Illustration Commons^™

Mistake By Noah, Louise Ryman

Manuscripts

It might have changed history -- but it didn't.

Noah was happy. A home-loving body was Noah, content with his lot. He had his wife, and he had his pigs. He had his garden an a house full of in-laws.

These Three: Beauty, Power, Knowledge, Ralph W. Morgan

Manuscripts

It is fitting and natural that I, who was born and have lived most of my life in Indianapolis, should think that this city is one of the most beautiful communities in the United States. However, if all of the other beauty spots of Indianapolis were excluded, the World War memorial plaza in the heart of the city would still give me a reason for a belief in the abundant beauty of my birthplace. Concentrated in this comparatively small space are the representatives of three of man's highest attainments: the DePew memorial fountain is esthetic beauty, the World War memorial …

Apples And Glass (A Comment On Picasso's "Pomme Et Verre"), Charles Hostetter

Manuscripts

"No, Junior, the picture is not hung upside down."

"How does Mother know? They don't hang pictures upside down."

"The picture is called "Apple and Glass."

Shapes In The Night, Dave Craycraft

Manuscripts

People are shapes, and things are shadows; places a blur, and faces a blank. All people sleep sometime, but cities never -- and never all people at once. The city's roar is a decrescendo from midnight on, but it never dies down to silence. Most windows are dark; most lights are out, but never all.

Prologue To Autobiography, Anne Horne

Manuscripts

The guests had arrived for the christening. A steady stream of admiring relatives and close friends filed past the ruffled bassinet wherein lay the object of all eyes -- the baby. Last in that long line came the eighty year old great-grandmother, whose still clear eyes told of that indomitable spirit contained in her tiny form. With bated breath the rest of the family watched her stoop over the baby, catch her breath, and straighten up with an inscrutable smile on her rather thin lips.

Moving Into College, Richard Joyce

Manuscripts

I'm here, so what? All the years, and all the letters of "wish you were back," all the homesick hopes, and all the train fare can never bring me home again. College is my story and I'm stuck with it.

Autobiographical Recipe, Jack Howard

Manuscripts

A Recipe for a Short Autobiography:

2 parts paternal ancestry

2 parts maternal ancestry

3 parts your own personal characteristics

3 parts predictions regarding the future

4 parts candor

Seasoning of clever phrases, punctuation, capitalization, and fresh ideas to taste.

The Curse Of Being Clever, Glenn M. White

Manuscripts

Stephen Leacock mentions in one of his essays the horseman who "leaped into the saddle and galloped off madly in all directions." It would take a clever horse and a clever rider to do that, but Leacock was not necessarily being clever when he wrote it.

I Hit My Mark, William Steinmetz

Manuscripts

The hunt was ready to start, but only after a hunting ground was secured. Since I was one of a polite party of hunters, as hunters go, I left the car to ask a farmer's permission to hunt on his property.

Indianapolis Times, Margaret Parrish

Manuscripts

It is growing dark swiftly now. The slight mist that hovered around the Monument is getting heavier. Lights blink on to make the War Memorial Plaza a distant fairy land. (Only half the lights went on. That is good. Otherwise it would look like a Power and Light Company advertisement.) The pigeons on the Circle are quieting down, and Christ Church is gray with shadows.

Tangible Evidence, Wilbur Elliott

Manuscripts

Young Kipling Wiley silently inserted the key, and turned the knob with the greatest of caution. As he closed the door behind him, it gave only the merest hint of a squeak. Kipling mentally congratulated himself on the mouse-like quiet of his entrance, and then started across the floor on tip-toe.

Soft Answer, Marguerite Ellis

Manuscripts

Mr. Hughes was downcast. In fact, Mr. Hughes was pessimistic. It was not the fact that it was Sunday -- Mr. Hughes was not a church-going man -- but simply that the view from the big front window of his newspaper office was neither scenically inspiring nor financially hopeful.

Woodcut, Robert Ayers

Manuscripts

Abstract woodcut illustration.

Fate, Phillipa Schreiber

Manuscripts

Clacking little wooden beads.

Moved by stronger will than ours.

Uncle George, Ruth Marie Hamill

Manuscripts

Every evening when Uncle George walks into the house, before he greets any member of the family, he yells, "O-oh, Pepper! O-oh, Ginger!" and if Pepper and her puppy aren't already scampering down the stairs, or from the living room, they come now. Pepper stands on her hind legs and leans her forepaws on him while she nuzzles in his pockets for peanuts. Ginger dances around him, making funny noises which sometimes terminate in a short bark. He picks the little dog up and feeds both him and Pepper a few peanuts or bites of candy that he has brought …

Autumn Swept Garden, Charles Aufderheide

Manuscripts

Nothing can grow here now.

This garden is Autumn-swept;

Here, by the apple bough,

You turned and wept.

High Pressure, Cathryn Smith

Manuscripts

Pauline regarded John fretfully. She thought: "He's so sensible. I don't believe he ever did or said anything crazy in his li fe. He's absolutely stodgy!"

They rode along in silence for a while. John never drove fast, but there was enough wind to whip color into their faces, and Pauline's hair blew wildly.

The Hunt, Mars B. Ferrell

Manuscripts

The youth descended briskly the steep side of the gully. His two dogs, already at the bottom, trotted through the light snow. Their high noses and quickening steps were read by the young trapper as definite signs that a catch was to be expected. The trap he had set a day ago at a den on the side of the small tributary gully ahead probably held a victim. In any event, the "set" had looked good -- several fresh skunk tracks.

Return, Dorothy Steinmeier

Manuscripts

Martha smiled the way she always smiled when someone said something nice to her. Someone was always saying something nice to her, it seemed.

Armor Against Death, Betty Richart

Manuscripts

At last the hour of peace, the voices stilled

The contest ended at last. The citadel

Is saved, and the sudden ambushes are over.

The night is lovely and quiet where we dwell.