Barista reports on a fascinating experiment involving selection of Siberian foxes simple for friendliness, which has produced social intelligence within about 30 generations. (The foxes follow a human gesture and gaze to find food, something their “wild” cousins can’t do.)

This might have implications for human evolution – if you became calmer, less aggressive, more friendly to others, then social intelligence might follow. It is a bit of a jump but it seems feasible to me.

I’ve read many books trying to imagine early communities of Homo sapiens sapiens (and indeed Neanderthals) and have always thought that those, such as Jean Auel’s, that posit a basically co-operative society are far more believable than those the Hobbesian ones (eg the Gears People of the Wolf).

And indeed I believe that anthropological studies suggest that humans who live in small bands are very seldom physically violent.

* You’ll never look at a bee in the same way again after this article.

Did you know that for many centuries it was believed that bees practiced “Christian chastity”, and that Christopher Wren and John Evelyn together tried, and failed, to produce the perfect hive?

(Since alliteration is the last refuge of the sub-editor out of ideas.)

* Voltaire’s Garden: The philosopher as a campaigner for human rights, which contains the lovely paragraph …

“Ferney watches became the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream of the later Enlightenment, a luxury good that was also a sign of progressive values.”

There’s nothing new about FairTrade, it seems. It has also inspired me to go in search of Nancy Mitford’s Voltaire in Love, since I really must learn more about Mme du Châtelet.

* Freemasonic Symbolism and Georgian Gardens, which makes me wonder about the architectural drawings by the future George IV in the recent palace exhibition.

* The issues in translation. An explanation of how lecturers choose translations – particularly of Homer and Herodotus – provides an interesting contrast of styles, and a challenging Humanities 101 reading list.

* Women’s role in technology: Did you know that Florence Nightingale invented the pie chart? (I confess that I didn’t.) And the article doesn’t mention Harvard once, for those who’ve got a bit sick of the Larry Summers argument. If you haven’t, here’s a lovely piece that gives his comments a C-minus grade, which seems to be about the guy’s intellectual level.

* A list of George Bush’s killings before he became president; you never know when it might come in useful. (Hat-tip to Media girl.)

* And a terrifying account of the behaviour of the world’s rogue superpower.

I couldn’t resist sharing a little more Thomas Burke, for the following character sketch reminds me very much of my grandmother, not for reasons of class, for she clung resolutely to all possible signs of middle-class respectability, but for the narrow horizons and the determination to see the best in even the most apparently awful circumstances …

I also know exactly the spot on Wanstead flats that he is talking about, although there are no trams there now. I used to walk Beanie there sometimes – in fact it is where she had her last country walk, and it hasn’t changed much – although it does smell rather nice when the gorse is in flower.

Granny Simpson was just such another, but in a softer key. She never stood up to life. She accepted, without complaint and without appreciation ; and she is now in “the house.”

The stunted trees give it an air of desolation. Granny stands and sniffs and sniffs. “Different air out here altogether. Country air, life. And what a fine view. Well, God is good, bless ‘Is ‘eart, letting me get out ‘ere. And, if I was a real lady, I’d come and sit out ‘ere every day!”(pp. 143-6)

(On mothers see also my post on Rachel Speght’s poem.)

Just discovered the writer Thomas Burke, through a random selection at the London Library of his The London Spy, 1922.

It is a wander around the streets, with a strong focus on the East End and the seamier sides of life, typical of his work – in fact he was the perfect “hack” – said in an entirely non-pejorative way – he reworks the same material four times: as fiction, as essays, as poetry, and as a flaneur. This site has a short biography and a complete copy of his The Song Book of Quong Lee (poetry).

His topic and tone can be very “modern”, as in An Upright Man and Exchange of Compliments.

Also a nice piece of prose, The Russian Quarter (which was Brick Lane). If you fancy a bit of classical melodrama there’s The chink and the child.

As those suggest, much of his London is long gone, although it seems every bit as multicultural as today’s.

Some snippets that took my fancy:

The Ivy
(which seems to be in the same place as today’s restaurant of that name)
“Even when I can afford to lunch or dine there (and I seldom can) I miss the welcome that was mine when it was in its beginning days. Only the very regular or very expensive customer gets that now.
Instead of being ushered to the old corner-table on the ground floor, by the window, I am sent upstairs. You see, the Ivy is now successful and famous, and I do it no credit. When it first opened, under the original ownership, it was only one room with a bare floor and a few mural decorations and you could dine there for two shillings.
Now it has acquired the whole corner block and wears oak panelling, thick carpets and shaded lights for each table. Formerly it was the haunt of hard-up gentlemen of the theatre; now it is crowded with plutocratic ‘stars’ and the smart people who affect that company.” (p. 28)

Lovers’ lanes
“Wherever there is a square or alley or remote corner, they discover it, and make it the scene of their last caresses; and most couples have a special corner of their own … These spots you may locate in the morning. Clues are left for the observant, and the chief clue is — hairpins. On this evidence I judge the Mall to be the favourite spot for dalliance, for often, in a morning walk from the Admiralty Arch to Buckingham Palace, I have counted, under the trees, over a hundred hairpins, not to mention some half-dozen scraps of ribbon; relics of the abandon of the night.” (p. 56-7)

Ham-and-beef shops
“Any ham-and-beef shop had that effect on me, then. You may have noticed, if you have had hungry days, that it’s the ham-and-beef shops that always exasperate … with its genteel and titillating display ready to the eye, that makes you look round for that ‘alf-brick. It’s the sight of the decked and garnished dishes – the ham in cut and its pink and cream slices and its pink odour — that makes a Communist of a hungry Tory.”

Leather Lane market
“A happy hunting-ground for those who find amusement in the foibles of their fellows is afforded by the midday bazaar of Leather Lane. There the hungry office-boy may feed, and the odd minutes of the clerk’s luncheon-hour may be most pleasantly, though, unprofitably, spent. Nothing is here of solid value, but much to tempt the eye. In this narrow lane with its lasting odour of vegetable refuse, elderly professors will sell you the Elixir of Life at a shilling a box; shabby young men will sell you the Secret of Success in Business; venerable and eloquent seniors, whose equally venerable linen is eloquent of a misspent youth, will give you (yes give you) the winner of the Big ‘Un tomorrow…
Elsewhere, you will find brisk young gentlemen who have apparently taken a course of lessons in ‘How to Become a Convincing Talker’, and now, in tones that ring with sincerity, offer you one guinea fountain-pens at two-and-six, or gold watches, sleeve links, solid leather wallets, at the price of a lunch. These do good business; but the boot-stalls, the haberdashery stalls, and the broken-iron stalls, having little excitement to offer for the splendid shilling, suffer by this insidious competition. ….” (p. 164-66)

On Prohibition/Temperance
“One of these days there will be a great public occasion in England – the hanging of the two enemies of civilisation – the millionaire and the missionary. They live, hand in hand, and it is fitting that they should swing together. Until then, my child, live sanely; interfere not with others, nor let them interfere with you.” (p. 204)

The ‘court missionary’
(who seems to have been the forerunner of the probation officer)
“He touches on every angle of human nature. He has to patch-up husband and wife quarrels, to placate landlord and lodger, to get work for the first offender who has been ‘driven to it’ by unemployment, to admonish naughty boys and girls, to keep in touch with offenders released on probation, to take charge of attempted suicides, to reclaim the old offender, to talk with prisoners on remand and seek to help them; and generally to be father, guardian, pastor, teacher, uncle and good friend to the helpless and broken creatures of the highways and hedges.” (p. 216)

The baby board
“Most of the street doors were wide open, and through them I stepped straight into the front parlour. Where there were babies, the doorways were wedged with a protecting board, about two feet high, and over the top of the board peered Master Baby. This is a common custom of poor streets. It enables baby to amuse himself with the sight of the street and take in the ‘fresh’ air, while mother can get on comfortably with the washing or the fish-curing, knowing that he cannot adventure into the perilous gutter.” (p. 259)

I’ve been enjoying a lovely row – conducted of course with the politest of stilletos – on H-Asia over the nature of the Mongol conquest and empire.

Posters fall roughly into three camps:

* There were total barbarians who killed even the cockroaches (roughly the Chinese camp, or those relying on Chinese sources).

* They were only behaving according to the norms of the times, and the dictates of real politik (the Mongol camp)

* They were pretty bad, but then so were Chinese rulers (which you might class as the “you can’t trust any ruler” camp)

It also pointed me in the direction of an interesting review of Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World, by Jack Weatherford, which made a bit of a splash recently, and it seems presents an alternative to the book on which I recently posted which attributes the Renaissance to the Arabs.

Another pointer was to an article on “>Attitudes towards Conversion Among the Elite in the Mongol Empire.

I have what I might describe as a mild interest in the Mongols, having visit the supposed burial place of the great Genghis, one of the most fascinating days of my life. (There’s an article I wrote about it here.)

Other recommended reads, included Thomas Allsen, Culture and Conquest in Mongol Eurasia(Cambridge University Press, 2001) and Nicola Di Cosmo, ed. Warfare in Inner Asian History 500-1800. Neither in the London Library, but you can request purchases …

If I could only give up sleeping, how much time I’d have to read.

Back in January I posted a request for info about the London Library and received a most helpful response. So I’ve now joined, and the description “bibliophile heaven” hardly does the place justice.

I haven’t really checked it out fully yet, but a quick dash around before I came down with the lurgy showed that I could happily spend the rest of my life in there: there are some 1 million books, mostly on the humanities, nearly all on open access – in fact the back of the building is just a metal frame filled with books, with grilled floors, I assume for air circulation. If, like me, you suffer from vertigo, you can’t look down, but then you don’t want to because there are so many books in front of you to open.

It has a classification system that might be best described as eccentric – I love the fact that “witchcraft” comes under “science” (and conveniently right beside “women”), but I’m sure it is an arrangement that will produce lots of glorious juxtapositions and links.

Yesterday’s post on melancholy cats was my first from a London Library book, and I’m sure they’ll be many, many more.

The same book made a link back to an earlier post this week, on the classic Romans’ attitude towards pity and compassion:

“Calvin, in his commentary on De clementia, counters Seneca’s attack on the feeling of mercy by asserting that a man who does not feel pity is ‘certainly not human’.
This attack upon the Stoic notion of clemency … is a common theme in early modern writings on the passions, whether Protestant or Catholic …
Although Christian writers frequently admire Seneca’s moral teachings and even his advice on when it is wise to remit punishment, they cannot accept his dismissal of a passionate mercy … since that passion is at the heart of their conception of Christ’s incarnation and sacrifice.” (p.99)

This from the chapter “Compassion in the Public Sphere of Milton and King Charles”, which focuses on the Earl of Monmouth’s translation of Senault’s The Use of Passions, 1649, Charles’s (ghost-written – really!) Eikon Basilike and Milton’s response, Eikonoklastes to discuss “the political roles the passions played in the 17th century”.

It argues, broadly, that despite the frontpiece of Monmouth’s work, which had reason enslaving the passions, each side accepted that passion and reason were interlinked, and that passion – and compassion – did have a proper role in public life. Perhaps they should be republished in America now.