How To Market And Sell Ebooks

Posted on 18 October 2011 by

How To Market And Sell Ebooks
The Most Complete Guide To Selling Ebooks Online. This Ebook Contains 290 Pages, Divided Into 35 Chapters Covering Topics Such As Where To Sell, How To Sell, Payment Methods, Publicity, Reviews, Social Media Marketing, And Much More.
How To Market And Sell Ebooks

How To Sell Stock Photos
Earn .00 Per Sale On A Great New Product That Has Been Selling For 12 Weeks On A Test Basis (77 Copies Sold At Time Of Writing) And Has Received 0 Returns! This Ebook Shows Anyone How To Earn A Great Income With Their Camera Regardless Of Experience!
How To Sell Stock Photos

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How to sell beats without the pipe Dream

Posted on 17 October 2011 by

Big Grime giving it to you straight. How to sell beats is not easy. Not ebook is going to help you make a living selling beats. Here’s why.
Video Rating: 4 / 5

If you are a PRODUCER that needs a WEBSITE? if you dont have the time nor the money to spend for someone to build your site, If you are a producer I found a site that provides a website for you for cheap that you can edit in your liking. I had decide that this was the best choices for me, didnt really want to spend the time day end and day out trying to make a website or having to learn html or css, Purchasing a beat website was pretty much the best choices I can make. CLICK LINK tinyurl.com I can now take control of my beat sells, here are a few features You can use your own domain, shopping cart, voice tag for your beats, content management system, custom media player, post unlimited video’s, set beat discounts, add adsense banners to make more money, customer tracking. For much more Click Link tinyurl.com
Video Rating: 5 / 5

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Cool Sell Beats images

Posted on 12 October 2011 by

Some cool sell beats images:

Youth Culture – Mods & Rockers 1960s – 1970s
sell beats

Image by brizzle born and bred
Youth Culture – Mods – Late 1950s to Mid 1960s

Mod (from modernist) is a subculture that originated in London, England in the late 1950s and peaked in the early-to-mid 1960s.

Significant elements of the mod subculture include: fashion (often tailor-made suits); pop music, including African American soul, Jamaican ska, and British beat music and R&B; and Italian motor scooters.

The original mod scene was also associated with amphetamine-fuelled all-night dancing at clubs. From the mid-to-late 1960s onwards, the mass media often used the term mod in a wider sense to describe anything that was believed to be popular, fashionable or modern.

There was a mod revival in the United Kingdom in the late 1970s, which was followed by a mod revival in North America in the early 1980s, particularly in Southern California.

Coffee bars were attractive to youths, because in contrast to typical British pubs, which closed at about 11 pm, they were open until the early hours of the morning. Coffee bars had jukeboxes, which in some cases reserved some of the space in the machines for the students’ own records. In the late 1950s, coffee bars were associated with jazz and blues, but in the early 1960s, they began playing more R&B music.

By the summer of 1966, the mod scene was in sharp decline. Dick Hebdige argues that the mod subculture lost its vitality when it became commercialised, artificial and stylised to the point that new mod clothing styles were being created "from above" by clothing companies and by TV shows like Ready Steady Go!, rather than being developed by young people customising their clothes and mixing different fashions together.

As psychedelic rock and the hippie subculture grew more popular in the United Kingdom, many people drifted away from the mod scene. Bands such as The Who and Small Faces had changed their musical styles and no longer considered themselves mods.

Another factor was that the original mods of the early 1960s were getting into the age of marriage and child-rearing, which meant that they no longer had the time or money for their youthful pastimes of club-going, record-shopping and scooter rallies.

The peacock or fashion wing of mod culture evolved into the swinging London scene and the hippie style, which favored the gentle, marijuana-infused contemplation of esoteric ideas and aesthetics, which contrasted sharply with the frenetic energy of the mod ethos.

The hard mods of the mid-to-late 1960s eventually transformed into the skinheads. Many of the hard mods lived in the same economically depressed areas of South London as West Indian immigrants, and those mods emulated the rude boy look of pork pie hats and too-short Levis jeans.

These "aspiring ‘white negros’" listened to Jamaican ska and mingled with black rude boys at West Indian nightclubs like Ram Jam, A-Train and Sloopy’s.

Dick Hebdige claims that the hard mods were drawn to black culture and ska music in part because the educated, middle-class hippie movement’s drug-oriented and intellectual music did not have any relevance for them.

He argues that the hard mods were also attracted to ska because it was a secret, underground, non-commercialised music that was disseminated through informal channels such as house parties and clubs. The early skinheads also liked soul, rocksteady and early reggae.

The early skinheads retained basic elements of mod fashion — such as Fred Perry and Ben Sherman shirts, Sta-Prest trousers and Levi’s jeans — but mixed them with working class-oriented accessories such as braces and Dr. Martens work boots.

Hebdige claims that as early as the Margate and Brighton brawls between mods and rockers, some mods were seen wearing boots and braces and sporting close cropped haircuts, which "artificially reproduces the texture and appearance of the short negro hair styles" (though this was as much for practical reasons, as long hair was a liability in industrial jobs and streetfights).

It was also a reaction to middle class hippie aesthetics.

Mods and ex-mods were also part of the early northern soul scene, a subculture based on obscure 1960s and 1970s American soul records.

Some mods evolved into, or merged with, subcultures such as individualists, stylists, and scooterboys, creating a mixture of "taste and testosterone" that was both self-confident and streetwise.

A mod revival started in the late 1970s in the United Kingdom, with thousands of mods attending scooter rallies in places like Scarborough and the Isle of Wight. This revival was partly inspired by the 1979 film Quadrophenia and by mod-influenced bands such as The Jam, Secret Affair, Purple Hearts and The Chords. Many of the mod revival bands were influenced by the energy of British punk rock and New Wave music.

The British revival was followed by a mod revival in North America in the early 1980s, particularly in Southern California, led by bands such as The Untouchables. The mod scene in Los Angeles and Orange County was partly influenced by the 2 Tone ska revival in England, and was unique in its racial diversity, with black, white, Hispanic and Asian participants.

The 1990s Britpop scene featured noticeable mod influences on bands such as Oasis, Blur, Ocean Colour Scene and The Verve.

Fashion

Jobling and Crowley called the mod subculture a "fashion-obsessed and hedonistic cult of the hyper-cool" young adults who lived in metropolitan London or the new towns of the south.

Due to the increasing affluence of post-war Britain, the youths of the early 1960s were one of the first generations that did not have to contribute their money from after-school jobs to the family finances.

As mod teens and young adults began using their disposable income to buy stylish clothes, the first youth-targeted boutique clothing stores opened in London in the Carnaby Street and Kings Road districts.

Maverick fashion designers emerged, such as Mary Quant, who was known for her increasingly short miniskirt designs, and John Stephen, who sold a line named "His Clothes", and whose clients included bands such as The Small Faces.

Two youth subcultures helped pave the way for mod fashion by breaking new ground; the beatniks, with their bohemian image of berets and black turtlenecks, and the Teddy Boys, from which mod fashion inherited its "narcissitic and fastidious [fashion] tendencies" and the immaculate dandy look.

The Teddy Boys paved the way for making male interest in fashion socially acceptable, because prior to the Teddy Boys, male interest in fashion in Britain was mostly associated with the underground homosexual subculture’s flamboyant dressing style.

The Royal Air Force roundel, was a mod symbol.

Newspaper accounts from the mid-1960s focused on the mod obsession with clothes, often detailing the prices of the expensive suits worn by young mods, and seeking out extreme cases such as a young mod who claimed that he would "go without food to buy clothes".

Jobling and Crowley argue that for working class mods, the subculture’s focus on fashion and music was a release from the "humdrum of daily existence" at their jobs.

Jobling and Crowley note that while the subculture had strong elements of consumerism and shopping, mods were not passive consumers; instead they were very self-conscious and critical, customising "existing styles, symbols and artefacts" such as the Union flag and the Royal Air Force roundel symbol, and putting them on their jackets in a pop art-style, and putting their personal signatures on their style.

The song "Dedicated Follower of Fashion" by The Kinks from 1966 jokes about the fashion obsession of the mod community.

Mod fashion adopted new Italian and French styles in part as a reaction to the rural and small-town rockers, who were seen as trapped in the 1950s, with their leather motorcycle clothes and American greaser look.

Male mods adopted a smooth, sophisticated look that emphasised tailor-made Italian suits (sometimes white) with narrow lapels, mohair clothes, thin ties, button-down collar shirts, wool or cashmere jumpers (crewneck or V-neck), pointed-toe leather shoes that were nicknamed winklepickers, as well as Chelsea or "Beatle" boots, Tassel Loafers,Clarks’ Desert Boots even Bowling shoes, and hairstyles that imitated the look of the French Nouvelle Vague cinema actors of the era, such as Jean-Paul Belmondo.

A few male mods went against gender norms of the era by enhancing their appearance with eye shadow, eyepencil or even lipstick.

Female mods dressed androgynously, with short haircuts, men’s trousers or shirts (sometimes their boyfriend’s), flat shoes, and little makeup — often just pale foundation, brown eye shadow, white or pale lipstick and false eyelashes.

Female mods pushed the boundaries of parental tolerance with their miniskirts, which got progressively shorter between the early and mid-1960s.

As female mod fashion went from an underground style to a more commercialised fashion, slender models like Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy began to exemplify the high-fashion mod look. The television programme Ready Steady Go!, presented by Cathy McGowan, helped to spread awareness of mod fashions and music to a larger audience.

Fishtail Parka

The Fishtail Parka was first used by the United States Army in 1951 to help protect soldiers from the elements in the Korean War.

There are two main styles of fishtail parkas; the M-51 fishtail parka; and the M-65. The M stands for military, and the number is the year it was standardized. The name fishtail comes from the fact that the coat is longer at the back than it is at the front. This was so the coat could be tied around the upper legs, much like a Knochensack for added wind proofing as they are not, as some think, waterproof. The hood of the M-51 Fishtail Parka is integral to the jacket and folds down inside the jacket collar when not in use.

The M-65 Fishtail parka has a detachable hood. Both types feature a removable liner. Designed primarily for combat arms forces such as infantry, they are to be worn over other layers of clothing; alone, the fishtail parka is insufficient to protect against "dry cold" (as used in the US military; see FM 31-70, Cold Weather Field Manual) conditions (i.e., below 14 deg. F.).

On the other hand, the N-3B parka has more integral insulation and can be worn alone in colder temperatures than the fishtail parka. Because it has less insulation but is designed to fit loosely, it allows infantry more latitude to add or subtract layers underneath to adapt to changing weather or situational conditions than that allowed by the N-3B parka, which was designed for aircrews who typically worked under more static weather and geographic conditions.

With proper additional insulating garments in the US military inventory, one can remain warm with the fishtail parka in -60 deg. F. temperatures. The fishtail parka has been replaced in the US military by the Extended Cold Weather Clothing System (ECWCS).

In the 1960s UK, the fishtail parka became a symbol of the mod subculture. Due to their practicality, cheapness and availability from army surplus shops, the parka was seen as the ideal garment for fending off the elements when on the mod’s vehicle of choice, the scooter. Its place in popular culture was assured by newspaper pictures of parka-clad mods during the Bank Holiday riots of the 1960s.

Brutus

Brutus Jeans is a British clothing company founded in 1966 by brothers Keith and Alan Freedman, who were 18 and 17 years old at the time, respectively.

The company started with one style of sweater and kept adding to the range, which eventually included shirts and jeans (for both men and women). The brand was very popular in the 1960′s and 1970s with skinheads, Mod’s and the football crowds. They won awards for their TV advertising, and had a hit record with one of the jingles called "Jeans On" (performed by David Dundas).

Ben Sherman

Ben Sherman is a British based clothing company, designing shirts, suits, shoes, accessories and other items that are, in common with many British brands, now made overseas, largely in the Far East. Their designs sometimes feature the Royal Air Force roundel which is often called the mod target. Some of the recent Ben Sherman shirts have unusual and complex designs, and have a Carnaby-style fit. The company makes clothing predominantly for men.

Crombie

A Crombie coat is a three-quarter length, usually wool, overcoat. It is named after the company Crombie (also known as J&J Crombie), although not all coats known as Crombies are made by that company. Starting in the late 1960s or early 1970s, Crombie-style coats were popular within the skinhead and suedehead subcultures, although very few skinheads would have been able to afford a new Crombie brand coat. Crombies were also fashionable among some mods, who saw them as a stylish item of clothing that enhanced their clean-cut image. It was an alternative to the popular fishtail parka or trenchcoat.

The Crombie company, which produces high-end wool and tweed clothing, was founded in Aberdeen, Scotland in 1805. The Grandholm Woollen Mill in Aberdeen was the A-listed factory building where Crombie’s clothing was originally made, although production at that site ceased in 1990. In 2005 it was converted into a residential project by the Cala Group.

The Crombie Woollen Mill is now an Indian Restaurant called The Spice Mill. They specialise in Indian fusion cuisine and have maintained the original elements of the factory.

Scooters

Scooters were chosen over motorbikes because scooters’ use of bodypanelling and concealed moving parts made them cleaner and less likely to stain an expensive suit with grease.

Scootering led to the wearing of military parkas to protect costly suits and trousers from mud and rain.

Many mods used motorscooters for transportation, usually Vespas or Lambrettas. Scooters had provided inexpensive transportation for decades before the development of the mod subculture, but the mods stood out in the way that they treated the vehicle as a fashion accessory.

Italian scooters were preferred due to their cleanlined, curving shapes and gleaming chrome. For young mods, Italian scooters were the "embodiment of continental style and a way to escape the working-class row houses of their upbringing".

They customised their scooters by painting them in "two-tone and candyflake and overaccessorized [them] with luggage racks, crash bars, and scores of mirrors and fog lights", and they often put their names on the small windscreen.

Engine side panels and front bumpers were taken to local electroplating workshops and recovered in highly reflective chrome.

Scooters were also a practical and accessible form of transportation for 1960s teens. In the early 1960s, public transport stopped relatively early in the night, and so having scooters allowed mods to stay out all night at dance clubs.

To keep their expensive suits clean and keep warm while riding, mods often wore long army parkas. For teens with low-end jobs, scooters were cheaper than cars, and they could be bought on a payment plan through newly-available Hire purchase plans.

After a law was passed requiring at least one mirror be attached to every motorcycle, mods were known to add four, ten, or as many as 30 mirrors to their scooters. The cover of The Who’s album Quadrophenia, (which includes themes related to mods and rockers), depicts a young man on a Vespa GS with four mirrors attached.

After the seaside resort brawls, the media began to associate Italian scooters with the image of violent mods. When groups of mods rode their scooters together, the media began to view it as a "menacing symbol of group solidarity" that was "converted into a weapon".

With events like the November 6, 1966, "scooter charge" on Buckingham Palace, the scooter, along with the mods’ short hair and suits, began to be seen as a symbol of subversion.

After the 1964 beach riots, hard mods (who later evolved into the skinheads) began riding scooters more for practical reasons. Their scooters were either unmodified or cut down, which was nicknamed a "skelly".

Lambrettas were cutdown to the bare frame, and the unibody (monocoque)-design Vespas had their body panels slimmed down or reshaped.

Mods & Rockers

The Mods and Rockers were two conflicting British youth subcultures of the early-mid 1960s. Gangs of mods and rockers fighting in 1964 sparked a moral panic about British youths, and the two groups were seen as folk devils.

The rockers adopted a macho biker gang image, wearing clothes such as black leather jackets.

The mods adopted a pose of scooter-driving sophistication, wearing suits and other cleancut outfits. By late 1966, the two subcultures had faded from public view and media attention turned to two new emerging youth subcultures — the hippies and the skinheads.

Rockers, who wore leather jackets and rode heavy motorcycles, poured scorn on the mods, who often wore suits and rode scooters. The rockers considered mods to be weedy, effeminate snobs, and mods saw rockers as out of touch, oafish and grubby.

Mod or Rocker – ‘You had to be one or the other ‘

The Mods had designer suits, Italian scooters and The Who. Rockers had leathers, motorbikes and Elvis.

For a few years in the early 1960s, the two groups represented a sharp division in British youth culture.

Their rivalry often spilled over into violence, and the 1964 holiday weekend clashes in resort towns on the south coast terrorised local residents and outraged much of the nation.

But soon after the seaside riots of 1964, this volatile split in British teen life faded away.

Musically, there was not much common ground. Rockers listened to 1950s rock and roll, mostly by white American artists such as Elvis Presley, Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran.

Elvis, The King of Rock & Roll
Beatles
Stones
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
The Doors
Blind Faith
Credence Clearwater Revival
Jethro Tull
Pink Floyd
Moody Blues
Deep Purple
Jefferson Airplane
Cream
Steppenwolf
Procol Harem
The Byrds
Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention

Mods generally favoured 1960s rhythm and blues, soul and ska by black American and Jamaican musicians, as well as British R&B/beat groups such as The Who, The Small Faces and The Yardbirds.

In the United Kingdom, rockers were often engaged in brawls with mods.

BBC News stories from May 1964 stated that mods and rockers were jailed after riots in seaside resort towns on the south coast of England, such as Margate, Brighton, Bournemouth and Clacton.

Were you a Mod or a Rocker? Do you have any stories from that era?

See Mod Links Below

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/3353594076/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/5004064473/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/3658869353/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/4316146588/

See My Other Youth Culture Links Below

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/4082458089/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/5130733677/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/5130851019/

www.flickr.com/photos/brizzlebornandbred/5131064113/

Mods & Rockers on Video

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zn5vYOwCTak

www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEW56xumtq4

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Nice Sell Beats photos

Posted on 11 October 2011 by

A few nice sell beats images I found:

Beaten Cuff 3
sell beats

Image by gutshot45_70
I made these to sell, but I’m honestly tempted to keep this one.

Beaten Cuff 1
sell beats

Image by gutshot45_70
I made these to sell, but I’m honestly tempted to keep this one.

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How To Sell Beats Much Easier

Posted on 08 October 2011 by

Many people tend to ask me how to sell beats online in an automated way that makes beat selling seem simple and clean. Instead of using the old style of selling beats, meaning you put in a whole lot of labor and basically get nothing in return, you can use some simple yet effective tactics to start raking in the money while trying to sell beats online.

If you want to start beat selling, selling beats on the internet and making money online, you may find that it’s going to be a little bit easier than you might have first believed. Using a site like Soundclick can become very expensive, especially if you’re trying to pay for their highly priced advertisements all the time (which is the easiest way to rank for the charts, but sometimes it doesn’t bring sales in which makes it a very risky venture). You really have to have your branding in place if you expect to compete on these charts, that’s the truth. Maximizing effectiveness is all about bringing your costs down to a minimum (as close to free as you can get) while still promoting yourself effectively and without annoying your potential clients.

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The best way to sell beats online effectively is to use SEO mixed with article marketing. These are both free methods of gaining highly targeted will-buy kind of traffic. Achieving high ranks in search engines such as Google is easy to do and can be done using article marketing to its full potential. The thing is, you’ll have to do an insane amount of work (at first) if you want to achieve some great results using SEO. Quite frankly, it’s more work than most people are willing to put in… Especially with the amount of research you must do in order to optimize your campaign from the start.

First you need an article spinner. I use Unique Article Wizard but the price is monthly and it’s sort of expensive. There are free article spinners to be found online, and many of them aren’t half bad. Once you’ve found one, you need to write articles, spin them and distribute a newly spun article to every article submission site which you can come across. For you this is music blogs and article directories. Also, make sure the articles you write are related to your niche (buying beats) and don’t hold back on quality.

Building back links is the way to go if you want to rank for the SEO charts on Google, and to do that all you need to do is submit your articles! But also make sure that the article links to your site in the resource box and the link should be an anchor text… Meaning if you want to rank for the keyword ‘buy beats’, be sure to make ‘buy beats’ the anchor texts for your beat selling article.

When you write your articles, also include lots of LSI keywords. This means keywords related to your main keyword but not the same. For instance, LSI keywords for ‘buy beats’ would be ‘purchase beats’, ‘buying beats’, ‘how to buy beats’, etc.

Find a list online of the top 30 or 50 article submission sites and get to work. You’re not going to see much happening at first in terms of traffic, but it’s a great way to sustainably build your business and traffic score, slowly but surely. Not to mention that getting a top 5 spot in Google for some competitive keywords is a great way to really make money online.

Learn more about How to Sell Beats. Click these links right here to learn to Sell Beats Online today.


Article from articlesbase.com

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Nice Sell Your Beats photos

Posted on 04 October 2011 by

Some cool sell your beats images:

my life’s logos v.2
sell your beats

Image by captcreate
More logos, this time approximately 275 give or take 10. I also put a Waldo from Where’s Waldo? in this collage. I also accidentally put 2 Mack truck logos, find em both. lol Try finding him ;) Rated PG-13 lol Feel free to add sarcastic notes to logos you know lol.

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Sell My Beats online

Posted on 30 September 2011 by

Online Beat Selling Training for Music produders

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* Sell beats * how to sell beats * buy beats. International-Beat.com

Posted on 10 September 2011 by

www.International-Beat.com www.blog.International-Beat.com sell and buy beats online * Sell beats * how to sell beats * buy beats.
Video Rating: 5 / 5

Big Grime talks about these how to sell beats ebooks. Not directed at anyone personally but, this is how I feel. I wrote a blog about Email marketing for music artist and producers. Check it out there is some good info — bit.ly Big Grime Sign up to my fan list to get free beats at www.reverbnation.com OFFICAL SITE www.biggrime.net MYSPACE http REVERBNATION www.reverbnation.com TWITTER www.twitter.com SOUDNCLICK www.soundclick.com Pure Volume www.purevolume.com iLike www.ilike.com Facebook www.facebook.com thesixtyone www.thesixtyone.com
Video Rating: 5 / 5

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SELLING BEATS AND MUSIC MAKING MONEY ONLINE SELL MP3 MEDIA HOW TO TIPS ADVICE EBOOK

Posted on 24 August 2011 by

tiny.cc DOWNLOAD MY NEW EBOOK LEARN HOW TO MARKET AND SELL ALL YOUR MEDIA FAST AND EFFECTIVELY I GIVE YOU A LIST OF TONS OF FREE SITES AND TEACH YOU HOW TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THEM. THE STUFF OTHER PEOPLE LEAVE OUT BECAUSE THEY DONT KNOW! LEARN HOW TO GET FREE TRAFFIC! HOW TO MAKE SURE YOUR CUSTOMERS REMEMBER YOU AND TALK ABOUT YOU! GETTING POPULAR ON YOUTUBE TWITTER AND FACEBOOK. OVER 100 TIPS AND RESOURCES YOUR GETTING THE ULTIMATE MANUAL THIS IS IT THE GAME IN YOUR HANDS! FOR ONLY START TAKING YOUR BUSINESS SERIOUSLY!

Beatwebsites.com – Set up your own squeeze page as a beat maker selling beats online and build you a massive email list. This is key to Selling Beats with as a music producer online.
Video Rating: 5 / 5

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Nice How To Sell Beats photos

Posted on 17 July 2011 by

A few nice how to sell beats images I found:

mysterious house in Oxford
how to sell beats

Image by Gary Bridgman
It’s called the Kennedy-Price-Shaw House: Jackson Ave. E. at 17th St. A longtime resident told me that it reminds her of Faulkner’s short story "A Rose for Emily"

Here’s the article I wrote that the other Oxford photos (see below) were supposed to accompany:

From BOOK magazine, January 2001
Yoknapatourism
by GARY BRIDGMAN

Faulkner may have put Oxford, Mississippi on the literary map, but he’s not the only reason it stayed there.

MOST OF THE entry points into beautiful and bookish Oxford, Mississippi, are disguised–guarded even–by the landmarks common to the sub-rural South: strip malls in varying degrees of decay; doublewide mobile homes for sale, still in their clear wrappers; food-mart filling stations selling more heat-lamped grease than motor oil.

Closer to the center of this town of 10,000 people, the Lafayette County Courthouse and its grounds, along with the shops and businesses surrounding it, comprise one of the most enjoyable–even hip–public spaces in the Deep South. William Faulkner described the setting famously in Requiem for a Nun:

Above all, the courthouse, the center, the focus, the hub sitting looming in the center of the county’s circumference, like a single cloud in the ring of the horizon.

Infused with the youthful vigor and economy of a university town, while enjoying a reputation as a writers community, Oxford actually lives up to its predictable chamber-of-commerce hype about "small-town charm with big-city amenities." The body-pierced kids behind the coffee counters on the square know how to look cool and bored, just like everywhere else, but their soft drawls on "yes, sir" and "no, ma’am" tend to betray their Southern manners.

So is Oxford where Mayberry collides with Greenwich Village? Hardly. Bantam-weight millionaires who keep vacation homes just for Ole Miss (University of Mississippi) football weekends have recast it as more of a moonlight-and-magnolia Aspen. And some parts of it are more Mayberry than Mayberry ever was. There is still a barber shop, a shoe-shine place and Gathright-Reed Drug Company, which was one of the first places in Oxford to sell Faulkner’s books.

And every once in a while, you may still see a couple of old men sitting on a bench in the shadow of the courthouse.

"Fortunately, life in Oxford changes just a little bit, and the old, funky stuff isn’t disappearing too fast," says Richard Howorth, owner of the town’s well-known and well-regarded Square Books. [author's note: He's now Mayor Richard Howorth.]

The literary feel is impressive and pervasive. A few years back, author Rick Bass stopped by Square Books to read and sign Where the Sea Used to Be. In the middle of answering a question, he spotted local novelist Barry Hannah near the back of the audience. "Shit! There’s Barry Hannah!" he said, looking almost embarrassed to be standing behind a podium in his presence. "You all don’t know what you’ve got here."

The vibrant literary life of Oxford began within the feverish imagination of William Cuthbert Faulkner, who arrived there as a boy with his family when his father took a job at the University of Mississippi in 1902. From 1924 to 1962, he produced experimental prose, written mainly in Oxford and about Oxford, although he dubbed his backyard universe "Yoknapatawpha County."

His home was Rowan Oak, which has become something of a thinking person’s Graceland. One of the oldest structures in Oxford, this Greek Revival fixer-upper on Old Taylor Road was built in the 1840s by a Colonel Shegog. Faulkner bought the crumbling house, then known as the Bailey Place in 1930 and slowly refurbished it. (Faulkner promptly renamed the house after the Rowan tree, a small tree found in Scotland, England and Ireland that he had read was a Celtic symbol for good luck. There has never been a Rowan tree on the property.)

Faulkner’s daughter sold Rowan Oak to the university in 1972 so it could become a place for people from all over the world to learn about her father’s work. The best room to see is Faulkner’s study, where his Underwood typewriter sits and where his handwritten outline of the plot of A Fable is still legible on the walls.

"Younger people are more interested in Faulkner’s writing while the older people are more into the history, architecture and the grounds," said Bill Griffith, Rowan Oak’s curator. "I know I’m doing my tour right when the old guys start asking me what they should read."

A former Rowan Oak docent, Jim Higgins, tells a funny story about one busload of senior citizens who arrived on a tour from a casino in nearby Tunica County, Mississippi. A woman walked up to Higgins and demanded to see the swimming pool "where his wife drowned last year." Knowing that Estelle Faulkner had died of natural causes decades earlier and that there had never been a pool at Rowan Oak, Higgins was mystified by the request until he realized that the woman thought this was the home of William Shatner.

Faulkner’s grave, usually festooned with coins, flowers and whiskey bottles, is the other popular Faulkner pilgrimage site (in St. Peter’s Cemetery–look for the historical marker on Avent Street off Jefferson Avenue).

Mr. Bill, as locals knew him, was widely praised and often misunderstood. He died in 1962 and was quickly replaced as the town’s most famous living resident by James Meredith, the first black student at Ole Miss.

The deadly riots that followed Meredith’s enrollment in the fall of 1962 branded the community as a bastion of racial hatred, which didn’t seem to bother most white Mississippians. The only writers hanging around the town were journalists who slept with their shoes on. Today, that image has faded just enough to make it more interesting than dangerous. Bob Dylan described the 1962 violence in his song "Oxford Town;" today Oxford Town is the name of the local newspaper’s weekly entertainment supplement.

The town was transformed from one writer’s town to a Writers’ Town around 1980, when native Mississippian Willie Morris ( North Toward Home, My Dog Skip) became the writer in residence at the university. He knew many renowned authors from his youthful tenure as editor of Harper’s during the 1960s and cajoled a few of them to come and read at Square Books, which Richard Howorth had opened a year earlier.

After Barry Hannah ( Airships, High Lonesome) joined Morris as a writer in residence in 1982, the two went on to instruct or encourage many nascent writers, including Donna Tartt ( The Secret History), John Grisham ( A Time to … well, you know) and Larry Brown (Dirty Work, Fay). Brown went on to teach fiction workshops himself at Ole Miss and later the University of Montana; Hannah went on to serve as interim director of the Iowa Writers Workshop on the heels of a Pulitzer Prize nomination; Grisham personally endowed the visiting Southern writer-in-residence program at Ole Miss.

Hannah, whose latest novel, Yonder Stands Your Orphan is due out in May, likes to ride around Oxford on his motorcycle when he’s not writing, teaching or tending to his six dogs. "For my friends who come here to visit, I recommend a very leisurely tour of Rowan Oak and Faulkner’s grave," Hannah says. "People get a lot of strength from those places. I always take friends down to Taylor for catfish. That’s a lovely trip and the food is excellent. Hell, you can know this town in forty-five minutes."

Perhaps a bit longer than 45 minutes, if you want to experience the University’s more significant cultural offerings for the literate traveler. The Center for the Study of Southern Culture, housed in the antebellum Barnard Observatory (whose telescope was intercepted in shipment by Union troops and now resides at Northwestern University) on Grove Loop, hosts special events that exhaustively explore all things Southern. The center co-sponsors the outstanding Oxford Conference for the Book with Square Books each April; the annual Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha Conference with the Ole Miss English department each August; and the Southern Foodways Symposium in October.

While you’re there, pop next door to Farley Hall and visit the Blues Archive. A few old brick buildings west of there, the J.D. Williams Library’s Archives and Special Collections Department displays the papers and mementos of William Faulkner and James Meredith, including Mr. Bill’s Nobel citation from 1950 (Faulkner’s 1949 Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded the following year).

Meanwhile, back at the square, visit Southside Gallery to see the excellent photographs Martin Dain took of Faulkner and Oxford in 1961 and 1962. There is a good selection of Southern and Cuban folk art as well.

Even aside from its central role in the development of Oxford as a literary hub and owner Richard Howorth’s prominence as past president of the American Booksellers Association, Square Books is simply a remarkable place to visit. If the courthouse is the heart of the square (and the bars at City Grocery and Ajax Diner are its liver), then its brain is Square Books. Potential employees must pass a literary awareness test, and once employed they are required to read and review new books. The ninety-foot-long balcony along the upstairs side of the store is the second-best people-watching spot on the square, after the balcony at the City Grocery restaurant.

Howorth’s quick advice for visitors is to tour the obvious places, then get out on your feet and ask some questions. "Before there was a tourism industry in Oxford, there was still tourism," Howorth says. "These people who came here knew how to see all this without being too obvious. They are the kind of people who will be able to encounter strangers and find out what’s going on."

Cesar’s Way
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Image by Earthworm
I’ve read a lot of leadership books and few of them inspired me as much as reading this first book by Cesar Milan. By the final chapters I was not only sold on his philosophy, I wanted to be him. The discipline of his methods in following dog protocol in order to establish his leadership is pure zen—the focus and the physicality of it, the be here now of it.

I also enjoyed his personal story which is the first third of the book. He grew up on a farm with working dogs and the way he described the Mexican attitude towards dogs reminded me a lot of how dogs are viewed in Thailand where a dog is the lowliest of animals. The pariah dogs that tourists run across just about anywhere are almost as much a topic of indignation as the sex trade. The Buddhist precept against killing any living thing forbids euthanasia of unwanted animals so people are in the habit of dropping them off at temples. (In Mexico where there is no such precept in Catholocism, people feel free to be openly cruel to animals. Same in the US one might add.)

A family anecdote here: My Aunty Lily who loved dogs, but couldn’t keep them anymore, started feeding the stray cats that would come around. My father didn’t like them hanging around so he ordered that they be taken to the temple. Later when he got throat cancer, he consulted a Thai psychic by phone to find out why he had been stricken thus. The psychic (who lived in the States) told him that the great cat spirit was mad at him for sending those cats to the temple. And the tree spirit that lived in the tree he cut down in his front yard in Menlo Park was mad at him too. In order to appease these angry spirits, he had to go to the temple (across the Bay in Fremont), make amends and ask the monks to invite the tree spirit to live in the other tree, only it was already occupied so further negotiations had to be made to allow the first to move in. When he got cancer again the psychic said it wasn’t his fault this time. What got me about this story was that the cats had a spirit that would speak up for them even though they, too, are pretty low on the Thai totem pole, not to mention that one could actually negotiate with tree spirits. And I thought tree spirits were just inhabitants of Thailand. (Try not to judge me too harshly on my animist streak. It’s not rational, but cultural.)

So Cesar Milan came to the states alone, as an illegal, for the express purpose of living his dream of becoming a dog trainer for Hollywood films despite having no English and being homeless. The novelty of this dream charmed me. He didn’t come, like most, to seek his fortune or get away from hardship. And then he rapidly achieves his dream (at least the part about working with dogs). People help him along the way hardly questioning his motives. When it become clear that his talent with difficult dogs is extraordinary he gets a real leg up. (This is the stuff that gets all the new age people going about how the universe will respond to your intentions.)

What he has to say about the state of dogs in America is as good a critique as any of the infantilized, neurotic, over pampering, consumerist culture we live in here. And then he sets out to cure what ails us, one dog at a time. We use this same phrase in my profession ie: we will help bring peace to the world one client at a time by helping people achieve peace in their homes and in their lives. Actually what he does with dog owners and dogs reminds me of the work that I do. The way it calls upon us to act instinctually in real time and provide solutions that make a difference immediately. This is part of the reason I so identified with him. (My client today had a meltdown and started to beat down all my suggestions, but I just stayed with her following her around and choosing my words carefully, until she worked herself from utter frustration to functionable without either of us loosing our dignity or her sending me home without a future appointment.)

He also inspired me to consider working with dogs so I could be privy to such a high level of interaction with an animal and as a way to enter a part of our culture that I haven’t experienced. I thought I was going to do that by having children, but gave that up in the process of vetting the project. I may not get to do this either. It depends on how I sort out my relationship with Catherine now that there is no cat to glue us together when we’re mad at each other.

Fáinleóga – Swallows (4)
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Image by Fergal of Claddagh (Gone to Poland till August!)
THE HAPPY PRINCE

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. He was very much admired indeed. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock," remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

"Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. "The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything."

"I am glad there is someone in the world who is quite happy," muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

"How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master, "you have never seen one."

"Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

"Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

"It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. "She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind." And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. "I admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also."

"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

"You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!" and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where shall I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

"I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air." So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. "What a curious thing!" he cried; "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw – Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

"Who are you?" he said.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched me."

"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep."

"What! Is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move."

"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad."

"I don’t think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. "It is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger."

"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered; "I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy."

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," said the boy, "I must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold."

"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "What a remarkable phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. "A swallow in winter!" And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

"To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Have you any commissions for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow. "To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water’s edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."

"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"

"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."

"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to weep.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up. "I am going to Egypt"! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."

"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her."

"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. "What a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he said, "so I will stay with you always."

"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."

"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince’s feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there."

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm. "How hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here," shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you."

"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.

"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is litttle beter than a beggar!"

"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.

"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor. "We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We must have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of myself."

"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. "This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away." So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me."

(Oscar Wilde)

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