This site is a group of individuals sharing thoughts, stories, and passages together on one site. Peruse, join the conversation by comment, and enjoy. 

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In the Highlands, Scotland

In the Highland, Scotland
Watercolor on paper, 1869
Edwin Aaron Penley 




The Great Western Railway Night Mail

"The Great Western Railway Night Mail"

Oil on Board, 1913

J.G. Woodford

"In the name of the Empress of India, make way,

  O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam.

The woods are astir at the close of the day --

  We exiles are waiting for letters from Home.

Let the robber retreat -- let the tiger turn tail --

In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!"

--Rudyard Kippling, from "The Overland Mail"

To read the rest of the poem, click here but not here.


Enoch Arden


Enoch Arden
Watercolor heightened with bodycolour, 1924 
George Goodwin Kilburne

The custom has been for the pieces in this Oil section to be paired with a literary passage or other medium to help flesh out both. However, in the case when the painting is actually based on a literary work we are free to break this bond in order to not lesson the former with the later (or vice-versa). So here, unrestrained by a rather disheartening work, is a lovely scene on which to write a new story. Have at it.


For simple reference here is the narrative poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson of the same title. 


A Woodland Dance

A Woodland Dance

Oil on Canvas

Thomas Stothard (1755-1834)

"'Some people think it is not proper for a clergyman to dance. I mean to assert my freedom from any such law. If our Lord chose to represent, in His parable of the Prodigal Son, the joy in Heaven over a repentant sinner by the figure of 'music and dancing,' I will hearken to Him rather than to men, be they as good as they may.'
      For I had long thought that the way to make indifferent things bad, was for good people not to do them."

--George MacDonald, Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood

The School Walk


Der Schulspaziergang
Albert Anker

One lovely Saturday, I had been out all the morning. I had not walked far, for I had sat in the various places longer than I had walked, my path lying through fields and copses, crossing a country road only now and then. I had my Greek Testament with me, and I read when I sat, and thought when I walked. I remember well enough that I was going to preach about the cloud of witnesses, and explain to my people that this did not mean persons looking at, witnessing our behaviour—not so could any addition be made to the awfulness of the fact that the eye of God was upon us—but witnesses to the truth, people who did what God wanted them to do, come of it what might, whether a crown or a rack, scoffs or applause; to behold whose witnessing might well rouse all that was human and divine in us to chose our part with them and their Lord.—When I came home, I had an early dinner, and then betook myself to my Saturday's resort.—I had never had a room large enough to satisfy me before. Now my study was to my mind.

-George MacDonal from Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood


Eric Tippin wrote on this very theme not so long ago here but certainly not here