CRAIG CONLEY (Prof. Oddfellow) is recognized by Encarta as “America’s most creative and diligent scholar of letters, words and punctuation.” He has been called a “language fanatic” by Page Six gossip columnist Cindy Adams, a “cult hero” by Publisher’s Weekly, a “monk for the modern age” by George Parker, and “a true Renaissance man of the modern era, diving headfirst into comprehensive, open-minded study of realms obscured or merely obscure” by Clint Marsh. An eccentric scholar, Conley’s ideas are often decades ahead of their time. He invented the concept of the “virtual pet” in 1980, fifteen years before the debut of the popular “Tamagotchi” in Japan. His virtual pet, actually a rare flower, still thrives and has reached an incomprehensible size. Conley’s website is OneLetterWords.com.
We dug up a quotation to help explain the illustration (from Punch, 1842):
"Many scholars do not use the term 'doll' for the ritual figures used by adult women, due to a belief that this association with children's toys trivializes the ritual figures." —Philip M. Peek, African Folklore: An Encyclopedia
Note the astonishing typographic art in this mangled scan from Google Books. The scanner's fingers have been transformed into textual kaleidoscopes. The page in question is from Cornhill magazine, 1865.
Here's "the genius of the cork," the imp of drunkenness ("angel or devil according to contending moralists") who sits with every solitary drinker, taking not a drop himself but telling stories and singing songs and filling your gaping pockets with ideal gold. (Punch, 1842). This should also be of interest:How to Believe in Your Elf.
This illustration from Cornhill (1880) isn't especially remarkable except for the fact that it depicts one of those decisive moments in which everything is changed. (Frederic Tuten is a master at handling such turning points; see his Self Portraits: Fictions.)
John Leech sketched this for a tale about a clown who had to crack jokes in a circus while his wife was in her dying agonies after fatally missing her footing on a leap from a standing position on horseback; the rip in the hoop is meant to suggest the initial letter I of the story. From Cornhill magazine, 1864.