| | 82 | Author: | Paulding
James Kirke
1778-1860 | Add | | | Title: | A Sketch of Old England  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I am now comfortably and quietly settled in lodgings,
with an elderly lady, who has good blood in her veins; that is
to say, if blood be an hereditary commodity, which some
people doubt, but which I do not, for there are diseases bodily
and mental in most of the old families here that have descended
through half-a-score of wealthy generations. She claims descent
from Tudors and Plantagenets to boot, and combines the conflicting
claims of both York and Lancaster. Though too well
bred to boast, she sometimes used to mention these matters,
until one day I advised her, in jest, to procure a champion to
tilt against young parson Dymoke for the broom at the ensuing
coronation. The good old soul took the joke ill, and I was
sorry for it. What right had I to ridicule that which, to her,
was an innocent source of happiness? I despise the cant of
sentiment, but I promise never to do so again. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 83 | Author: | Sedgwick
Catharine Maria
1789-1867 | Add | | | Title: | The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Just out of the little village of Essex, in New
England, and just at the entrance of a rustic bridge,
there is a favourite resting-place for loiterers of all
ages. One of a line of logs that have been laid
down to enable passengers at high water to reach
the bridge dry-shod, affords an inviting seat under
the drooping limbs of some tall sycamores. There
the old sit down to rest their weary limbs, and
read with pensive eye the fond histories that memory
has written over the haunts of their secluded
lives. There, too, the young pause in their sports,
and hardly know why their eyes follow with such
delight the silvery little stream that steals away
from them, kissing the jutting points of the green
meadows, and winding and doubling its course as
if, like a pleased child, it would, by any pretext,
lengthen its stay;—nor, certainly, why no island
that water bounds will ever look so beautiful to
them as that little speck of one above the bridge,
with its burden of willows, elders, and clematis; of
a summer evening, their every leaf lit with the
firefly's lamp;—nor why their eye glances from
the white houses of the village street, glimmering
through the trees, and far away over the orchards
and waving grain of the uplands, and past the wavy
line of hills that bound the horizon on one side,
to fix on the bald gray peaks of that mountain wall
whose Indian story the poet has consecrated.
Time will solve to them this why. “Honoured Sir—As father and I have concluded
to leave to-morrow, will be much obliged if
you will send in your bill this afternoon, if convenient.
As, from all that's passed, sir, you may conclude
that I ain't in circumstances to pay down, I
would make bold to say that you need not scruple,
as I have a large sum of money by me, given to
me by my best friend, father and Susan excepted.
Father sends his respectful duty to you, sir, and I
mine, with many thanks; but neither money nor
thanks can pay your kindness; and daily, respected
sir, shall I ease my heart by remembering you in
my prayers at the throne of grace, where we must
all appear alike poor and needy, but where may
you ever come with a sure foundation of hope,
through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. “My good friend Charlotte—I shall preface
my answer to your note with letting you a little
into my professional affairs. I do not make it a rule
to attend the poor gratuitously, for many reasons;
but principally because I have observed that what
is got for nothing is seldom valued. I only take
care to charge them according to their ability to
pay. You, my child, are an exception to most of
my patients—you have given me a lesson of meek
and cheerful submission that is inestimable—I am
your debtor, not you mine. Besides, strictly, I
have no doctor's account against you. I have prescribed
no medicine, and given you no advice that
any man of sense and experience might not have
given; therefore, my good girl, I have no claim on
that `large sum of money,' which, God bless your
`best friend' for having given you. But forget
not, my friend, your promise to remember me in
your prayers; I have much faith in the `prayers
of saints.' My parting regards to your good father,
and please deliver the accompanying parcels
as directed. They are from my son and daughter,
who hastily join me in esteem for you and yours.
God bless you, my dear child. “My dear Susan—It is a long time since I
have written to you; but I have been in much perplexity
and anxiety, and have been waiting to see
daylight. We have failed, Finley and I, as might
have been expected; neither of us having any experience
in the business we undertook. As soon
as I found we could not meet our notes, I made a
thorough examination into our affairs, and found we
could just pay our debts and no more. So to-morrow
we close the concern. I have many times regretted
I did not take Charlotte's advice, and not enter
into a business for which I was not qualified. I
would now gladly return to my trade, but confinement
to business, and anxiety, have had an unfavourable
effect on my health, and I am more
than ever troubled with that old pain in my breast.
I sometimes think, Susan, a sight of your sunny
face would cure me; that and all good things I
trust will come; in the meantime, patience. In
prosperity and adversity, my heart ever turns towards
my dear Essex friends, who must believe me
their friend and brother, “Dear Susan—My prospects, since the breakup
last spring, are much improved; but particulars
in my next. All I want to know is, whether you
will share my lot with me? Pray write by return
of post, and believe me now, as you well know I
have ever been, though I never put it into words
before, your friend and true lover, “P. S.—Dear Harry—I wrote this letter last
evening, and shall send it; for why should I, if I
could, conceal my real feelings from you? Since
we were playfellows at school, I have loved you
best, and you only, Harry; for the time to come, I
must love you only as a brother. Oh, how strange
it is, that the black and the white threads are always
twisted together in human life. Last evening
I was so happy writing this letter; but, when I
went into the bedroom, Lottie's face was covered
with tears; and she spoke of our separation, and
all flashed upon me at once. What could she and
father do without me? They do now their full
part towards keeping the family together, but they
can neither of them bring in any thing, and they
would be obliged to look to the town for support.
Is not that awful to think of? So you see, dear
Harry, I cannot leave them—our path is plain, and,
as dear Lottie would say, may we have grace to
walk therein. It is very dark now, Harry; but, if
we only try to do right, the day will soon break,
and grow brighter and brighter. Please don't say
one word to persuade me off my resolution, for we
are weak creatures at best, and we should stand
together, and strengthen and uphold one another.
Above all, don't say a word about my reasons to
father and Lottie; and believe me, dear Harry, not
a bit less your affectionate friend because I can't
forsake them. “Dearest Susan—Forsake `father and Lottie!'
that you never shall. When I wrote my last,
it was only to get that blessed little word yes from
you, for I must make sure of my title before I laid
out the future. One thing only I am a little hurt
at. Could you think I could leave out Charlotte in
my plans?—a dear sister, counsellor, and friend
she has ever been to me—and your good father,
who so much needs some one to care for him? Ah,
Susan, I have had my reflections too; and I think
our path is plain before us, and, with good resolution
on our part, and Charlotte's prayers to help us,
we shall have grace to walk therein. But I must
tell you all, and then look for your final answer. “My Dear Father: — On the bed of death,
and with my little girl, who will soon be an orphan,
beside me, I write this. My hand is stiff,
and a racking cough interrupts me. I can write
but a few lines at a time. Till last week I hoped
to get well, consumption is so flattering. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 84 | Author: | Sedgwick
Catharine Maria
1789-1867 | Add | | | Title: | Tales of City Life | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It is about the middle of November—
a bright, soft day, when the genial spirit
of the year looks back with one of his
farewell smiles. His warm breath has
spread a silver haze over the rugged hill
sides. The mountain tops are shining
—the dried leaves bitten off by the frost,
turn round and round, and drop without
a sound. A rather narrow, brisk stream
runs rapidly, descending as it goes, till
it reaches the rear of a one story house,
where, being set back by a dam below,
it seems like a plate of burnished steel
from which a soft vapor is rising. Around
its edges is a thin coating of ice, indicating
the cold of the preceding night. The
house stands on the declivity of a hill
that slopes gradually from the road, (a
hundred yards from it,) with one end to
the river, the other to the road, and fronting
south. Behind it is a little garden
patch, which, in its winter adversity,
shows signs of being cared for and loved;
some plants being carefully tied up, and
a few covered with old boxes and barrels.
There are some other signs of refinement,
not too common about the humble dwellings
of our country parts; vines trained
about the low door, and rose bushes so
nicely fitted around the old windows, that
they seem to have come to stay there of
their own accord. Neatness, that good
angel of an humble home, keeping all
right with her ever-rustling wings, hover
round this pretty dwelling. A small
woodpile is laid up as if by mathematical
rule. No litter of any kind is any where
to be seen, and one wonders what the
splendid cock, with his pedestrian harem,
can find to make them pick so busily
around the sunny doorway. “Dear mother, and father,—Don't feel
too bad. I shall be on my way to New
York when you get this. Miss Emma
Gardner has lent me ten dollars, and
what clothes I shall want. Father can't
go; and you can't leave father, mother;
and I—I can't stay. Father, you will
keep up mother's spirits, won't you? I
know it will all come right. “Dear father, and mother, and Ruth,—
I have got into some trouble. I ask of
you all not to feel anxious or distressed.
I expect (expect was erased, and hope substituted,)
“to get out well, but if I don't,
I shall still keep `right side up,' as father
would say. Now be calm, mother, dear.
Just before we locked up last night, I
observed a stranger come into the shop;
the doors were closed, and all the clerks
called into the middle of the shop, away
from the counters. Otis Jackson was
standing close to me at the time we were
spoken to. I heard him mutter, `d—n
it,' but I had not the least thought of
what was coming. Mr. Brown stood one
side of the stranger, Mr. Wilson the other.
Mr. Brown spoke: `We have been missing,'
says he, `fine goods for the last
month; a shawl was taken last week;
two yards of costly lace, and one of the
five dollar pocket handkerchiefs are gone
to-day. We have a police man here, and
you must all be searched. One of you
must be guilty. I am sorry for the innocent,
but no disgrace will rest upon
them — do your duty, Rushton.' The
policeman began the search. Some of
our young men laughed and joked; I
could not, I was afraid it would prove to
be Otis. He was the fourth searched,
nothing was found on him. My turn
came next; the things were found in my
coat pocket, atop of my handkerchief
and every thing, just as if they had been
put there. How the truth is to be found
out, I don't know, but I feel as if it would.
All I ask is, that father will keep up
mother's spirits, and dear Ruth, only
think how you would all feel if I had
taken the things. I shall write daily, so
don't be anxious. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 85 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Add | | | Title: | Richard Hurdis, Or, the Avenger of Blood : a Tale of Alabama | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Of the hardihood of the American character there
can be no doubts, however many there may exist on
the subject of our good manners. We ourselves
seem to be sufficiently conscious of our security on
the former head, as we forbear insisting upon it;
about the latter, however, we are sore and touchy
enough. We never trouble ourselves to prove that
we are sufficiently able and willing, when occasion
serves, to do battle, tooth and nail, for our liberties and
possessions; our very existence, as a people, proves
this ability and readiness. But let John Bull prate
of our manners, and how we fume and fret; and what
fierce action, and wasteful indignation we expend
upon him! We are sure to have the last word in
all such controversies. Our hardihood comes from
our necessities, and prompts our enterprise; and the
American is bold in adventure to a proverb. Where
the silken shodden and sleek citizen of the European
world would pause and deliberate to explore our
wilds, we plunge incontinently forward, and the
forest falls before our axe, and the desert blooms
under the providence of our cultivator, as if the
wand of an enchanter had waved over them with the
rising of a sudden moonlight. Yankee necessities,
and southern and western curiosity will probe to
the very core of the dusky woods, and palsy, by
the exhibition of superior powers, the very souls of
their old possessors. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 86 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Add | | | Title: | Richard Hurdis, Or, the Avenger of Blood : a Tale of Alabama | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Matthew Webber was no trifler. Though represented
by his comrades, as we have seen in a
previous dialogue, as unwilling to shed blood, it may
be added that his unwillingness did not arise from
any scruples of humanity which are always unnecessary
to the profession of the outlaw. He was
governed entirely by a selfish policy, which calmly
deliberated upon its work of evil, and chose that
course which seemed to promise the greatest return
of profit with the greatest security. To avoid
bloodshed was simply to avoid one great agent of
detection. Hence his forbearance. To the moral of
the matter none could have been more thoroughly
indifferent. We beheld him giving instructions to
an associate the moment that William Carrington
fell by an unknown hand, to pursue the murderer,
not with a view to his punishment, but with a desire
to secure a prompt associate. It was not the wish
of the fraternity of robbers, herding on the Choctaw
frontier, that any body should take up the trade in
that region, of which they desired the monopoly.
When the fellow, thus instructed, had gone, Webber
with his remaining associates at once proceeded to
examine the body, which was lifeless when they
reached it. They wasted no time in idle wonder,
and gave but a single glance at the wound, which
they saw was inflicted by a rifle bullet; then lifting
the inanimate form into the wood, they rifled it of
the large sum of money which Carrington had concealed
in his bosom, and taking it into a little crevice
in the hill-side which could not hide it, they threw
it down indifferently, trusting to the wolves, of
which that neighbourhood had numerous herds, to
remove it in due season. Poor youth! with such a
heart—so noble, so brave—with affections so warm,
and hopes so full of promise, to be shot down in the
sun-light—in the bloom of manhood—by an obscure
ruffian, and be denied a grave! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 88 | Author: | Bacon
Delia Salter
1811-1859 | Add | | | Title: | Tales of the Puritans | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | —We, according to your honor's order,
departed in search after Colonels Goffe and Whalley
(persons declared traitors to his Majesty) from Boston,
May 27th, 1661, about six o'clock at night, and arrived
at Hartford the 10th day, and repaired to Governor
Winthrop, and gave him your honor's letter and
his Majesty's order for the apprehending of Colonels
Whalley and Goffe, who gave us an account that they
did not stay there, but went directly for New-Haven, but
informed us that one Symon Lobden guided them to
the town. The honorable governor carried himself very
nobly to us, and was very diligent to supply us with all
manner of conveniences for the prosecution of them,
and promised all diligent search should be made after
them in that jurisdiction, which was afterwards performed.
The 11th day we arrived at Guilford, and repaired
to the deputy governor, William Leet, and delivered
him your honor's letter and the copy of his Majesty's
order for the apprehending of the aforesaid persons,
with whom at that time were several persons. After
the perusal of them, he began to read them audibly,
whereupon we told him it was convenient to be more
private in such concernments as that was; upon which
withdrawing to a chamber, he told us he had not seen
the two colonels not in nine weeks. We acquainted
him with the information we had received that they were
at New-Haven since that time he mentioned, and there-upon
desired him to furnish us with horses, &c.
which was prepared with some delays, which we took
notice of to him, and after parting with him out of
his house and in the way to the ordinary, came to us one
Dennis Scranton, and told us he would warrant that
Colonels Goffe and Whalley at the time of his speaking
were harbored at the house of one Mr. Davenport,
a minister at New-Haven, and that one Goodman Bishop,
of the town of Guilford, was able to give us the like
account, and that, without all question, Deputy Leet
knew as much, and that Mr. Davenport had put in ten
pounds worth of fresh provisions at one time into his
house, and that it was imagined it was purposely for the
entertainment of them. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 89 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Kate Clarendon, Or, Necromancy in the Wilderness | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | On the banks of the beautiful
Ohio, some five or six miles above
the large and flourishing city of
Cincinnati, can be seen the small
and pleasant village of Columbia,
once laid out and designed to become
the capital of the great West.
This village stands on a beautiful
plain, which stretches away from
the Ohio in a north-easterly direction,
between two ridges, for a
goodly number of miles, and at the
base of what is termed Bald Hill—
a hill of a conical shape, from the
summit whereof you can command
every point of compass, and some
of the most delightful views in the
western country. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 90 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Leni Leoti, Or, Adventures in the Far West | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was the last day of May, in the year
of our Lord 1843. Already the earth felt
the genial air of summer, and looked as
smiling as a gay maiden in her teens. The
blade had covered the ground with a carpet
of matchless green, amid which, their
lovely faces half concealed, bright flowers
of a hundred varieties, peeped modestly
forth to render the landscape enchanting,
giving their sweet breath to a southern
breeze that softly stole over them. The
trees in every direction were in full foliage,
and already among them could be
seen green bunches of embryo fruits. It
was in fact a delightful day, a delightful
season of the year, and a delightful scene
upon which I gazed, with feelings, alas!
that had more in them of sadness than
joy. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 91 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Oliver Goldfinch, Or, the Hypocrite | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was a dark and stormy night in the
month of November, 18—. To simply say
it was dark and stormy, conveys but a faint
idea of what the night was in reality. The
clouds were pall black, and charged with
a vapor which, freezing as it descended,
spread an icy mantle over every thing exposed.
The wind was easterly and fierce,
and drove the sleety hail with a velocity
that made it any thing but pleasant to be
abroad. Signs creaked, windows rattled,
lamps flickered and became dim, casting
here and there long ghostly shadows, that
seemed to dance fantastically to the music
of the rushing winds, as they whistled
through some crevice, moaned down some
chimney, or howled along some deserted
alley on their mad career. It was, take it
all in all, a dismal night, and such an one
as, with a comfortable shelter over our
heads and a cheerful fire before us, is apt
to make us thank God we are not forced to
be abroad like the poor houseless wretches
who have no place to lay their heads. It
is too much the case at such times, that
we congratule ourselves on being far better
off than they, without taking into consideration
it is our duty, as humane beings,
to render them as comfortable as our circumstances
will permit. But who thinks
of the poor? God cares for them, say the
rich, and that is enough. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 92 | Author: | Bird
Robert Montgomery
1806-1854 | Add | | | Title: | Calavar, Or, the Knight of the Conquest | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The day that followed after the flight of Abdoul-al-Sidi,
beheld the army of Cortes crossing that ridge
which extends like a mighty curtain, between the
great volcano and the rugged Iztaccihuatl; and many
a hardy veteran shivered with cold and discontent,
as sharp gusts, whirling rain and snow from the inhospitable
summits, prepared him for the contrast
of peace and beauty which is unfolded to the traveller,
when he looks down from the mountains to the
verdant valley of Mexico. Even at the present day,
when the axe has destroyed the forest; when the
gardens of flowers—the cultivation of which, with a
degree of passionate affection that distinguished the
Mexicans from other races, seemed to impart a tinge
of poetry to their character, and mellow their rougher
traits with the hues of romance,—when these flower
gardens have vanished from the earth; when the
lakes have receded and diminished, and, with them,
the fair cities that once rose from their waters, leaving
behind them stagnant pools and saline deserts;
even now, under all these disadvantages, the prospect
of this valley is of such peculiar and astonishing
beauty as, perhaps, can be nowhere else equalled
among the haunts of men. The providence of the
Spanish viceroys in constructing a road more direct
and more easy of passage, to the north of the great
mountains, has robbed travellers of the more spirit-stirring
impressions which introduced them to the
spectacle, when pursuing the ancient highway of the
Mexicans. It ascends among gloomy defiles, at the
entrance of which stand, on either hand, like stupendous
towers guarding the gate of some Titan
strong-hold, the two grandest pinnacles of the interior.
It conducts you among crags and ravines, among
clouds and tempests, now sheltering you under a
forest of oaks and pines, now exposing you to the
furious blasts that howl along the ridges. A few dilapidated
hamlets of Indians, if they occasionally
break the solitude, destroy neither the grandeur nor
solemnity of the path. You remember, on this deserted
highway, that you are treading in the steps of
Cortes. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 93 | Author: | Bird
Robert Montgomery
1806-1854 | Add | | | Title: | Nick of the Woods, Or, the Jibbenainosay | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | If we can believe the immortal poet, from
whom we have taken the above lines, to serve as
our letter of introduction to the gentle reader, the
grief of our first parents for the loss of Paradise
was not so deep and overwhelming but that they
almost immediately found comfort, when they reflected
they had exchanged it for the land of
Eden,—itself a paradise, though an earthly and
unsanctified one: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 94 | Author: | Bird
Robert Montgomery
1806-1854 | Add | | | Title: | Peter Pilgrim, Or, a Rambler's Recollections | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Travellers,” quoth Rosalind, the wise
and the witty, “have great reason to be
sad;” an assurance to which I know not
whether I feel inclined to subscribe assent or
not; the opinion of the world, (and to the
opinions of the world I always endeavour, as
a modest man, to square my own,) judging
from the world's practice, being directly the
reverse. To travel is to gain experience, (so
runs the argument;) and to have experience
is to have that which makes us sad. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 95 | Author: | Briggs
Charles F.
(Charles Frederick)
1804-1877 | Add | | | Title: | Bankrupt Stories | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It is with emotions of peculiar gratification to
our Heavenly Father, and his son, the Lord Jesus, that I take up my
pen to address you a few lines; as, but for his merciful interposition
in answer to the prayers of his servant, his unworthy servant, there is
but too much cause to believe that you would now be lying in the dark
prison house of death, where, by his inscrutable Providence, she that
should have been the sharer of your troubles and the promoter of your
pleasures now lies. Blessed be her spirit. But it is my office to heal
and not to open up afresh the wounds of my people. I bless God that
you arrived safely at home, and I trust my very dear young friend, that
your thoughts will be directed to the church, that you may be inclosed
in its broad fold, and that you may be made free by its bondage. For
the blessed privilege that we enjoy in this land, where there is none to
make us afraid, and where we have liberty in Christ, in his church and
ourselves, always excepting the slavery of sin, let us be ever grateful
and magnify his name. “Will you have the goodness to call and see me at the earliest
moment possible? I have something to communicate of great importance
to yourself and others in whom you are interested. Do
not fail to call. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 96 | Author: | Brooks
Maria Gowen
1794 or 5-1845 | Add | | | Title: | Idomen, Or, the Vale of Yumuri | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Various misfortunes had determined me to
visit the new world. Far advanced in the path
of life, my wishes were few. I sought only gold
enough to retire to some humble recess; and
hoped for no other pleasure, than to find at
last, some being capable of friendship, that I
might sometimes unburthen my heart, by expressing
my real sentiments. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 97 | Author: | Brown
Charles Brockden
1771-1810 | Add | | | Title: | Wieland, or the Transformation | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I Feel little reluctance in complying with your
request. You know not fully the cause of my
sorrows. You are a stranger to the depth of my
distresses. Hence your efforts at consolation must
necessarily fail. Yet the tale that I am going to tell
is not intended as a claim upon your sympathy. In
the midst of my despair, I do not dildain to contribute
what little I can to the benefit of mankind.
I acknowledge your right to be informed of the
events that have lately happened in my family.
Make what use of the tale you shall think proper.
If it be communicated to the world, it will inculcate
the duty of avoiding deceit. It will exemplify
the force of early impressions, and show the immeasurable
evils that flow from an erroneous or
imperfect discipline. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 98 | Author: | Brown
Charles Brockden
1771-1810 | Add | | | Title: | Arthur Mervyn, Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Here ended the narrative of Mervyn. Surely its incidents
were of no common kind. During this season
of pestilence, my opportunities of observation had been
numerous, and I had not suffered them to pass unimproved.
The occurrences which fell within my own
experience bore a general resemblance to those which
had just been related, but they did not hinder the latter
from striking on my mind with all the force of novelty.
They served no end, but as vouchers for the truth of
the tale. Where does this letter you promised me, stay all
this while? Indeed, Arthur, you torment me more
than I deserve, and more than I could ever find it in
my heart to do you. You treat me cruelly. I must
say so, though I offend you. I must write, though
you do not deserve that I should, and though I fear
I am in a humor not very fit for writing. I had better
go to my chamber and weep: weep at your—unkindness,
I was going to say; but, perhaps, it is only
forgetfulness: and yet what can be more unkind than
forgetfulness? I am sure I have never forgotten you.
Sleep itself, which wraps all other images in forgetfulness,
only brings you nearer, and makes me see you
more distinctly. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 99 | Author: | Brown
Charles Brockden
1771-1810 | Add | | | Title: | Clara Howard | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | What could excite in you any
curiosity as to my affairs? You once knew
me a simple lad, plying the file and tweezers
at the bench of a watchmaker, with
no prospect before me but of labouring,
for a few years, at least, as a petty and
obscure journeyman, at the same bench
where I worked five years as an apprentice.
I was sprung from obscurity, destitute
of property, of parents, of paternal
friends; was full of that rustic diffidence,
that inveterate humility, which are alone
sufficient to divert from us the stream of
fortune's favours. Why do I write? For whose use do I
pass my time thus? There is no one living who
cares a jot for me. There was a time, when a
throbbing heart, a trembling hand, and eager
eyes were always prepared to read, and ruminate
on the scantiest and poorest scribble that
dropped from my pen, but she has disappeared.
The veil between us is like death. I need not tell you, my friend, what I
have felt, in consequence of your silence. The
short note which I received, a fortnight after
you had left me, roused my curiosity and my
fears, instead of allaying them. You promised
me a longer account of some mysterious
changes that had taken place in your condition.
This I was to receive in a few days. At the
end of a week I was impatient. The promised
letter did not arrive. Four weeks passed away,
and nothing came from you. I shall not call on you at Hatfield. I
am weary of traversing hills and dales; and
my detention in Virginia being longer than I
expected, shall go on board a vessel in this
port, bound for New-York. Contract, in my
name, with your old friend, for the present
accommodation of the girls, and repair to
New-York as soon as possible. Search out
No......., Broadway. If I am not there to embrace
you, inquire for my wife or niece, and
mention your name. Make haste; the women
long to see a youth in whose education I had
so large a share; and be sure, by your deportment,
not to discredit your instructor, and
belie my good report. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 100 | Author: | Brown
Charles Brockden
1771-1810 | Add | | | Title: | Jane Talbot | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I am very far from being a wise girl. So conscience
whispers me, and though vanity is
eager to refute the charge, I must acknowledge
that she is seldom successful. Conscience tells
me it is folly, it is guilt to wrap up my existence
in one frail mortal; to employ all my
thoughts, to lavish all my affections upon one
object; to doat upon a human being, who, as
such, must be the heir of many frailties, and
whom I know to be not without his faults; to
enjoy no peace but in his presence, to be grateful
for his permission to sacrifice fortune, ease,
life itself for his sake. “If you ever injured Mr. Talbot, your motives
A a
for doing so, entitle you to nothing but
compassion, while your present conduct lays
claim, not only to forgiveness, but to gratitude.
The letter you entrust to me, shall be applied
to no purpose but that which you proposed by
writing it. Inclosed, is the paper you request,
the seal unbroken and its contents unread. In
this, as in all cases, I have no stronger wish
than to act as | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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