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When a mysterious houseboat appears on the river Styx, it brings an
influx of famous souls who begin to flock towards the new favored
location. A House-Boat on the Styx is a series of different stories
that tie into one exciting narrative. Charon is a mythological
character who navigates the Styx river under the guidance of Hades.
The water acts as a border between the living world and the
afterlife. As a ferryman, Charon transports deceased souls across
the river into the underworld. When a new houseboat suddenly
arrives, he fears his services are no longer needed. The lost souls
are drawn to the boat and begin to mingle in its many rooms. Its
inhabitants include a variety of notable people from history and
popular folklore. A House-Boat on the Styx is a fantasy novel
that's set in the supernatural realm. It features familiar figures
from the past and present (up to 1895) who meet in a shared space.
It's filled with interactions that are humorous, intriguing and
more importantly, entertaining. With an eye-catching new cover, and
professionally typeset manuscript, this edition of A House-Boat on
the Styx is both modern and readable.
John Kendrick Bangs (1862 1922) was born in Yonkers, New York, and
is known for his work as an author, editor, and satirist. He worked
for "Life," a number of "Harper s" periodicals, and "Puck," perhaps
the foremost American humour magazine of its day. Inspired by the
fantasy of Lewis Carroll s "Alice," Bangs wrote "Rollo in
Emblemland" together with Charles Raymond Macauley in 1902. The
story tells of a young boy named Rollo who visits a strange country
peopled with symbols and icons emblems of culture like John Bull,
Uncle Sam, the Owl, the?Stork, Puck, Mr Punch, Father Time, Cupid,
and others. Macauley s line drawings are charming and some of the
verse in the book is reminiscent of Carroll s.
The trouble with Harrowby Hall was that it was haunted, and, what
was worse, the ghost did not content itself with merely appearing
at the bedside of the afflicted person who saw it, but persisted in
remaining there for one mortal hour before it would disappear. It
never appeared except on Christmas Eve, and then as the clock was
striking twelve, in which respect alone was it lacking in that
originality which in these days is a sine qua non of success in
spectral life. The owners of Harrowby Hall had done their utmost to
rid themselves of the damp and dewy lady who rose up out of the
best bedroom floor at midnight, but without avail. They had tried
stopping the clock, so that the ghost would not know when it was
midnight; but she made her appearance just the same, with that
fearful miasmatic personality of hers, and there she would stand
until everything about her was thoroughly saturated.
If we could only get used to the idea that ghosts are perfectly
harmless creatures, who are powerless to affect our well-being
unless we assist them by giving way to our fears, we should enjoy
the supernatural exceedingly, it seems to me. Coleridge, I think it
was, was once asked by a lady if he believed in ghosts, and he
replied, "No, madame; I have seen too many of them." Which is my
case exactly. I have seen so many horrid visitants from other
worlds that they hardly affect me at all, so far as the mere
inspiration of terror is concerned. On the other hand, they
interest me hugely; and while I must admit that I do experience all
the purely physical sensations that come from horrific encounters
of this nature, I can truly add in my own behalf that mentally I
can rise above the physical impulse to run away, and, invariably
standing my ground, I have gained much useful information
concerning them.
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