking up, I saw a low green heaven mottled with vanishing bells of white; looking around, except for the weedy spokes and shafts of the ladder, nothing but a green gloaming, somewhat opaque but very restful and delicious. Thirty rounds lower, I stepped off on the pierres perdues of the foundation; a dumb helmeted figure took me by the hand, and made a gesture (as I read it) of encouragement; and looking in at the creature’s window, I beheld the face of Bain. There we were, hand to hand and (when it pleased us) eye to eye; and either
might have burst himself with shouting, and not a whisper come to his companion’s hearing. Each, in his own little world of air, stood incommunicably separate. Bob had told me ere this a little tale, a five minutes’ drama at the bottom of the sea, which at that moment possibly shot across my mind. He was down with another, settling a stone of the sea-wall. They had it well adjusted, Bob gave the signal, the scissors were slipped, the stone set home; and it was time to turn to something else. But still his companion remained bowed over the block like a mourner on a tomb, or only raised himself to make absurd contortions and mysterious signs unknown to the vocabulary of the diver. There, then, these two stood for awhile, like the dead and the living; till there flashed a fortunate thought into Bob’s mind, and he stooped, peered through the window of that other world, and beheld the face of its inhabitant wet with streaming tears. Ah! the man was in pain! And Bob, glancing downward, saw what was the trouble: the block had been lowered on the foot of that unfortunate—he was caught alive at the bottom of the sea under fifteen tons of rock. That two men should handle a stone so heavy, even swinging in the scissors, may appear strange to the inexpert. These must bear in mind the great density of the water of the sea, and the surprising results of transplantation to that medium. To understand a little what these are, and how a man’s weight, so far from being an encumbrance, is the very ground of his agility, was the chief lesson of my submarine experience. The knowledge came upon me by degrees. As I began to go forward with the hand of my estranged companion, a world of tumbled stones was visible, pillared with the weedy uprights of the staging: overhead, a flat roof of green: a little in front, the sea-wall, like an unfinished rampart. And presently in our upward progress, Bob
motioned me to leap upon a stone; I looked to see if he were possibly in earnest, and he only signed to me the more imperiously. Now the block stood six feet high; it would have been quite a leap to me unencumbered; with the breast and back weights, and the twenty pounds upon each foot, and the staggering load of the helmet, the thing was out of reason. I laughed aloud in my tomb; and to prove to Bob how far he was astray, I gave a little impulse from my toes. Up I soared like a bird, my companion soaring at my side. As high as to the stone, and then higher, I pursued my impotent and empty flight. Even when the strong arm of Bob had checked my shoulders, my heels continued their ascent; so that I blew out sideways like an autumn leaf, and must be hauled in, hand over hand, as sailors haul in the slack of a sail, and propped upon my feet again like an intoxicated sparrow. Yet a little higher on the foundation, and we began to be affected by the bottom of the swell, running there like a strong breeze of wind. Or so I must suppose; for, safe in my cushion of air, I was conscious of no impact; only swayed idly like a weed, and was now borne helplessly abroad, and now swiftly—and yet with dream-like gentleness—impelled against my guide. So does a child’s balloon divagate upon the currents of the air, and touch, and slide off again from every obstacle. So must have ineffectually swung, so resented their inefficiency, those light crowds that followed the Star of Hades, and uttered exiguous voices in the land beyond Cocytus. There was something strangely exasperating, as well as strangely wearying, in these uncommanded evolutions. It is bitter to return to infancy, to be supported, and directed, and perpetually set upon your feet, by the hand of some one else. The air besides, as it is supplied to you by the busy millers on the platform,
closes the eustachian tubes and keeps the neophyte perpetually swallowing, till his throat is grown so dry that he can swallow no longer. And for all these reasons-although I had a fine, dizzy, muddle-headed joy in my surroundings, and longed, and tried, and always failed, to lay hands on the fish that darted here and there about me, swift as humming-birds—yet I fancy I was rather relieved than otherwise when Bain brought me back to the ladder and signed to me to mount. And there was one more experience before me even then. Of a sudden, my ascending head passed into the trough of a swell. Out of the green, I shot at once into a glory of rosy, almost of sanguine light—the multitudinous seas incarnadined, the heaven above a vault of crimson. And then the glory faded into the hard, ugly daylight of a Caithness autumn, with a low sky, a gray sea, and a whistling wind.
“I found myself at last on the diver’s platform, twenty pounds of lead upon each foot…”
In 1868 Robert Louis Stevenson – not quite 18, & still expected to follow the family trade of lighthouse-building – went on an underwater adventure
#BookologyThursday #C19 #diving
