| | 82 | Author: | Aldrich
Thomas Bailey
1836-1907 | Add | | | Title: | Marjorie Daw, and other people  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Letter received. Dillon be hanged. I think
I ought to be on the ground. Stay where you are. You would only com-plicate
matters. Do not move until you hear
from me. My being at The Pines could be kept secret.
I must see her. Do not think of it. It would be useless.
R. W. D. has locked M. in her room. You
would not be able to effect an interview. Locked her in her room. Good God. That
settles the question. I shall leave by the twelve-fifteen
express. Mr Van Twiller Dear Sir — i am verry great-full
to you for that Bracelett. it come just in the nic
of time for me. The Mademoiselle Zabriski dodg is
about plaid out. My beard is getting to much for me.
i shall have to grow a mustash and take to some other
line of busyness, i dont no what now, but will let
you no. You wont feel bad if i sell that Bracelett. i
have seen Abrahams Moss and he says he will do the
square thing. Pleas accep my thanks for youre Beautiful
and Unexpected present. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 83 | Author: | Aldrich
Thomas
1836-1907 | Add | | | Title: | Prudence Palfrey | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Parson Wibird Hawkins was in trouble.
The trouble was not of a pecuniary nature,
for the good man had not only laid up treasures
in heaven, but had kept a temporal eye
on the fluctuations of real estate in Rivermouth,
and was the owner of three or four of
the nicest houses in Hollyhock Row. Nor was
his trouble of a domestic nature, whatever it
once might have been, for Mrs. Wibird Hawkins
was dead this quarter of a century. Nor
was it of the kind that sometimes befalls
too susceptible shepherds, for the parson had
reached an age when the prettiest of his flock
might have frisked about him without stirring
a pulse. You will probably be surprised to receive a letter
from me after all these months of silence,—or, rather,
years, for it is nearly three years, is n't it, since we
parted? I have been in no mood or condition to
write before, and I write now only because I may
not have another chance to relieve you of any uncertainty
you may feel on my account. I have
thought it my duty to do this since I came to the
resolve, within a few days, to give up my hopeless
pursuits here and go into the army. If you do not
hear from me or of me in the course of four or six
months, you will know that my bad luck, which began
in Montana, has culminated somewhere in the
South. Then you can show this to my Uncle Dent,
or even before, if you wish; I leave it to your discretion.
Perhaps I shall do something in the war;
who knows? It is time for me to do something. I
am a failure up to date. I'm not sure I am a
brave man, but I have that disregard for life which
well fits me to lead forlorn-hopes,—and I've led
many a forlorn-hope these past three years, Joe. Place the balance due me on account, and the six
U. S. bonds you hold for me, to the credit and subject
to the order of Colonel Peyton Todhunter. Go to Chicago instantly. Draw funds from Rawlings.
Will join you at 6666. You have failed.
He is here. Has Colonel Todhunter drawn the funds described
in the despatch of yesterday? If not, stop payment
until further advices. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 84 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Dora Darling | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Hi! Dat good un! Bully for de 'federates, dis
chile say. Dey's showed deyse'fs out now! Cut um
stick in de night, eh, an' put! Jes' like de wicked flea in
de Bible dat no one wan't a tryin' fer to cotch. Golly,
I wish I'd got de rebel flea 'tween dis yer finger an'
fum! Wouldn' I crack um 'bout de shortes'? An' de
Yankees got dar umformation from a 'telligent conterban',
did dey? Wish't I know'd dat 'telligent feller! I'd like
'o shake um paw, an' gib um a chaw ob ole Varginny for
de sarvice he done to ebery nigger in de Souf w'en he
help de Yankees. Wish't I was in his brogans, — reckon
dey wouldn' fin' no 'telligenter nor no willin'er conterban'
dan ole Pic ud make ef he got de chance fer ter show
um sentermen's; but de trouble wid dis yer nigger is, him
candle's got a bushel basket atop ob um, an' de Bible
hese'f say dat dat ar' ain't no kin' ob a fashion. Bud ef de
Yankees 'ud come an' kick off de ole basket—golly,
what a confurgation o' smartness 'ud bust on dey eyesight!” “Dear Dora: I'm going further South with my regiment.
I have been sick, and am not very well now, and
don't believe I will ever come back. I'd like ever so
much to see you before I go, more especially because I
think I never will see you again. I darsn't come inside
the pickets, but this fellow will bring you to me to-night,
if you'll come. Do come, for I want to see you badly. “And now, Mr. Brown, I am going to tell you something
so surprising, that I can hardly believe it myself.
Only think of Captain Karl's mother being my own dear
mother's sister, the very aunt Lucy that I have so long
wanted to find! And only think, too, that Charlie (that's
what we call Captain Karl almost always here) knew all
the time, or suspected, at least; because, when he wrote to
his mother about me, and said my name was Dora Darling,
she wrote back word that her sister married a man
named Darley, and told him to inquire if it wasn't the same
name. Then he took up my little Bible one day, when I
had been reading to him, and saw mother's name, `Mary
Lee,' written in it; and his own mother's name was Lucy
Lee; so he knew then right off. But he made believe to
his mother that he didn't know; and he never said a word
to me; but he says, if I had concluded not to go with
him, he should have told me, though he didn't want to,
because he wanted to surprise us both. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 85 | Author: | Sedgwick
Catharine Maria
1789-1867 | Add | | | Title: | A New England tale, and Miscellanies | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “In returning to my lodgings, late last evening, I was
accosted by a man, muffled in a cloak. I recognised his voice
at once. It was our unfortunate townsman, Wilson. He has
succeeded à merveille in an ingenious plan of escape from durance,
and sails in the morning for one of the West India
islands, where he will, no doubt, make his debut as pirate, or
in some other character, for which his training has equally
qualified him. A precious rascal he is indeed; but, allow me
a phrase of your fraternity, sir, I had no light to give him up
to justice, after he had trusted to me; and more than that,
for he informs me, that he had, since his confinement, written
to the Woodhulls to engage me as counsel, and through them
he learnt the fact of my being in this city. This bound me,
in some sort, to look upon the poor devil as my client; and,
as it would have been my duty to get him out of the clutches
of the law, it would have been most ungracious to have put
him into them, you know, since his own cleverness, instead of
mine, has extricated him. He has explained to me, and he
informs me has communicated to you, (for he says he cannot
trust his mother to make them public,) the particulars of the
sequestration of the old woman's money. I think Miss Elton
never imparted to you the event that led to the sudden engagement,
from which she has chosen to absolve me; and you
have yet to learn, that there is generosity, disinterestedness
in the world, that may rival the virtue which reposes under
the shadow of the broad-brim. But, your pardon. I have
wiped out all scores. The reception I have met with in this
finest of cities, has been such as to make me look upon the
incidents of an obscure village as mere bagatelles, not worthy
of a sigh from one who can bask in the broad sunshine of ladies'
favour and fortune's gifts. One word more, en passant,
of Wilson's explanations. I rejoice in it sincerely, on Miss
Elton's account. She deserved to have suffered a little for
her childishness in holding herself bound by an exacted promise,
for having put herself in a situation in which her guilt
would have seemed apparent to any one but a poor dog whom
love had hoodwinked—pro tempore. She is too young and
too beautiful a victim for the altar of conscience. However,
I forgive her, her scruples, her fanaticism, and her cruelties;
and wish her all happiness in this world and the next, advising
her not to turn anchorite here, for the sake of advancement
there. “Mr. Allen came home three weeks ago, and said it was
not sure you would be a colonel; but Mr. Oakley saw it in
the paper, yesterday, that you are one, and I hurraed and
hurraed till my little mother said I should make her deaf.
And mother dressed up, and put the blue ribbon you sent
her, round her neck, and looked so beautiful; Mr. Oakley
said the ribbon was just a match for her eyes, and then such
a rosy colour came into her cheeks. “Dear and Honoured Husband:—Your `little wifie' (I
am glad you still call me so) thanks you from the bottom of
her heart for your long letters. How kind of you, after your
long days' marches, and your hard, hard work, to sit up at
night to write to us, and especially to me, who am but a poor
and short letter-writer myself. Oh, my dear heart, when will
this tedious war be over, and you be at home again? Not that
every thing does not go on very well. Dear sister Sylvy sees
to every thing, does every thing. I am a poor thriftless wife
to you, and I am afraid I shall not even be a mere ornamental
piece of furniture—a `jim crack' of William Freeman's (as you
remember who, called me), if you do not soon come home. I
am getting thinner and thinner, and you will have to put on
your spectacles (I cannot believe you wear spectacles!) to
see me. “Dear and Respected Brother:—Your letter was
duly received two weeks after date. I thank you for
its approving words; also for your profitable advice, concerning
the farm, stock, and so forth, which shall—the Lord
willing—be attended to. “My dear Sir—Family afflictions compel me to resign my
commission. With ardent prayers for my country—all I can
now give her— “My dear Sir—I have just succeeded to the possession
of an immense fortune, and hasten to offer you the only reparation
in my power for a wrong deeply regretted by—
Yours with sentiments of immeasurable respect— “I am clean discouraged. It seems as if Providence
crowded on me. There is black disappointment, turn which
way I will. I have had an offer to go to Orleans, and part
pay beforehand, which same I send you herewith. Ellen read—“Mrs. O'Roorke,—You have been a kind
friend to me, and I thank you; and give you, in token of my
gratitude, all that I have in this room. My clothes please
give to Ellen, and the purse with the two dollars, in the
corner of the drawer, to Pat. With many thanks from me, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 86 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | The league of the Miami | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Whoever has attempted to trace through
its various windings, or plunge into and
divine the mysteries of that mysterious,
inexplicable thing, the human heart, has
ever found himself perplexed—lost in a
mazy bewilderment. Well sung one of
England's greatest poets,
“The proper study of mankind is man,”
for man is a strange, strange being; his
life is a medley of inconsistencies—his
heart a labyrinth of good and evil. There
is in our nature a propensity, a desire for
concealment, which may be termed somewhat
hypocritical, and which gives the
outward, and the inward man, two strong
contrasting aspects. Were it not for this,
we should not see the gentle smile upon
the surface, while the death-worm was
gnawing at the core. We should not be
daily told that such an one is happy, such
an one enjoys all the beauties of life,
while he, or she, is looking forward to
the cold and silent tomb to end the misery
of a life of woe. Why is this? Why
do we seek to seem other than we feel—
than we are? Ah, there is the mystery.
That it is so, none will deny. Were it
not for this—were our features the index
of our thoughts—where would be the
sacredness of grief? or the holy charm
of love? And is not one sacred to us?
Does not the other seem holy in our eyes?
Do we not hoard them in our heart of
hearts, as the miser hoards his treasures
from the gaze of the world? And do
we not, like him, feel a secret pleasure in
brooding over them in silence, alone?
Could we not do this—did the world
know us as we know ourselves—not all
the terrors of death, not all the terrors of
a great hereafter, would be sufficient to
hinder thousands from rashly plunging
into the mystic, UNKNOWN BEYOND! In
this do we not behold an All-wise
ordering? Madam:—When this reaches you, I
shall probably be no more. I believe
that we are often warned of our approaching
dissolution, and I feel that mine is
near at hand. What my end will be,
God only knows; yet, while I contemplate
and write, I shudder. Seven years
ago, I placed in your charge Cicely
Edgerton—” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 88 | Author: | Ward
Artemus
1834-1867 | Add | | | Title: | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic illustrations | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Sir—I'm movin along—slowly along—down
tords your place. I want you should rite me a
letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in your place.
My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a
Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal—t'would make
you larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss jump
up and squeal) wax figgers of G. Washington Gen.
Tayler John Bunyan Capt. Kidd and Dr. Webster
in the act of killin Dr. Parkman, besides several
miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts
& murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by
none. Now Mr. Editor, scratch orf a few lines
sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place.
I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend
upon it. I want you should git my hanbills up in
flamin stile. Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt
in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleld Show. We must
fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their
feelins. Cum the moral on 'em strong. If it's a
temprance community tell 'em I sined the pledge fifteen
minits arter Ise born, but on the contery ef your
peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial
a feller as we ever met, full of conwiviality, & the
life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take, don't you?
If you say anythin abowt my show say my snaiks is
as harmliss as the new born Babe. What a interestin
study it is to see a zewological animil like a
snaik under perfeck subjecshun! My kangaroo is
the most larfable little cuss I ever saw. All for 15
cents. I am anxyus to skewer your infloounce. I
repeet in regard to them hanbills that I shall git
'em struck orf up to your printin office. My
perlitercal sentiments agree with yourn exackly. I
know thay do, becawz I never saw a man whoos
didn't. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 90 | Author: | Child
Lydia Maria Francis
1802-1880 | Add | | | Title: | A romance of the republic | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Dearly Beloved,—I am so happy that I cannot
wait a minute without telling you about it. I have done a
naughty thing, but, as it is the first time I ever disobeyed
you, I hope you will forgive me. You told me never to
go to the plantation without you. But I waited and waited,
and you did n't come; and we were so happy there,
that lovely day, that I longed to go again. I knew it
would be very lonesome without you; but I thought it
would be some comfort to see again the places where we
walked together, and sang together, and called each other
all manner of foolish fond names. Do you remember how
many variations you rung upon my name, — Rosabella,
Rosalinda, Rosamunda, Rosa Regina? How you did pelt
me with roses! Do you remember how happy we were in
the garden bower? How we sang together the old-fashioned
canzonet, `Love in thine eyes forever plays'? And
how the mocking-bird imitated your guitar, while you were
singing the Don Giovanni serenade? “Dear Sir, — If you can spare an hour this evening to
talk with me on a subject of importance, you will greatly
oblige yours, “Dearest and best Friends,—It would take days
to explain to you all that has happened since I wrote
you that long, happy letter; and at present I have not
strength to write much. When we meet we will talk
about it more fully, though I wish to avoid the miserable
particulars as far as possible. The preparations I
so foolishly supposed were being made for me were for
a rich Northern bride,—a pretty, innocent-looking little
creature. The marriage with me, it seems, was counterfeit.
When I discovered it, my first impulse was to
fly to you. But a strange illness came over me, and
I was oblivious of everything for four months. My good
Tulee and a black woman named Chloe brought me back
to life by their patient nursing. I suppose it was wrong,
but when I remembered who and what I was, I felt sorry
they did n't let me go. I was again seized with a longing
to fly to you, who were as father and mother to me and my
darling little sister in the days of our first misfortune.
But I was too weak to move, and I am still far from being
able to bear the fatigue of such a journey. Moreover, I
am fastened here for the present by another consideration.
Mr. Fitzgerald says he bought us of papa's creditors, and
that I am his slave. I have entreated him, for the sake
of our unborn child, to manumit me, and he has promised
to do it. If I could only be safe in New Orleans, it is my
wish to come and live with you, and find some way to support
myself and my child. But I could have no peace, so
long as there was the remotest possibility of being claimed
as slaves. Mr. Fitzgerald may not mean that I shall ever
come to harm; but he may die without providing against
it, as poor papa did. I don't know what forms are necessary
for my safety. I don't understand how it is that there
is no law to protect a defenceless woman, who has done no
wrong. I will wait here a little longer to recruit my
strength and have this matter settled. I wish it were possible
for you, my dear, good mother, to come to me for two
or three weeks in June; then perhaps you could take back
with you your poor Rosa and her baby, if their lives should
be spared. But if you cannot come, there is an experienced
old negress here, called Granny Nan, who, Tulee says, will
take good care of me. I thank you for you sympathizing,
loving letter. Who could papa's friend be that left me a
legacy? I was thankful for the fifty dollars, for it is very
unpleasant to me to use any of Mr. Fitzgerald's money,
though he tells Tom to supply everything I want. If it
were not for you, dear friends, I don't think I should have
courage to try to live. But something sustains me wonderfully
through these dreadful trials. Sometimes I think
poor Chloe's prayers bring me help from above; for the
good soul is always praying for me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 91 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | The celebrated jumping frog of Calaveras County | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | IN compliance with the request of a
friend of mine, who wrote me from
the East, I called on good-natured,
garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired
after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley,
as requested to do, and I hereunto append the
result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas
W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never
knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured
that, if I asked old Wheeler about him,
it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley,
and he would go to work and bore me
nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence
of him as long and tedious as it should be useless
to me. If that was the design, it certainly
succeeded. “Dear Mark: We spent the evening very pleasantly at
home yesterday. The Rev. Dr. Macklin and wife, from Peoria,
were here. He is an humble laborer in the vineyard, and takes
his coffee strong. He is also subject to neuralgia—neuralgia in
the head—and is so unassuming and prayerful. There are few
such men We had soup for dinner likewise. Although I am
not fond of it. O Mark! why don't you try to lead a better
life? Read II. Kings, from chap. 2 to chap. 24 inclusive. It
would be so gratifying to me if you would experience a change
of heart. Poor Mrs. Gabrick is dead. You did not know her.
She had fits, poor soul. On the 14th the entire army took up
the line of march from—” “Uncle Mark, if you was here, I could tell you about Moses in
the Bulrushers again, I know it better now. Mr. Sowerby has
got his leg broke off a horse. He was riding it on Sunday.
Margaret, that's the maid, Margaret has took all the spittoons,
and slop-buckets, and old jugs out of your room, because she
says she don't think you're ever coming back any more, you
been gone so long. Sissy McElroy's mother has got another
little baby. She has them all the time. It has got little blue
eyes, like Mr. Swimley that boards there, and looks just like
him. I have got a new doll, but Johnny Anderson pulled one
of its legs out. Miss Doosenberry was here to-day; I give her
your picture, but she said she didn't want it. My cat has got
more kittens—oh! you can't think — twice as many as Lottie
Belden's. And there's one, such a sweet little buff one with a
short tail, and I named it for you. All of them's got names
now—General Grant, and Halleck, and Moses, and Margaret,
and Deuteronomy, and Captain Semmes, and Exodus, and Leviticus,
and Horace Greeley—all named but one, and I am saving
it because the one that I named for You's been sick all the time
since, and I reckon it'll die. [It appears to have been mighty
rough on the short-tailed kitten, naming it for me—I wonder
how the reserved victim will stand it.] Uncle Mark, I do believe
Hattie Caldwell likes you, and I know she thinks you are
pretty, because I heard her say nothing couldn't hurt your good
looks—nothing at all—she said, even if you was to have the
small-pox ever so bad, you would be just as good-looking as you
was before. And my ma says she's ever so smart. [Very.] So
no more this time, because General Grant and Moses is fighting. To Mr. Mark Twain: The within parson, which I have sot
to poettry under the name and style of “He Done His Level
Best,” was one among the whitest men I ever see, and it an't
every man that knowed him that can find it in his heart to say
he's glad the poor cuss is busted and gone home to the States.
He was here in an early day, and he was the handyest man
about takin' holt of any thing that come along you most ever
see, I judge. He was a cheerful, stirrin' cretur', always doin'
something, and no man can say he ever see him do any thing
by halvers. Preachin' was his nateral gait, but he warn't a
man to lay back and twidle his thums because there didn't happen
to be nothin' doin' in his own espeshial line—no, sir, he was
a man who would meander forth and stir up something for hisself.
His last acts was to go his pile on “kings-and,” (calklatin'
to fill, but which he didn't fill,) when there was a “flush” out
agin him, and naterally, you see, he went under. And so he
was cleaned out, as you may say, and he struck the home-trail,
cheerful but flat broke. I knowed this talonted man in Arkansaw,
and if you would print this humbly tribute to his gorgis
abillities, you would greatly obleege his onhappy friend. “St. Clair Higgins,” Los Angeles.—“My life is a failure; I
have adored, wildly, madly, and she whom I love has turned
coldly from me and shed her affections upon another. What
would you advise me to do?” “Arithmeticus,” Virginia, Nevada.—“If it would take a
cannon ball 3⅓ seconds to travel four miles, and 3⅜ seconds to
travel the next four, and 3⅝ seconds to travel the next four, and
if its rate of progress continued to diminish in the same ratio,
how long would it take it to go fifteen hundred millions of
miles?” “Discarded Lover.”—“I loved, and still love, the beautiful
Edwitha Howard, and intended to marry her. Yet, during my
temporary absence at Benicia, last week, alas! she married
Jones. Is my happiness to be thus blasted for life? Have I no
redress?” “Arithmeticus,” Virginia, Nevada.—“I am an enthusiastic
student of mathematics, and it is so vexatious to me to find my
progress constantly impeded by these mysterious arithmetical
technicalities. Now do tell me what the difference is between
geometry and conchology?” Distressing Accident.—Last evening about 6 o'clock, as
Mr. William Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South
Park, was leaving his residence to go down town, as has been
his usual custom for many years, with the exception only of a
short interval in the spring of 1850, during which he was confined
to his bed by injuries received in attempting to stop a runaway
horse by thoughtlessly placing himself directly in its wake
and throwing up his hands and shouting, which, if he had done
so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have frightened
the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although
disastrous enough to himself as it was, and rendered more melancholy
and distressing by reason of the presence of his wife's
mother, who was there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding
it is at least likely, though not necessarily so, that she
should be reconnoitering in another direction when incidents
occur, not being vivacious and on the lookout, as a general
thing, but even the reverse, as her own mother is said to have
stated, who is no more, but died in the full hope of a glorious
resurrection, upwards of three years ago, aged 86, being a
Christian woman and without guile, as it were, or property, in
consequence of the fire of 1849, which destroyed every blasted
thing she had in the world. But such is life. Let us all take
warning by this solemn occurrence, and let us endeavor so to conduct
ourselves that when we come to die we can do it. Let us
place our hands upon our hearts, and say with earnestness and
sincerity that from this day forth we will beware of the intoxicating
bowl.—First Edition of the Californian. “Dear Sir: My object in writing to you is to have you give
me a full history of Nevada. What is the character of its climate?
What are the productions of the earth? Is it healthy?
What diseases do they die of mostly? Do you think it would
be advisable for a man who can make a living in Missouri to
emigrate to that part of the country? There are several of us
who would emigrate there in the spring if we could ascertain to
a certainty that it is a much better country than this. I suppose
you know Joel H. Smith? He used to live here; he lives in
Nevada now; they say he owns considerable in a mine there.
Hoping to hear from you soon, etc., I remain yours, truly, Dearest William: Pardon my familiarity
—but that name touchingly reminds me of the
loved and lost, whose name was similar. I
have taken the contract to answer your letter,
and although we are now strangers, I feel we
shall cease to be so if we ever become acquainted
with each other. The thought is worthy of
attention, William. I will now respond to
your several propositions in the order in which
you have fulminated them. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 93 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | The innocents abroad, or, The new Pilgrim's progress | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | FOR months the great Pleasure Excursion to Europe and
the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers
every where in America, and discussed at countless firesides.
It was a novelty in the way of Excursions—its like had not
been thought of before, and it compelled that interest which
attractive novelties always command. It was to be a picnic
on a gigantic scale. The participants in it, instead of freighting
an ungainly steam ferry-boat with youth and beauty and
pies and doughnuts, and paddling up some obscure creek to
disembark upon a grassy lawn and wear themselves out with
a long summer day's laborious frolicking under the impression
that it was fun, were to sail away in a great steamship with
flags flying and cannon pealing, and take a royal holiday
beyond the broad ocean, in many a strange clime and in many
a land renowned in history! They were to sail for months
over the breezy Atlantic and the sunny Mediterranean; they
were to scamper about the decks by day, filling the ship with
shouts and laughter—or read novels and poetry in the shade
of the smoke-stacks, or watch for the jelly-fish and the nautilus,
over the side, and the shark, the whale, and other strange
monsters of the deep; and at night they were to dance in the
open air, on the upper deck, in the midst of a ball-room that
stretched from horizon to horizon, and was domed by the bending
heavens and lighted by no meaner lamps than the stars
and the magnificent moon—dance, and promenade, and
smoke, and sing, and make love, and search the skies for constellations
that never associate with the “Big Dipper” they
were so tired of; and they were to see the ships of twenty
navies—the customs and costumes of twenty curious peoples
—the great cities of half a world—they were to hob-nob with
nobility and hold friendly converse with kings and princes,
Grand Moguls, and the anointed lords of mighty empires! The undersigned will make an excursion as above during the coming season, and
begs to submit to you the following programme: “Monsieur le Landlord—Sir: Pourquoi don't you Mettez some savon in your bed-chambers?
Est-ce que vous pensez I will steal it? La nuit passée you charged me
pour deux chandelles when I only had one; hier vous avez charged me avec glace
when I had none at all; tout les jours you are coming some fresh game or other on
me, mais vous ne pouvez pas play this savon dodge on me twice. Savon is a necessary
de la vie to any body but a Frenchman, et je l'aurai hors de cet hôtel or make
trouble. You hear me. Allons. The steamer Quaker City has accomplished at last her extraordinary voyage
and returned to her old pier at the foot of Wall street. The expedition was a success
in some respects, in some it was not. Originally it was advertised as a “pleasure
excursion.” Well, perhaps, it was a pleasure excursion, but certainly it did
not look like one; certainly it did not act like one. Any body's and every body's
notion of a pleasure excursion is that the parties to it will of a necessity be young
and giddy and somewhat boisterous. They will dance a good deal, sing a good
deal, make love, but sermonize very little. Any body's and every body's notion of
a well conducted funeral is that there must be a hearse and a corpse, and chief
mourners and mourners by courtesy, many old people, much solemnity, no levity,
and a prayer and a sermon withal. Three-fourths of the Quaker City's passengers
were between forty and seventy years of age! There was a picnic crowd for you!
It may be supposed that the other fourth was composed of young girls. But it
was not. It was chiefly composed of rusty old bachelors and a child of six years.
Let us average the ages of the Quaker City's pilgrims and set the figure down as
fifty years. Is any man insane enough to imagine that this picnic of patriarchs
sang, made love, danced, laughed, told anecdotes, dealt in ungodly levity? In my
experience they sinned little in these matters. No doubt it was presumed here at
home that these frolicsome veterans laughed and sang and romped all day, and day
after day, and kept up a noisy excitement from one end of the ship to the other;
and that they played blind-man's buff or danced quadrilles and waltzes on moonlight
evenings on the quarter-dock; and that at odd moments of unoccupied time
they jotted a laconic item or two in the journals they opened on such an elaborate
plan when they left home, and then skurried off to their whist and euchre labors
under the cabin lamps. If these things were presumed, the presumption was at
fault. The venerable excursionists were not gay and frisky. They played no
blind-man's buff; they dealt not in whist; they shirked not the irksome journal,
for alas! most of them were even writing books. They never romped, they talked
but little, they never sang, save in the nightly prayer-meeting. The pleasure ship
was a synagogue, and the pleasure trip was a funeral excursion without a corpse.
(There is nothing exhilarating about a funeral excursion without a corpse.) A free,
hearty laugh was a sound that was not heard oftener than once in seven days about
those decks or in those cabins, and when it was heard it met with precious little
sympathy. The excursionists danced, on three separate evenings, long, long ago,
(it seems an age,) quadrilles, of a single set, made up of three ladies and five gentlemen,
(the latter with handkerchiefs around their arms to signify their sex,) who
timed their feet to the solemn wheezing of a melodeon; but even this melancholy
orgie was voted to be sinful, and dancing was discontinued. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 94 | Author: | EDITED BY
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. | Add | | | Title: | Out of his head | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “On the seventeenth of August, in the year
16—, the morning sun, resting obliquely on the
gables and roof-tops of Portsmouth, lighted up
one of those grim spectacles not unusual in New
England at that period. In Thomas Bailey Aldrich, whose death was briefly
announced in The Times of Wednesday, America has lost
the most brilliant man of letters of the generation that
succeeded the Concord group. He was born in Portsmouth,
New Hampshire, in November, 1836, when Longfellow
and Emerson were in their prime, and he reaped
the benefit of their labours by coming into an age which
they had familiarized with literature and cultivation.
Mr. Aldrich early became a journalist, and was connected
with the New York Evening Mirror, Willes's Home
Journal, and other papers. The outbreak of the war
saw him as newspaper correspondent, and in 1865 he
became the editor of Every Saturday. Nine years in
that post were followed by seven of miscellaneous work,
till in 1881 he reached the height of his career as
journalist by becoming editor of the Atlantic Monthly, a
position he held till 1890. Meanwhile he had written
much original matter both in prose and verse. His genius
was many-sided, and it is surprising that so busy an
editor and so prolific a writer should have attained the
perfection of form for which Mr. Aldrich was remarkable.
Among his novels “Prudence Palfrey” and “The
Stillwater Tragedy” are the best known. From his
country home at Porkapog, Mass., he sent out the charming
“Porkapog Papers,” as graceful and delicate as their
title was ungainly. He described with the skill of a
Hawthorne his native town by the sea, and in “Marjorie
Daw” and other works he proved himself an “American
humourist” of a characteristic type. One of his
books, “The Story of a Bad Boy,” has achieved
notable distinction; it has been translated into
French in a series entitled “Education et Récréation,”
and into German as a specimen of American humour. It
is, however, as a poet that Mr. Aldrich was chiefly
entitled to recognition, and on his poetry that his fame
will rest. Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman regarded him
as “the most pointed and exquisite of our lyrical craftsmen”;
and the words are well chosen. He was the
doyen and the leader of the school of American poetry
which is now being displaced by Mr. Bliss Carman and
others, who are apparently more virile than the preceding
generation. His was the poetry of exquisite finish and
not of great force or profundity. To say that his lyrics
are vers de société in the highest form is not to rate their
content too low nor their manner too high; and it is in
lyric song rather than in the longer poems, such as
“Wyndham Towers,” that Mr. Aldrich excelled. Some
of his poems—that on the intaglio head of Minerva,
“When the Sultan goes to Ispahan,” and “Identity”—
are in every anthology of American literature, and have
won their author fame throughout the English-speaking
world. Suddenly Loses Strength After Partially
Recovering From an Operation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 95 | Author: | Hawthorne
Nathaniel
1804-1864 | Add | | | Title: | The marble faun: or, The romance of Monte Beni | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Four individuals, in whose fortunes we should be glad
to interest the reader, happened to be standing in one of
the saloons of the sculpture-gallery in the Capitol at
Rome. It was that room (the first, after ascending the
staircase) in the centre of which reclines the noble and
most pathetic figure of the Dying Gladiator, just sinking
into his death-swoon. Around the walls stand the Antinous,
the Amazon, the Lycian Apollo, the Juno; all
famous productions of antique sculpture, and still shining
in the undiminished majesty and beauty of their ideal
life, although the marble that embodies them is yellow
with time, and perhaps corroded by the damp earth in
which they lay buried for centuries. Here, likewise, is
seen a symbol (as apt at this moment as it was two thousand
years ago) of the Human Soul, with its choice of
Innocence or Evil close at hand, in the pretty figure of a
child, clasping a dove to her bosom, but assaulted by a
snake. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 96 | Author: | Hawthorne
Nathaniel
1804-1864 | Add | | | Title: | The marble faun: or, The romance of Monte Beni | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | From the old butler, whom he found to be a very
gracious and affable personage, Kenyon soon learned
many curious particulars about the family history and
hereditary peculiarities of the Counts of Monte Beni.
There was a pedigree, the later portion of which — that
is to say, for a little more than a thousand years — a
genealogist would have found delight in tracing out, link
by link, and authenticating by records and documentary
evidences. It would have been as difficult, however, to
follow up the stream of Donatello's ancestry to its dim
source, as travellers have found it to reach the mysterious
fountains of the Nile. And, far beyond the region of
definite and demonstrable fact, a romancer might have
strayed into a region of old poetry, where the rich soil,
so long uncultivated and untrodden, had lapsed into
nearly its primeval state of wilderness. Among those
antique paths, now overgrown with tangled and riotous
vegetation, the wanderer must needs follow his own guidance,
and arrive nowhither at last. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 97 | Author: | Higginson
Thomas Wentworth
1823-1911 | Add | | | Title: | Malbone | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | AS one wanders along this southwestern
promontory of the Isle of Peace, and
looks down upon the green translucent water
which forever bathes the marble slopes of the
Pirates' Cave, it is natural to think of the ten
wrecks with which the past winter has strewn
this shore. Though almost all trace of their
presence is already gone, yet their mere memory
lends to these cliffs a human interest. Where
a stranded vessel lies, thither all steps converge,
so long as one plank remains upon another.
There centres the emotion. All else
is but the setting, and the eye sweeps with indifference
the line of unpeopled rocks. They
are barren, till the imagination has tenanted
them with possibilities of danger and dismay.
The ocean provides the scenery and properties
of a perpetual tragedy, but the interest arrives
with the performers. Till then the shores remain
vacant, like the great conventional arm-chairs
of the French drama, that wait for
Rachel to come and die. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 98 | Author: | Holland
J. G.
(Josiah Gilbert)
1819-1881 | Add | | | Title: | Sevenoaks | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Everybody has seen Sevenoaks, or a hundred towns so much
like it, in most particulars, that a description of any one of
them would present it to the imagination—a town strung upon
a stream, like beads upon a thread, or charms upon a chain.
Sevenoaks was richer in chain than charms, for its abundant
water-power was only partially used. It plunged, and roared,
and played, and sparkled, because it had not half enough to
do. It leaped down three or four cataracts in passing through
the village; and, as it started from living springs far northward
among the woods and mountains, it never failed in its
supplies. “Mr. Robert Belcher: I have been informed of the
shameful manner in which you treated a member of my family
this morning—Master Harry Benedict. The bullying of a
small boy is not accounted a dignified business for a man in
the city which I learn you have chosen for your home, however
it may be regarded in the little town from which you
came. I do not propose to tolerate such conduct toward any
dependent of mine. I do not ask for your apology, for the
explanation was in my hands before the outrage was committed.
I perfectly understand your relations to the lad, and
trust that the time will come when the law will define them,
so that the public will also understand them. Meantime, you
will consult your own safety by letting him alone, and never
presuming to repeat the scene of this morning. “Dear Sir: I owe an apology to the people of Sevenoaks
for never adequately acknowledging the handsome manner in
which they endeavored to assuage the pangs of parting on the
occasion of my removal. The resolutions passed at their
public meeting are cherished among my choicest treasures, and
the cheers of the people as I rode through their ranks on the
morning of my departure, still ring in my ears more delightfully
than any music I ever heard. Thank them, I pray you,
for me, for their overwhelming friendliness. I now have a
request to make of them, and I make it the more boldly because,
during the past ten years, I have never been approached
by any of them in vain when they have sought my benefactions.
The Continental Petroleum Company is a failure, and
all the stock I hold in it is valueless. Finding that my expenses
in the city are very much greater than in the country,
it has occurred to me that perhaps my friends there would be
willing to make up a purse for my benefit. I assure you that
it would be gratefully received; and I apply to you because,
from long experience, I know that you are accomplished in
the art of begging. Your graceful manner in accepting gifts
from me has given me all the hints I shall need in that respect,
so that the transaction will not be accompanied by any clumsy
details. My butcher's bill will be due in a few days, and dispatch
is desirable. “Your letter of this date received, and contents noted.
Permit me to say in reply: “Dear Benedict:—I am glad to know that you are better.
Since you distrust my pledge that I will give you a reasonable
share of the profits on the use of your patents, I will go to
your house this afternoon, with witnesses, and have an independent
paper prepared, to be signed by myself, after the
assignment is executed, which will give you a definite claim
upon me for royalty. We will be there at four o'clock. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 99 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Add | | | Title: | The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | UNCLE EPHRAIM BARLOW was an old-fashioned
man, clinging to the old-time customs of his
fathers, and looking with but little toleration upon
what he termed the “new-fangled notions” of the present
generation. Born and reared amid the rocks and hills of
the Bay State, his nature partook largely of the nature of
his surroundings, and he grew into manhood with many
a rough point adhering to his character, which, nevertheless,
taken as a whole, was, like the wild New England
scenery, beautiful and grand. None knew Uncle Ephraim
Barlow but to respect him, and at the church in which
he was a deacon, few would have been missed more than
the tall, muscular man, with the long white hair, who,
Sunday after Sunday, walked slowly up the middle aisle
to his accustomed seat before the altar, and who regularly
passed the contribution box, bowing involuntarily
in token of approbation when a neighbor's gift was larger
than its wont, and gravely dropping in his own ten cents
—never more, never less, always ten cents—his weekly
offering, which he knew amounted in a year to just five
dollars and twenty cents. And still Uncle Ephraim was
not stingy, as the Silverton poor could testify, for many
a load of wood and bag of meal found entrance to the
doors where cold and hunger would have otherwise been,
while to his minister he was literally a holder up of the
weary hands, and a comforter in the time of trouble. “Miss Helen Lennox: Please pardon the liberty I have taken in
inclosing the sum of $500 to be used by you in procuring whatever
Katy may need for present necessities. Presuming that the
country seamstresses have not the best facilities for obtaining the
latest fashions, my mother proposes sending out her own private
dressmaker, Mrs. Ryan. You may look for her the last of the week. Mr. Wilford Cameron: — I give you credit for the kindest of
motives in sending the check which I now return to you, with my
compliments. We are not as poor as you suppose, and would almost
deem it sacrilege to let another than ourselves provide for Katy
so long as she is ours. And furthermore, Mrs. Ryan's services will
not be needed, so it is not worth her while to make a journey here
for nothing. “By the way, Helen, I heard him tell Wilford that you
had one of the best shaped heads he ever saw, and that
he thought you decidedly good looking. I must tell you
now of the only thing which troubles me in the least, and
I shall get used to that, I suppose. It is so strange Wilford
never told me a word until she came. Think of little
Katy Lennox with a waiting-maid, who jabbers French
half the time, for she speaks that language as well as her
own, having been abroad with the family once before.
That is why they sent her to me; they knew her services
would be invaluable in Paris. Her name is Esther, and
she came the day after we did, and brought me such a
beautiful mantilla from Wilford's mother, and the loveliest
dress. Just the pattern was fifty dollars, she said. “My Dear Sister Helen:—I have just come in from
a little party given by one of Mrs. Harvey's friends, and
I am so tired, for you know I am not accustomed to such
late hours. The party was very pleasant indeed, and
everybody was so kind to me, especially Mr. Ray, who
stood by me all the time, and who somehow seemed to
help me, so that I knew just what to do, and was not
awkward at all. I hope not, at least for Wilford's sake. AFTER German Philosophy and Hamilton's Metaphysics,
it is a great relief to have introduced into
the family an entirely new element — a character
the dissection of which is at once a novelty
and a recreation. It is absolutely refreshing, and I find
myself returning to my books with increased vigor after
an encounter with that unsophisticated, innocent-minded
creature, our sister-in-law Mrs. Wilford Cameron. Such
pictures as Juno and I used to draw of the stately personage
who was one day coming to us as Wilford's wife, and of
whom even mother was to stand in awe. Alas, how hath
our idol fallen! And still I rather like the little creature,
who, the very first night, nearly choked mother to death,
giving her lace streamers a most uncomfortable twitch,
and actually kissing father — a thing I have not done
since I can remember. But then the Camerons are all a
set of icicles, encased in a refrigerator at that. If we were
not, we should thaw out, when Katy leans on us so affectionately
and looks up at us so wistfully, as if pleading
for our love. Wilford does wonders; he used to be so
grave, so dignified and silent, that I never supposed he
would bear having a wife meet him at the door with cooing
and kisses, and climbing into his lap right before us
all. Juno says it makes her sick, while mother is dreadfully
shocked; and even Will sometimes seems annoyed,
gently shoving her aside and telling her he is tired. Your sister is very ill. Come as soon as possible. “Your child is dying at Silverton. Come at once. Dear Katy:—I have been suddenly called to leave the city on
business, which will probably detain me for three days or more, and
as I must go on the night train, I wish Esther to have my portmanteau
ready with whatever I may need for the journey. As I proposed
this morning, I shall dine with mother, but come home
immediately after dinner. “Will you be sorry when you read this and find that I am gone,
that you are free from the husband you do not love,—whom, perhaps,
you never loved, though I thought you did. I trusted you
once, and now I do not blame you as much as I ought, for you are
young and easily influenced. You are very susceptible to flattery,
as was proven by your career at Saratoga and Newport. I had no
suspicion of you then, but now that I know you better, I see that it
was not all childish simplicity which made you smile so graciously
upon those who sought your favor. You are a coquette, Katy, and
the greater one because of that semblance of artlessness which is the
perfection of art. This, however, I might forgive, if I had not learned
that another man loved you first and wished to make you his wife,
while you, in your secret heart, wish you had known it sooner. Don't
deny it, Katy; I saw it in your face when I first told you of Dr.
Grant's confession, and I heard it in your voice as well as in your
words when you said `A life at Linwood would be perfect rest
compared with this.' That hurt me cruelly, Katy. I did not deserve
it from one for whom I have done and borne so much, and it was the
final cause of my leaving you, for I am going to Washington to enroll
myself in the service of my country. You will be happier without
me for awhile, and perhaps when I return, Linwood will not look
quite the little paradise it does now. “Married—On Christmas Eve, at St. John's Church, Silverton,
Mass., by the Rev. Mr. Kelly, Capt. Mark Ray, of the —th Regiment,
N. Y. S. Vols., to Miss Helen Lennox, of Silverton.” Your husband cannot live long. Come immediately. “I knew how it would end, when you were in Georgetown,” she
wrote, “and I am glad that it is so, praying daily that you may be
happy with Dr. Grant and remember the sad past only as some dream
from which you have awakened. I thank you for your invitation
to visit Linwood, and when my work is over I may come for a few
weeks and rest in your bird's nest of a home. Thank God the war
is ended; but my boys need me yet, and until the last crutch has left
the hospital, I shall stay where duty lies. What my life will henceforth
be I do not know; but I have sometimes thought that with the
funds you so generously bestowed upon me, I shall open a school for
orphan children, taking charge myself, and so doing some good.
Will you be the Lady Patroness, and occasionally enliven us with the
light of your countenance? I have left the hospital but once since
you were here, and then I went to Wilford's grave. I prayed for you
while there, remembering only that you had been his wife. In a little
box where no eyes but mine ever look, there is a bunch of flowers
plucked from Wilford's grave. They are faded and withered, but something
of their sweet perfume lingers still; and I prize them as my
greatest treasure; for, except the lock of hair severed from his head,
they are all that is remaining to me of the past, which now seems so
far away. It is time to make my nightly round of visits, so I must
bid you good-bye. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance
upon you, and be with you forever. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 100 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Add | | | Title: | Dora Deane, or, The East India uncle; and Maggie
Miller, or, Old Hagar's secret | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Write to me, Dora, and tell me of yourself, that I may
judge something of your character. Tell me, too, if you
ever think of the lonesome old man, who, each night of his
life, remembers you in his prayers, asking that if on earth
he may never look on Fannie's child, he may at last meet
and know her in the better land. And now farewell, my
daughter, mine by adoption, if from no other cause. “What does she say?” cried Mrs. Deane and Alice,
crowding around her, while with a rueful face she read that
Dora would be delighted to meet Uncle Nat at Locust Grove,
but could not come quite so soon as they wished to have her. “I cannot possibly come, as I have promised to be present
at the dressing of the bride. “Do you fancy some direful calamity has befallen me,
because I have not written to you for more than a week?
Away with your fears, then, for nothing worse has come
upon me than a badly broken limb, which will probably keep
me a prisoner here for two months or more. Now don't be
frightened, Rosa. I am not crippled for life, and even if I
were, I could love you just the same, while you, I'm sure,
would love me more. “They say 'tis a mighty bad wind which blows no one
any good, and so, though I verily believe I suffer all a man
can suffer with a broken bone, yet, when I look at the fair
face of Maggie Miller, I feel that I would not exchange this
high old bed, to enter which, needs a short ladder, even for
a seat by you on that three-legged stool, behind the old
writing-desk. I never saw anything like her in my life.
Everything she thinks, she says, and as to flattering her, it
can't be done. I've told her a dozen times at least that she
was beautiful, and she didn't mind it any more than Rose
does, when I flatter her. Still, I fancy if I were to talk to
her of love, it might make a difference, and perhaps I shall,
ere I leave the place. “I grant your request,” she said, “and take you for a
sister well beloved. I had a half-sister once, they say, but
she died when a little babe. I never looked upon her face,
and connected with her birth there was too much of sorrow
and humiliation for me to think much of her, save as of one
who, under other circumstances, might have been dear to
me. And yet, as I grow older, I often find myself wishing
she had lived, for my father's blood was in her veins. But
I do not even know where her grave was made, for we only
heard one winter morning, years ago, that she was dead,
with the mother who bore her. Forgive me, Maggie dear,
for saying so much about that little child. Thoughts of
you, who are to be my sister, make me think of her, who,
had she lived, would have been a young lady now, nearly
your own age. So in the place of her, whom, knowing, I
would have loved, I adopt you, sweet Maggie Miller, my
sister and my friend. May heaven's choicest blessings rest
on you forever, and no shadow come between you and the
one you have chosen for your husband. To my partial eyes
he is worthy of you, Maggie, royal in bearing and queenly
in form though you be, and that you may be happy with
him will be the daily prayer of “If I had known,” she wrote, “I should have sot the
table in the parlor certing, for though I'm plain and homespun,
I know as well as the next one what good manners is,
and do my endeavors to practise it. But do tell a body,”
she continued, “where you was, muster day in Wooster.
I knocked and pounded enough to raise the dead, and
nobody answered. I never noticed you was deaf when you
was here, though Betsey Jane thinks she did. If you be,
I'll send you up a receipt for a kind of intment which Miss
Sam Babbit invented, and which cures everything. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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