Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „1811-1863“

The tribe Hormiini Förster, 1863, and subfamily Macrocentrinae Förster, 1863 (Hymenoptera: Braconidae) are recorded for the first time for the Egyptian fauna. Hormiini is represented by five species in two genera, Avga Nixon, 1940, with a single new species, A. sinaitica Edmardash & Gadallah; and Hormius Nees, 1819 (4 species), H. moniliatus (Nees, 1811), H. propodealis (Belokobylskij, 1989), H. sculpturatus Tobias, 1967, and H. similis Szépligeti, 1896. One species of Macrocentrinae, Macrocentrus collaris (Spinola, 1808) is also reported here. The specimens were collected from different localities of Egypt.

In England, realism was formed very quickly, because it appeared immediately after the Enlightenment, and its formation occurred almost simultaneously with the development of Romanticism, which did not hinder the success of the new literary movement. The peculiarity of English literature is that in it romanticism and realism coexisted and enriched each other. Examples include the works of two writers, Elizabeth Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. However, the discovery and confirmation of realism in English literature is primarily associated with the legacy of Charles Dickens (1812-1870) and William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863). The works of Charles Dickens differ not only in the strengthening of the real social moment, but also in the previous realist literature. Dickens has a profoundly negative effect on bourgeois reality. Key words: England, realism, literary trend, bourgeois society, utopia, unjust life, artistic description

The article concerns costs borne by parties to court cases in the Duchy of Warsaw and the Kingdom of Poland (until the unification of the Polish judiciary with the Russian system in the 1870s). Litigation costs included: court fees, attorneys’ and experts’ fees, travel expenses incurred by the parties and other persons whose appearance was necessary, daily allowances for the parties, witnesses and court officers, and costs of correspondence (delivered by court officers). The most important costs were the court fees, which were paid using stamped paper.The author focused on the content of three acts which comprehensively regulated the collection of stamp duty (acts of 1809, 1811 and 1863). In property litigations, the amount of stamp duty depended on the value of the disputed subject matter, while it had a regressive character (the bigger the claim, the lower the fees). However, in cases concerning non-financial claims, the fee depended on the affluence of the parties or was set as a lump sum.

La revisión de algunos escritos periodísticos de Miguel Agustín Príncipe (1811-1863) pone de manifiesto el debate ideológico sobre la función social del teatro durante el Romanticismo español. Queda patente la relación entre el concepto histórico y social del hecho teatral y la preceptiva literaria que conocían los autores y críticos de la época. Concretamente, varias ideas de las expuestas en los artículos de Príncipe recogen los principios de Retórica y Poética impartidos en la Universidad, como los conceptos del gusto, de lo bello, y de la copia o retrato artístico de la realidad de acorde con la verdad histórica y con la verdad moral. Asimismo es evidente la influencia literaria que ejerció la crítica periodística sobre el teatro del momento y la importancia que protagonizó en ella el tema de las relaciones teatro-sociedad, y especialmente la incidencia del influjo moral que la escena ejercía en los espectadores y lectores de la poesía dramática.

Contribution to knowledge of the butterflies and moths (Lepidoptera) of north-eastern Poland with a description of a new tineid species from the genus Monopis Hübner, 1825 This work contains faunistic data on the occurrence of 677 butterfly and moth species found during 2000-2008 in north-eastern Poland (Podlasie Province). The species Monopis fenestratella (Heyden, 1863), Amphisbatis elsae Svensson, 1982, Coleophora ptarmicia Walsingham, 1910 and Epermenia falciformis (Haworth, 1828) were found in Poland for the first time. Recent data are provided for five other species - Monochroa servella (Zeller, 1839), Teleiodes aenigma Sattler, 1983, Dichomeris limosella (Schläger, 1849), Aethes rutilana (Hübner, 1817) and Eana derivana (LA Harpe, 1858) - known in Poland only from historical data. The occurrence in Podlasie of 75 species is reported for the first time, and the occurrence of 6 other species is confirmed for this area after more than 50 years. This work also describes a new species, Monopis bisonella Šumpich, sp. n. A number of species are very rare in Poland and occur only locally. These include Nemapogon wolffiellus Karsholt & Nielsen, 1976, Coleophora trifariella Zeller, 1849, Sophronia chilonella (Treitschke, 1833), Syncopacma sangiella (Stainton, 1863), Helcystogramma albinerve (Gerasimov, 1929), Cochylis flaviciliana (Westwood, 1854), Acleris comariana (Lienig & Zeller, 1846), Apotomis semifasciana (Haworth, 1811), Cydia coniferana (Saxesen, 1840), Euphydryas maturna (Linnaeus, 1758), Lopinga achine (Scopoli, 1763), Scopula nemoraria (Hübner, 1799), Epirrhoe tartuensis Moels, 1965 and Schrankia taenialis (Hübner, 1809). A complete list of the species found is provided in the Appendix at the end of this work.

En este artículo se pretende vislumbrar un aspecto del Caribe colombiano a partir del estudio de la novela Ingermina o la hija de Calamar (1844) del neogranadino Juan José Nieto Gil (1805-1863): la integración de los pueblos nativos con la cultura europea como hecho necesario en el proceso de construcción de una nación. Se sostiene como hipótesis que el autor, observando la necesidad de una nación cívica, intentó reconstruir una suerte de “mito de origen” propio de la necesidad de crear un “nosotros” colectivo, bajo un tinte liberal y republicano. Un claro ejemplo se da en las descripciones de las distintas figuras de mujer que ocupan buena parte del relato. Cartagena fue una de las últimas ciudades importantes de la Nueva Granada en ser liberada del yugo español (noviembre de 1811). Para demostrar la imbricación propia de los tiempos de construcción política, la metodología texto-contexto se convierte en una útil herramienta de análisis. Esto permite considerar a esta literatura como evidencia histórica de un espacio-tiempo inmemorial.

Epiphyas postvittana (Walker, 1863) is an invasive polyphagous pest for the Azores and its bioecology and the potential natural enemies were unknown. We evaluated the temporal profile of this species larval abundance and the number of males captured in sex pheromone traps, hypothesizing that both profiles were similar. The study was carried out on seven endemic host plants and one native species grown in two forest nurseries (Furnas and Nordeste) in São Miguel Island over two years from 2018 to 2019. A total of 827 plants attacked by E. postvittana were observed in Furnas nursery (2018: 503, 2019: 324) and 1227 in the Nordeste (2018: 649, 2019: 578), including the presence of 525 larvae distributed by the Furnas (2018: 178, 2019: 79) and from the Nordeste (2018: 131, 2019: 137). In 2019, the average weekly number of males captured in the sex pheromone traps (total 31 weeks) were higher in Furnas (mean ± SE: 9.68 ± 1.982) than in Nordeste (3.33 ± 0.651). In synthesis, (i) the population density varied throughout the year and as a function of the host plant species in production; (ii) the abundance profile of larval and adults suggests has at least three to four generations per year and that adults are active year-round, experiencing some delayed development during the winter; (iii) a low larval density does not represent very serious damage to Azorean endemic plants, but is reflected in the population density of its natural enemies; (iv) some biological control agents are present in the field, parasitizing the larvae (i.e., Braconidae species of Meteorus ictericus (Nees, 1811) and Microgaster opheltes Nixon, 1968); (v) finally, the knowledge of the population dynamics and its natural enemies needs further and long-term study.

Auguste Bravais by his fundamental work on lattice has pioneered modern crystallography. He was born in 1811 in Annonay (France) at a short distance from Lyon and Saint-Etienne. He was then educated at the College Stanislas in Paris and entered the École Polytechnique in Paris in 1829. In 1832, he joined the French Navy as an officer and took part at scientific explorations to the Algerian Coast and Northern Europe. In 1837 he defended a PhD in Astronomy at the Faculty of Sciences in Lyon where he became Professor in 1841 to teach mathematics in astronomy. Then, in 1845, he moved at Ecole Polytechnique in Paris to take the chair of Physics, which he held till 1856. He published his first studies dealing with crystal lattice in 1849 in a short paper [1] and later wrote a book where he developed his theory fully based on geometrical theorems [2]. He died prematurely in 1863 exhausted by the loss of his only son. Like many scientists of that time Auguste Bravais was universalist and has been successively astronomer, geologist, mathematician, physicist, mineralogist, and crystallographer as well as an explorer from Lapland to the top of Mont Blanc [3]. In this communication, the steering committee Lyon-Saint-Etienne will recall the contribution of Auguste Bravais to crystallography and will show some aspect of his life that may be less known in our community.

The first knowledge about Peter the Great seems to penetrate into Japan during the lifetime of this Russian emperor, as early as the beginning of the 18th century. However, it was only after first attempts of Siberian merchants to start trade relations with Japan’s northernmost domain of Matsumae when Japanese intellectuals began to study Russia and its history. By the end of the century, the image of Peter the Great as an outstanding ruler had formed in Japan, with his main achievement being the expansion of the country’s territory, after which European Russia suddenly shared a border with northern Japan. Katsuragawa Hoshu, a court physician and the author of one of the first descriptions of Russia, might be the first Japanese who implied Peter the Great’s activities as a model for Japan, pointing out his politics in spreading the foreign trade. Japanese intellectuals of the first half of the 19th century continued to use Peter the Great’s reforms as a possible model for Japan. Watanabe Kazan (1793–1841) in his “Note about the Situation in Foreign Countries” used the Russian emperor as evidence of a leader’s role in winning nature-based and geographical obstacles in a country’s development. Aizawa Seishisai (1782–1863) and later Sakuma Shozan (1811–1864) pointed out Peter’s leadership qualities and personal involvement in reforms. Based on the study of Peter’s activities, Aizawa managed to create the program of Japan’s reforming known as the “New thesis” (“Shinron”, 1825), while Sakuma promoted the necessity of Western learning, especially the development of navy and artillery. This allows to assume a great influence of the study of Peter the Great and Russian history in formulating the ideas of a “rich country and strong army” that became a cornerstone of national ideology in Meiji Japan.

AbstractAll species-group names of Trachypachidae, Rhysodidae, and Carabidae (including cicindelincs) correctly recorded from America north of Mexico are catalogued with state and province records. Valid names are listed with the author(s), date of publication, and page citation in their current and original combinations while all synonyms are provided in their original combinations. Genus-group names are recorded with the author(s), date of publication, page citation, type species, and kind of type species fixation. Species groups were preferred to subgenera but subscneric names are also listed.The following nomenclatural changes are proposed and discussed: Bembidion neocoerulescens Bousquet, new replacement name for B. coerulescens Van Dyke, 1925; Chlaenius circumcinctus Say, 1830 for C. perplexus Dejean, 1831; Cyclotrachelus dejeanellus (Csiki, 1930) for C. morio (Dejean, 1828); Cyclotrachelus freitagi Bousquet, new replacement name for C. obsoletus (Say, 1830); Dyschirius aeneolus LeConte, 1850 for D. frigidus Mannerheim, 1853; Harpalus laevipes Zetterstedt, 1828 for H. quadripunctatus Dejean, 1829; Harpalus providens Casey, 1914 for H. viduus LeConte, 1865; Harpalus reversus Casey, 1924 for H. funerarius Csiki, 1932; Notiophilus sierranus Casey, 1920 for N. obscurus Fall, 1901; Pseudamara Lindroth, 1968 for Disamara Lindroth, 1976; Pterostichus trinarius (Casey, 1918) for P. ohionis Csiki, 1930; Stenolophus carbo Bousquet, new replacement name for S. carbonarius (Dejean, 1829).Thirty-six new synonyms are established and seven, considered as questionable, are confirmed. They are (with the valid names in parentheses): Agonothorax planipennis Motschulsky, 1850 (= ? Agonum affine Kirby, 1837); Platynus variolatus LeConte, 1851 (= Agonum limbatum Motschulsky, 1845); Agonum nitidum Harris, 1869 (= ? Agonum melanarium Dejean, 1828); Amerinus fuscicornis Casey, 1914 and A. longipennis Casey, 1914 (= Amerinus linearis (LeConte, 1863)); Apristus fuscipennis Motschulsky, 1864 (= Apristus latens LeConte, 1848); Batenus aeneolus Motschulsky, 1865 (= Agonum exaratum (Mannerheim, 1853)); Brachystylus curtipennis Motschulsky, 1859 (= Pterostichus congestus (Ménétriés, 1843)); Brachystylus parallelus Motschulsky, 1859 (= ? Pterostichus californicus (Dejean, 1828)); Cratacanthus cephalotes Casey, 1914, C. subovalis Casey, 1914, and C. texanus Casey, 1884 (= Cratacanthus dubius (Palisot de Beauvois, 1811)); Cymindis comma T.W. Harris, 1869 (= ? Cymindis limbatus Dejean, 1831); Feronia praetermissa Chaudoir, 1868 (= Pterostichus commutabilis (Motschulsky, 1866)); Galerita angusticeps Casey, 1920 (= Galerita janus (Fabricius, 1792)); Gonoderus cordicollis Motschulsky 1859 (= Pterostichus tristis (Dejean, 1828)); Anisodactylus alternans LeConte, 1851 (= Anisodactylus alternans (Motschulsky, 1845)); Hypherpes spissitarsis Casey, 1918 (= Pterostichus tarsalis LeConte, 1873); Lebia brunnicollis Motschulsky, 1864 (= Lebia lobulata LeConte, 1863); Lebia subfigurata Motschulsky, 1864 and L. sublimbata Motschulsky, 1864 (= Lebia analis Dejean, 1825); Lophoglossus bispiculatus Casey, 1913 and L. illini Casey, 1913 (= Lophoglossus scrutator (LeConte, 1848)); Platysma leconteianum Lutshnik, 1922 (= Pterostichus commutabilis (Motschulsky, 1866)); Loxandrus iris Motschulsky, 1866(= Loxandrus rectus (Say, 1823)); Masoreus americanus Motschulsky, 1864 (= Stenolophus rotundicollis (Haldeman, 1843)); Notaphus laterimaculatus Motschulsky, 1859 (= Bembidion approximatum (LeConte, 1852)); Notiophilus cribrilaterus Motschulsky, 1864 (= Notiophilus novemstriatus LeConte, 1848); Omaseus brevibasis Casey, 1924 (= Pterostichus luctuosus (Dejean, 1828)); Notaphus incertus Motschulsky, 1845 (= Bembidion breve (Motschulsky, 1845)); Peryphus concolor Motschulsky, 1850 (= Bembidion platynoides Hayward, 1897); Peryphus erosus Motschulsky, 1850 (= Bembidion transversale Dejean, 1831); Peryphus subinflatus Motschulsky, 1859 (= Bembidion petrosum petrosum Gebler, 1833); Planesus fuscicollis Motschulsky, 1865 and P. laevigatas Motschulsky, 1865 (= Cymindis platicollis (Say, 1823)); Poecilus pimalis Casey, 1913 (= Poecilus diplophryus Chaudoir, 1876); Pterostichus arizonicus Schaeffer, 1910 (= Ophryogaster flohri Bates, 1882); Pterostichus sequoiarum Casey, 1913 (= Pterostichus tarsalis LeConte, 1873); Scaphinotus grandis Gistel, 1857 (= ? Scaphinotus unicolor unicolor (Fabricius, 1787)); Stenocrepis chalcas Bates, 1882 and S. chalcochrous Chaudoir, 1883 (= Stenocrepis texana (LeConte, 1863)); Stenolophus humeralis Motschulsky, 1864 (= Stenolophus plebejus Dejean, 1829); and Stenolophus laticollis Motschulsky, 1864 (= Stenolophus ochropezus (Say, 1823)).Olisthopus iterans Casey, 1913 and Pterostichus illustris LeConte, 1851, listed as junior synonyms of O. parmatus (Say, 1823) and P. congestus (Ménétriés, 1843), respectively, are considered in the present work as valid species.The type species (listed in parentheses) of the following 14 genus-group taxa are designated for the first time: Circinalidia Casey, 1920 (Agonum aeruginosum Dejean, 1828); Evolenes LeConte, 1853 (Oodes exaratus Dejean, 1831); Leucagonum Casey, 1920 (Agonum maculicolle Dejean, 1828); Megaliridia Casey, 1920 (Cychrus viduus Dejean, 1826); Megalostylus Chaudoir, 1843 (Feronia lucidula Dejean, 1828 = Feronia recta Say, 1823); Micragra Chaudoir, 1872 (Micragra lissonota Chaudoir, 1872); Onota Chaudoir, 1872 (Onota bicolor Chaudoir, 1872); Oodiellus Chaudoir, 1882 (Oodiellus mexicanus Chaudoir, 1882 = Anatrichis alutacea Bates, 1882); Oxydrepanus Putzeys, 1866 (Dyschirius rufus Putzeys, 1846); Paranchomenus Casey, 1920 (Platynus stygicus LeConte, 1854 = Anchomenus mannerheimii Dejean, 1828); Pemphus Motschulsky, 1866 (Cychrus velutinus Ménétriés, 1843); Peronoscelis Chaudoir, 1872 (Tetragonoderus figuratus Dejean, 1831); Rhombodera Reiche, 1842 (Rhombodera virgata Reiche, 1842 = Lebia trivittata Dejean, 1831); and Stenous Chaudoir, 1857 (Oodes cupreus Chaudoir, 1843).Two new family-group names are proposed, Cnemalobini (= Cnemacanthini of authors) based on Cnemalobus Guérin-Méneville, 1839 and Loxandrini based on Loxandrus LeConte, 1852.The work also includes a synopsis of all extant world carabid tribes, a bibliography of all original descriptions, a full taxonomic index, and, as appendices, lists of nomina nuda and unjustified emendations, and annotated lists of species incorrectly or doubtfully recorded from America north of Mexico and of new North American records.

Thomas Dent Mütter, a Philadelphia plastic surgeon in the 1840s, boldly championed anesthesia when few physicians were convinced of its virtues. He was an early advocate of handwashing and hygienic wound care and helped pioneer the concept of postoperative recovery units. A leader in education, Mütter used a highly interactive style of teaching and restructured medical school classes to raise the caliber of clinical training. He supplemented his lectures with a myriad of specimens that he amassed over 24 yr. In 1863, this vast collection would serve as the basis for the Mütter Museum, which remains active today. Mütter exemplified expertise by tirelessly pursuing new knowledge and methods for the benefit of his patients and students.

Weltausstellung, Chicago 1893: Neben einem tonnenschweren kanadischen Käselaib und einer Venus von Milo aus 700 Kilogramm Schokolade wird die größte Kanone der Welt präsentiert. Produziert hatte sie die Krupp’sche Gußstahlfabrik, die nach ihrer Gründung 1811 in Essen durch Friedrich Krupp im Verlauf des 19. Jahrhunderts zum größten deutschen Privatunternehmen aufstieg und etwa 150 Jahre im Besitz der Familie blieb. Die zeitgenössische Berichterstattung erblickte in der Riesenkanone eine der Hauptattraktionen, die in der «Krupp Gun Exhibition» bestaunt werden konnte.

Weltausstellung, Chicago 1893: Neben einem tonnenschweren kanadischen Käselaib und einer Venus von Milo aus 700 Kilogramm Schokolade wird die größte Kanone der Welt präsentiert. Produziert hatte sie die Krupp’sche Gußstahlfabrik, die nach ihrer Gründung 1811 in Essen durch Friedrich Krupp im Verlauf des 19. Jahrhunderts zum größten deutschen Privatunternehmen aufstieg und etwa 150 Jahre im Besitz der Familie blieb. Die zeitgenössische Berichterstattung erblickte in der Riesenkanone eine der Hauptattraktionen, die in der «Krupp Gun Exhibition» bestaunt werden konnte.

SCIENCE, RELIGION, AND THE PROTESTANT TRADITION: Retracing the Origins of Conflict by James C. Ungureanu. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2019. x + 358 pages. Hardcover; $50.00. ISBN: 9780822945819. *Mythical understandings about historical intersections of Christianity and science have a long history, and persist in our own day. Two American writers are usually cited as the architects of the mythology of inevitable warfare between science and religion: John William Draper (1811-1882) and Andrew Dickson White (1832-1919). Draper was a medical doctor, chemist, and historian. White was an academic (like Draper), a professional historian, and first president of the nonsectarian Cornell University. Ungureanu's objective is to show how Draper and White have been (mis)interpreted and (mis)used by secular critics of Christianity, liberal theists, and historians alike. *Ungureanu opens by critiquing conflict historians as misreading White and Draper. The conflict narrative emerged from arguments within Protestantism from the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries, and, as taken up by Draper and White, was intended not to annihilate religion but to reconcile religion with science. Consequently, the two were not the anti-religious originators of science-versus-religion historiography. Rather, the "warfare thesis" began among sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Protestant historians and theologians attacking both Roman Catholics and each other. By the early nineteenth century, the purpose of conflict polemics was not to crush religion in the name of science but to clear intellectual space for preserving a "purified" and "rational" religion reconciled to science. Widespread beliefs held by liberal Protestant men of science included "progressive" development or evolution in history and nature as found, for example, in books by Lamarck in France and Robert Chambers in Britain. For Draper, English chemist and Unitarian minister Joseph Priestley (1733-1804) was a model of faith without the burden of orthodoxy. *So conflict rhetoric arose not, as we've been taught before, in post-Darwinian controversies, but in contending narratives within generations of earlier Protestant reformers who substituted personal judgment for ecclesial authority. Victorian scientific naturalists and popularizers often rejected Christian theological beliefs in the name of a "natural" undogmatic "religion" (which could slip into varieties of Unitarianism, deism, agnosticism, or pantheism). In effect, the conflict was not between science and religion, but between orthodox Christian faith and progressive or heterodox Christian faith--a conflict between how each saw the relationship between Christian faith and science. Draper, White, and their allies still saw themselves as theists, even Protestant Christians, though as liberal theists calling for a "New Reformation." Given past and present anti-Christian interpretations of these conflict historians with actual religious aims, this is ironic to say the least. *Ungureanu's thesis shouldn't be surprising. In the Introduction to his History of the Warfare, White had written: "My conviction is that Science, though it has evidently conquered Dogmatic Theology based on biblical texts and ancient modes of thought, will go hand in hand with Religion … [i.e.] 'a Power in the universe, not ourselves, which makes for righteousness' [quoting without attribution Matthew Arnold, who had actually written of an 'eternal power']." *As science advanced, so would religion: "the love of God and of our neighbor will steadily grow stronger and stronger" throughout the world. After praising Micah and the Epistle of James, White looked forward "above all" to the growing practice of "the precepts and ideals of the blessed Founder of Christianity himself" (vol. 1, p. xii). Ungureanu quotes White that the "most mistaken of all mistaken ideas" is the "conviction that religion and science are enemies" (p. 71). *This echoed both Draper's belief that "true" religion was consistent with science, and T. H. Huxley's 1859 lecture in which he affirmed that the so-called "antagonism of science and religion" was the "most mischievous" of "miserable superstitions." Indeed, Huxley affirmed that, "true science and true religion are twin-sisters" (p. 191). *Chapter 1 locates Draper in his biographical, religious, and intellectual contexts: for example, the common belief in immutable natural laws; the "new" Protestant historiography expressed in the work of such scientists as Charles Lyell and William Whewell; and various species of evolutionism. Comte de Buffon, Jean Baptiste Lamarck, John Herschel, Thomas Dick, Robert Chambers, and Darwin are some of the many writers whose work Draper used. *Chapter 2 examines White's intellectual development including his quest for "pure and undefiled" religion. He studied Merle d'Aubigné's history of the Reformation (White's personal library on the subject ran to thirty thousand items) and German scholars such as Lessing and Schleiermacher who cast doubt on biblical revelation and theological doctrines, in favor of a "true religion" based on "feeling" and an only-human Jesus. As he worked out his history of religion and science, White also absorbed the liberal theologies of William Ellery Channing, Horace Bushnell, Henry Ward Beecher, and Lyman Abbott, among others. *The resulting histories by Draper and White were providential, progressive, and presentist: providential in that God still "governed" (without interfering in) nature and human history; progressive, even teleological, in that faith was being purified while science grew ever closer to Truth; and presentist in that the superior knowledge of the present could judge the inferiority of the past, without considering historical context. *Chapters 3 and 4 situate Draper and White in wider historiographic/polemical Anglo-American contexts, from the sixteenth-century Reformation to the late nineteenth century. Protestant attacks on Roman Catholic moral and theological corruption were adapted to nineteenth-century histories of religion and science, with science as the solvent that cleansed "true religion" of its irrational accretions. Ungureanu reviews other well-known Christian writers, including Edward Hitchcock, Asa Gray, Joseph Le Conte, and Minot Judson Savage, who sought to accommodate their religious beliefs to evolutionary theories and historical-critical approaches to the Bible. *Chapter 5 offers a fascinating portrait of Edward Livingston Youmans--the American editor with prominent publisher D. Appleton and Popular Science Monthly--and his role in promoting the conflict-reconciliation historiography of Draper and White and the scientific naturalism of Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and John Tyndall. *In chapter 6 and "Conclusions," Ungureanu surveys critics of Draper's and White's work, although he neglects some important Roman Catholic responses. He also carefully analyzes the "liberal Protestant" and "progressive" writers who praised and popularized the Draper-White perspectives. Ungureanu is excellent at showing how later writers--atheists, secularists, and freethinkers--not only blurred distinctions between "religion" and "theology" but also appropriated historical conflict narratives as ideological weapons against any form of Christian belief, indeed any form of religion whatsoever. Ultimately, Ungureanu concludes, the conflict-thesis-leading-to-reconciliation narrative failed. The histories of Draper and White were widely, but wrongly, seen as emphatically demonstrating the triumph of science over theology and religious faith, rather than showing the compatibility of science with a refined and redefined Christianity, as was their actual intention. *Draper's History of the Conflict, from the ancients to the moderns, suggested an impressive historical reading program, as did his publication of A History of the Intellectual Development of Europe (rev. ed., 2 vols., 1875 [1863]). But one looks in vain for footnotes and bibliographies to support his controversial claims. White's two-volume study, however, landed with full scholarly apparatus, including copious footnotes documenting his vivid accounts of science conquering theological belief across the centuries. What Ungureanu doesn't discuss is how shoddy White's scholarship could be: he cherrypicked and misread his primary and secondary sources. His citations were not always accurate, and his accounts were sometimes pure fiction. Despite Ungureanu's recovery of German sources behind White's understanding of history and religion, he does not cite Otto Zöckler's Geschichte der Beziehungen zwischen Theologie und Naturwissenschaft (2 vols., 1877-1879), which, as Bernard Ramm noted in The Christian View of Science and Scripture (1954), served as "a corrective" to White's history. *Ungureanu certainly knows, and refers to some of, the primary sources in the large literature of natural theology. I think he underplays the roles of Victorian natural theologies and theologies of nature in reflecting, mediating, criticizing, and rejecting conflict narratives. Ungureanu seems to assume readers' familiarity with the classic warfare historians. He could have provided more flavor and content by reproducing some of Draper's and White's melodramatic and misleading examples of good scientists supposedly conquering bad theologians. (One of my favorite overwrought quotations is from White, vol. 1, p. 70: "Darwin's Origin of Species had come into the theological world like a plough into an ant-hill. Everywhere those thus rudely awakened … swarmed forth angry and confused.") *Ungureanu's is relevant history. Nineteenth-century myth-laden histories of the "warfare between Christianity and science" provide the intellectual framework for influential twenty-first century "scientific" atheists who have built houses on sand, on misunderstandings of the long, complex and continuing relations between faith/practice/theology and the sciences. *This is fine scholarship, dense, detailed, and documented--with thirty-seven pages of endnotes and a select bibliography of fifty pages. It is also well written, with frequent pauses to review arguments and conclusions, and persuasive. Required reading for historians, this work should also interest nonspecialists curious about the complex origins of the infamous conflict thesis, its ideological uses, and the value of the history of religion for historians of science. *Reviewed by Paul Fayter, who taught the history of Victorian science and theology at the University of Toronto and York University, Toronto. He lives in Hamilton, ON.

This article analyzes how the British writers Frances Trollope (1779–1863) and William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863) described the Belgian coastal resort Ostend in the 1830s and 1840s. A special focus is placed on both the British travelers passing through Ostend and the British resident communities at Ostend. The article will highlight how the assessments of Frances Trollope and William Makepeace Thackeray of Ostend as a coastal resort frequented by the British can be unpacked fruitfully within two overarching themes: the theme of “genteel poverty” and “respectability” on the one hand, and the theme of “national identity” and “religious identity” on the other. These assessments by Frances Trollope and William Makepeace Thackeray are contextualized against the background of contemporary British guidebooks and travel accounts on Ostend, and against some statistics on the British traveller and resident communities in mid-nineteenth century Belgium. (PF)

The writings of William Thackeray (1811-1863) are dominated by his experience of the commodity form; his apprehension not only of objects and material reality, but also of his own literary productions emerges from economic experience. Working from Pierre Bourdieu's materialist analysis of spatial relationships, the following paper first examines the consequences of commodification on Thackeray's representation of space and material culture, and then briefly analyzes that representation as a product of Thackeray's habitus, understood as the dialectical product of his position within a series of social transformations in mid-Victorian England.

Ścieranie się koncepcji dotyczących charakteru małżeństwa miało szczególny wymiar na ziemiach polskich podczas zaborów i po odzyskaniu niepodległości (1918). Różnorodność obowiązujących ówcześnie praw (niemiecki BGB z 1896, węgierski Akt nr XXXI o małżeństwie z 1894, rosyjski ukaz o małżeństwie z 1863, I część tomu X i częściowo I część t. XI Zwodu Praw Cesarstwa Rosyjskiego z 1832 r., austriacki ABGB z 1811) stanowiła wyzwanie dla międzywojennych kodyfikatorów i prawników praktyków. Przesłanki ważności małżeństwa w prawie cywilnym w XIX w. i w pierwszej połowie XX w. miały jeszcze często mieszany charakter – częściowo wywodziły się z zasad religijnych (np. przeszkoda różności wiary, święceń kapłańskich), a częściowo ze świeckich zasad prawa rzymskiego (przeszkoda wieku, pokrewieństwa, powinowactwa, przysposobienia, bigamii oraz wad oświadczenia woli). Na tym tle węgierską ustawę o małżeństwie należy ocenić jako nowoczesną.

Vanity Fair is a masterpiece by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863), which is centered on the lives of two young women, Becky Sharp and Amelia Sedley, presenting the life of extravagance and rivalry of the aristocratic bourgeoisie in nineteenth-century England. In the novel, Thackeray ruthlessly exposes the shameless and degenerate nature of the feudal aristocracy and the hypocrisy of the bourgeoisie in their pursuit of fame and fortune. During the Victorian period, consumerism prevailed. The circulation of commodities was well developed, and people at that time indulged in the revelry of the material world. As long as capital exists, commodities are bound to be an eternal element in the development of human society. This paper focuses on the female protagonist Becky in Vanity Fair by adopting the methods of literature research and textual analysis, revealing Thackeray’s portrayal of commodified interpersonal relationships in the novelas well as the karmic consequences of such aberrant relationships in order to warn contemporary people on the Fair.

Like any genre or mode, the Gothic is malleable, changing according to time and place. This is particularly apparent when what is considered Gothic in one era is compared with that of another. The giant helmet that falls from the sky in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) is a very different threat to the ravenous vampires that stalk the novels of Anne Rice, just as Ann Radcliffe’s animated portraits may not inspire anxiety for a contemporary reader of Stephen King. The mutability of Gothic is also apparent across various versions of national Gothic that have emerged, with the specificities of place lending Gothic narratives from countries such as Ireland, Scotland and Australia a distinctive flavour. In New Zealand, the Gothic is most commonly associated with Pakeha artists exploring extreme psychological states, isolation and violence. Instead of the haunted castles, ruined abbeys and supernatural occurrences of classic Gothics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as those produced by writers as diverse as Charles Brockden Brown, Matthew Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Radcliffe, Bram Stoker and Walpole, New Zealand Gothic fiction tends to focus on psychological horror, taking its cue, according to Jenny Lawn, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which ushered in a tendency in the Gothic novel to explore the idea of a divided consciousness. Lawn observes that in New Zealand “Our monsters tend to be interior: they are experiences of intense psychological states, often with sexual undertones within isolated nuclear families” (“Kiwi Gothic”). Kirsty Gunn’s novella Rain (1994), which focuses on a dysfunctional family holidaying in an isolated lakeside community, exemplifies the tendency of New Zealand Gothic to omit the supernatural in favour of the psychological, with its spectres being sexual predation, parental neglect and the death of an innocent. Bronwyn Bannister’s Haunt (2000) is set primarily in a psychiatric hospital, detailing various forms of psychiatric disorder, as well as the acts that spring from them, such as one protagonist’s concealment for several years of her baby in a shed, while Noel Virtue’s The Redemption of Elsdon Bird (1987) is another example, with a young character’s decision to shoot his two younger siblings in the head as they sleep in an attempt to protect them from the religious beliefs of his fundamentalist parents amply illustrating the intense psychological states that characterise New Zealand Gothic. Although there is no reason why Gothic literature ought to include the supernatural, its omission in New Zealand Gothic does point to a confusion that Timothy Jones foregrounds in his suggestion that “In the absence of the trappings of established Gothic traditions – castles populated by fiendish aristocrats, swamps draped with Spanish moss and possessed by terrible spirits” New Zealand is “uncertain how and where it ought to perform its own Gothic” (203). The anxiety that Jones notes is perhaps less to do with where the New Zealand Gothic should occur, since there is an established tradition of Gothic events occurring in the bush and on the beach, while David Ballantyne’s Sydney Bridge Upside Down (1968) uses a derelict slaughterhouse as a version of a haunted castle and Maurice Gee successfully uses a decrepit farmhouse as a Gothic edifice in The Fire-Raiser (1986), but more to do with available ghosts. New Zealand Gothic literature produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries certainly tends to focus on the psychological rather than the supernatural, but earlier writing that utilises the Gothic mode is far more focused on spooky events and ghostly presences. There is a tradition of supernatural Gothic in New Zealand, but its representations of Maori ghosts complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. The stories in D. W. O. Fagen’s collection Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand (1952) illustrate the tendency in colonial New Zealand literature to represent Maori in supernatural terms expressive both of anxieties surrounding Maori agency and indigeneity, as well as Western assumptions regarding Maori culture. In much colonial Gothic, Maori ghosts, burial grounds and the notion of tapu express settler anxieties while also working to contain those anxieties by suggesting the superstitious and hence backward nature of indigenous culture. In Fagan’s story “Tapu”, which first appeared in the Bulletin in 1912, the narrator stumbles into a Maori burial ground where he is confronted by the terrible sight of “two fleshless skeletons” that grin and appear “ghastly in the dim light” (37). The narrator’s desecration of land deemed tapu fills him with “a sort of nameless terror at nothing, a horror of some unknown impending fate against which it was useless to struggle and from which there was no escape” (39). This expresses a sense of the authenticity of Maori culture, but the narrator’s thought “Was there any truth in heathen devilry after all?” is quickly superseded by the relegation of Maori culture as “ancient superstitions” (40). When the narrator is approached by a tohunga following his breach of tapu, his reaction is outrage: "Here was I – a fairly decent Englishman, reared in the Anglican faith and living in the nineteenth century – hindered from going about my business, outcast, excommunicated, shunned as a leper, my servant dying, all on account of some fiendish diablerie of heathen fetish. The affair was preposterous, incredible, ludicrous" (40). Fagan’s story establishes a clear opposition between Western rationalism and “decency”, and the “heathen fetishes” associated with Maori culture, which it uses to infuse the story with the thrills appropriate to Gothic fiction and which it ultimately casts as superstitious and uncivilised. F. E. Maning’s Old New Zealand (1863) includes an episode of Maori women grieving that is represented in terms that would not be out of place in horror. A group of women are described as screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of tuhua, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger – a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. (Maning 120–21) The gory quality of this episode positions Maori as barbaric, but Patrick Evans notes that there is an incident in Old New Zealand that grants authenticity to indigenous culture. After being discovered handling human remains, the narrator of Maning’s text is made tapu and rendered untouchable. Although Maning represents the narrator’s adherence to his abjection from Maori society as merely a way to placate a local population, when a tohunga appears to perform cleansing rituals, the narrator’s indulgence of perceived superstition is accompanied by “a curious sensation […] like what I fancied a man must feel who has just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness” (qtd. in Evans 85). Evans points out that Maning may represent the ritual as solely performative, “but the result is portrayed as real” (85). Maning’s narrator may assert his lack of belief in the tohunga’s power, but he nevertheless experiences that power. Such moments of unease occur throughout colonial writing when assertions of European dominance and rational understanding are undercut or threatened. Evans cites the examples of the painter G. F. Angus whose travels through the native forest of Waikato in the 1840s saw him haunted by the “peculiar odour” of rotting vegetation and Edward Shortland whose efforts to remain skeptical during a sacred Maori ceremony were disturbed by the manifestation of atua rustling in the thatch of the hut in which it was occurring (Evans 85). Even though the mysterious power attributed to Maori in colonial Gothic is frequently represented as threatening, there is also an element of desire at play, which Lydia Wevers highlights in her observation that colonial ghost stories involve a desire to assimilate or be assimilated by what is “other.” Wevers singles out for discussion the story “The Disappearance of Letham Crouch”, which appeared in the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine in 1901. The narrative recounts the experiences of an overzealous missionary who is received by Maori as a new tohunga. In order to learn more about Maori religion (so as to successfully replace it with Christianity), Crouch inhabits a hut that is tapu, resulting in madness and fanaticism. He eventually disappears, only to reappear in the guise of a Maori “stripped for dancing” (qtd. in Wevers 206). Crouch is effectively “turned heathen” (qtd. in Wevers 206), a transformation that is clearly threatening for a Christian European, but there is also an element of desirability in such a transformation for a settler seeking an authentic New Zealand identity. Colonial Gothic frequently figures mysterious experiences with indigenous culture as a way for the European settler to essentially become indigenous by experiencing something perceived as authentically New Zealand. Colonial Gothic frequently includes the supernatural in ways that are complicit in the processes of colonisation that problematizes them as models for contemporary writers. For New Zealanders attempting to produce a Gothic narrative, the most immediately available tropes for a haunting past are Maori, but to use those tropes brings texts uncomfortably close to nineteenth-century obsessions with Maori skeletal remains and a Gothicised New Zealand landscape, which Edmund G. C. King notes is a way of expressing “the sense of bodily and mental displacement that often accompanied the colonial experience” (36). R. H. Chapman’s Mihawhenua (1888) provides an example of tropes particularly Gothic that remain a part of colonial discourse not easily transferable into a bicultural context. Chapman’s band of explorers discover a cave strewn with bones which they interpret to be the remains of gory cannibalistic feasts: Here, we might well imagine, the clear waters of the little stream at our feet had sometime run red with the blood of victims of some horrid carnival, and the pale walls of the cavern had grown more pale in sympathy with the shrieks of the doomed ere a period was put to their tortures. Perchance the owners of some of the bones that lay scattered in careless profusion on the floor, had, when strong with life and being, struggled long and bravely in many a bloody battle, and, being at last overcome, their bodies were brought here to whet the appetites and appease the awful hunger of their victors. (qtd. in King) The assumptions regarding the primitive nature of indigenous culture expressed by reference to the “horrid carnival” of cannibalism complicate the processes through which contemporary writers could meaningfully draw on a tradition of New Zealand Gothic utilising the supernatural. One answer to this dilemma is to use supernatural elements not specifically associated with New Zealand. In Stephen Cain’s anthology Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side (1996) there are several instances of this, such as in the story “Never Go Tramping Alone” by Alyson Cresswell-Moorcock, which features a creature called a Gravett. As Timothy Jones’s discussion of this anthology demonstrates, there are two problems arising from this unprecedented monster: firstly, the story does not seem to be a “New Zealand Gothic”, which a review in The Evening Post highlights by observing that “there is a distinct ‘Kiwi’ feel to only a few of the stories” (Rendle 5); while secondly, the Gravatt’s appearance in the New Zealand landscape is unconvincing. Jones argues that "When we encounter the wendigo, a not dissimilar spirit to the Gravatt, in Ann Tracy’s Winter Hunger or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, we have a vague sense that such beings ‘exist’ and belong in the American or Canadian landscapes in which they are located. A Gravatt, however, has no such precedent, no such sense of belonging, and thus loses its authority" (251). Something of this problem is registered in Elizabeth Knox’s vampire novel Daylight (2003), which avoids the problem of making a vampire “fit” with a New Zealand landscape devoid of ancient architecture by setting all the action in Europe. One of the more successful stories in Cain’s collection demonstrates a way of engaging with a specifically New Zealand tradition of supernatural Gothic, while also illustrating some of the potential pitfalls in utilising colonial Gothic tropes of menacing bush, Maori burial caves and skeletal remains. Oliver Nicks’s “The House” focuses on a writer who takes up residence in an isolated “little old colonial cottage in the bush” (8). The strange “odd-angled walls”, floors that seem to slope downwards and the “subterranean silence” of the cottage provokes anxiety in the first-person narrator who admits his thoughts “grew increasingly dark and chaotic” (8). The strangeness of the house is only intensified by the isolation of its surroundings, which are fertile but nevertheless completely uninhabited. Alone and unnerved by the oddness of the house, the narrator listens to the same “inexplicable night screeches and rustlings of the bush” (9) that furnish so much New Zealand Gothic. Yet it is not fear inspired by the menacing bush that troubles the narrator as much as the sense that there was more in this darkness, something from which I felt a greater need to be insulated than the mild horror of mingling with a few wetas, spiders, bats, and other assorted creepy-crawlies. Something was subtlely wrong here – it was not just the oddness of the dimensions and angles. Everything seemed slightly off, not to add up somehow. I could not quite put my finger on whatever it was. (10) When the narrator escapes the claustrophobic house for a walk in the bush, the natural environment is rendered in spectral terms. The narrator is engulfed by the “bare bones of long-dead forest giants” (11) and “crowding tree-corpses”, but the path he follows in order to escape the “Tree-ghosts” is no more comforting since it winds through “a strange grey world with its shrouds of hanging moss, and mist” (12). In the midst of this Gothicised environment the narrator is “transfixed by the intersection of two overpowering irrational forces” when something looms up out of the mist and experiences “irresistible curiosity, balanced by an equal and opposite urge to turn and run like hell” (12). The narrator’s experience of being deep in the threatening bush continues a tradition of colonial writing that renders the natural environment in Gothic terms, such as H. B. Marriot Watson’s The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure (1891), which includes an episode that sees the protagonist Palliser become lost in the forest of Te Tauru and suffer a similar demoralization as Nicks’s narrator: “the horror of the place had gnawed into his soul, and lurked there, mordant. He now saw how it had come to be regarded as the home of the Taniwha, the place of death” (77). Philip Steer points out that it is the Maoriness of Palliser’s surroundings that inspire his existential dread, suggesting a certain amount of settler alienation, but “Palliser’s survival and eventual triumph overwrites this uncertainty with the relegation of Maori to the past” (128). Nicks’s story, although utilising similar tropes to colonial fiction, attempts to puts them to different ends. What strikes such fear in Nicks’s narrator is a mysterious object that inspires the particular dread known as the uncanny: I gave myself a stern talking to and advanced on the shadow. It was about my height, angular, bony and black. It stood as it now stands, as it has stood for centuries, on the edge of a swamp deep in the heart of an ancient forest high in this remote range of hills forming a part of the Southern Alps. As I think of it I cannot help but shudder; it fills me even now with inexplicable awe. It snaked up out of the ground like some malign fern-frond, curving back on itself and curling into a circle at about head height. Extending upwards from the circle were three odd-angled and bent protuberances of unequal length. A strange force flowed from it. It looked alien somehow, but it was man-made. Its power lay, not in its strangeness, but in its unaccountable familiarity; why did I know – have I always known? – how to fear this… thing? (12) This terrible “thing” represents a return of the repressed associated with the crimes of colonisation. After almost being devoured by the malevolent tree-like object the narrator discovers a track leading to a cave decorated with ancient rock paintings that contains a hideous wooden creature that is, in fact, a burial chest. Realising that he has discovered a burial cave, the narrator is shocked to find more chests that have been broken open and bones scattered over the floor. With the discovery of the desecrated burial cave, the hidden crimes of colonisation are brought to light. Unlike colonial Gothic that tends to represent Maori culture as threatening, Nicks’s story represents the forces contained in the cave as a catalyst for a beneficial transformative experience: I do remember the cyclone of malign energy from the abyss gibbering and leering; a flame of terror burning in every cell of my body; a deluge of shrieking unreason threatening to wash away the bare shred that was left of my mind. Yet even as each hellish new dimension yawned before me, defying the limits even of imagination, the fragments of my shattered sanity were being drawn together somehow, and reassembled in novel configurations. To each proposition of demonic impossibility there was a surging, answering wave of kaleidoscopic truth. (19) Although the story replicates colonial writing’s tendency to represent indigenous culture in terms of the irrational and demonic, the authenticity and power of the narrator’s experience is stressed. When he comes to consciousness following an enlightenment that sees him acknowledging that the truth of existence is a limitless space “filled with deep coruscations of beauty and joy” (20) he knows what he must do. Returning to the cottage, the narrator takes several days to search the house and finally finds what he is looking for: a steel box that contains “stolen skulls” (20). The narrator concludes that the “Trophies” (20) buried in the collapsed outhouse are the cause for the “Dark, inexplicable moods, nightmares, hallucinations – spirits, ghosts, demons” that “would have plagued anyone who attempted to remain in this strange, cursed region” (20). Once the narrator returns the remains to the burial cave, the inexplicable events cease and the once-strange house becomes an ideal home for a writer seeking peace in which to work. The colonial Gothic mode in New Zealand utilises the Gothic’s concern with a haunting past in order to associate that past with the primitive and barbaric. By rendering Maori culture in Gothic terms, such as in Maning’s blood-splattered scene of grieving or through the spooky discoveries of bone-strewn caves, colonial writing compares an “uncivilised” indigenous culture with the “civilised” culture of European settlement. For a contemporary writer wishing to produce a New Zealand supernatural horror, the colonial Gothic is a problematic tradition to work from, but Nicks’s story succeeds in utilising tropes associated with colonial writing in order to reverse its ideologies. “The House” represents European settlement in terms of barbarity by representing a brutal desecration of sacred ground, while indigenous culture is represented in positive, if frightening, terms of truth and power. Colonial Gothic’s tendency to associate indigenous culture with violence, barbarism and superstition is certainly replicated in Nicks’s story through the frightening object that attempts to devour the narrator and the macabre burial chests shaped like monsters, but ultimately it is colonial violence that is most overtly condemned, with the power inhabiting the burial cave being represented as ultimately benign, at least towards an intruder who means no harm. More significantly, there is no attempt in the story to explain events that seem outside the understanding of Western rationality. The story accepts as true what the narrator experiences. Nevertheless, in spite of the explicit engagement with the return of repressed crimes associated with colonisation, Nicks’s engagement with the mode of colonial Gothic means there is a replication of some of its underlying notions relating to settlement and belonging. The narrator of Nicks’s story is a contemporary New Zealander who is placed in the position of rectifying colonial crimes in order to take up residence in a site effectively cleansed of the sins of the past. Nicks’s narrator cannot happily inhabit the colonial cottage until the stolen remains are returned to their rightful place and it seems not to occur to him that a greater theft might underlie the smaller one. Returning the stolen skulls is represented as a reasonable action in “The House”, and it is a way for the narrator to establish what Linda Hardy refers to as “natural occupancy,” but the notion of returning a house and land that might also be termed stolen is never entertained, although the story’s final sentence does imply the need for the continuing placation of the powerful indigenous forces that inhabit the land: “To make sure that things stay [peaceful] I think I may just keep this story to myself” (20). The fact that the narrator has not kept the story to himself suggests that his untroubled occupation of the colonial cottage is far more tenuous than he might have hoped. References Ballantyne, David. Sydney Bridge Upside Down. Melbourne: Text, 2010. Bannister, Bronwyn. Haunt. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2000. Calder, Alex. “F. E. Maning 1811–1883.” Kotare 7. 2 (2008): 5–18. Chapman, R. H. 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The Redemption of Elsdon Bird. New York: Grove Press, 1987. Walpole, Horace. The Castle of Otranto. London: Penguin, 2010. Wevers, Lydia. “The Short Story.” The Oxford History of New Zealand Literature in English. Ed. Terry Sturm. Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1991: 203–70.