| 141 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Sarah ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | YES! Anne, the die is cast—I am a wife. But
a less cheerful bride, one who looks forward
with less hope, perhaps never existed. You
were surprised, you say, to hear to whom I had
relinquished my hand and heart—leave out the
latter, Anne, it had nothing to do with the transaction.
Why were you not here, you say, to
have prevented a union which you are morally
certain will not conduce to my happiness? You
cannot be more certain of it, than I am; but
what could I do? Frederic gone to India; hemmed
round with persuasive meddlers, who, I am
more than half convinced, urged me to this
measure, fearful I should be burthensome to
them; and I was also told it was necessary
for the preservation of my reputation that I
should accept Darnley. I had no natural protector;
my father so far distant he was the same
as dead to me; Frederic gone; my health not
sufficiently established to enable me to undertake
the journey I meditated before you left England;
my finances reduced to a very small portion, and
though most earnestly entreated to forbear,
Darnley continuing his visits. I found I must
accede to his proposals, or be thrown on the
world, censured by my relations, robbed of my
good name, and being poor, open to the pursuits
and insults of the profligate. One thing which
encouraged me to hope I might be tolerably happy
in the union was—though my heart felt no
strong emotions in his favor, it was totally free
from all partiality towards any other. He always
appeared good humored and obliging; and though
his mind was not highly cultivated, I thought
time might improve him in that particular. However,
I was candid with him; told him the situation
of my heart, and asked if he could be content
with receiving attentions which would be
only the result of principle. He seemed to
think this only maidenish affectation, and perfectly
convinced within himself that I loved him
already. “Madam, a personal interview is not sought
from any expected pleasure it may afford, but because
I think it necessary to speak a few words
to you. I must insist on seeing you; if you cannot
come down, I will come to you. “It is certainly painful to me, Mr. Darnley,
to find you voluntarily avoid my society. Perhaps
I can divine the cause, and by removing it
the effect may happily cease. You think my
sex and situation will lead me, when we meet,
to recapitulate some late events, and make disagreeable
remarks thereon. Such a recapitulation
is by no means necessary. Let us meet as
though no such events had ever taken place:
let the whole pass into eternal oblivion: trust
4*
me, it shall not be my fault if it does not. I hope
you will dine at home to day; Anne is engaged,
and if you should dine out also, I shall dine
alone. “You are very much mistaken, Mrs. Darnley,
if you suppose I dread your reproaches: I
know, with all your boasted forbearance, you
dare not utter any, or it is not your regard to
me would prevent you; but pray understand,
madam, if I am not master of my own house, I
am of my actions and person, and shall go out
when and where I please, without consulting
your pleasure; mind your own business, and
don't trouble yourself about me; you have got a
comfortable home, and may go out or come in,
as you please. But you cannot suppose, after
the very polite method which you took to turn
Jessey out of doors, that I can see you with any
degree of temper; and since you have withdrawn
from her your protection, I feel doubly
bound to afford her mine. She is a woman whom
I esteem; she loves me with her whole soul;
she has given incontestable proofs, that her affection
for me supersedes all other considerations;
and had she sooner been freed from her matrimonial
shackles, you would never have been
the wife of “That I am your wife, Mr. Darnley, is more
my misfortune, than my fault. But you are under
a mistake, in supposing Jessey loves you.
No woman can be under the influence of that
sacred passion, (whose power I can conceive,
though as yet I have never felt its influence) who
degrades herself below even the pity of a man of
principle, and for self gratification plunges the object
of her pretended adoration into infamy, by
inciting him to repeated breaches of every sacred
and moral obligation. You say I have a comfortable
home; can that home be so, from
whence domestic peace is banished? You are
your own master—It is well you are so. Would
to God I was as free. I AM exceedingly concerned, my dear Mrs.
Darnley, at the little brulee which has taken
place between my mother and yourself, especially
as she tells me you talk of leaving her; this I
lament, because I think Caroline very much improved
since you have had the entire management
of her; not but that it has been a matter
of surprise to me, that a woman so young, lovely,
and accomplished as yourself, should voluntarily
submit to the humiliation of being subject
to the humor and caprices of any one, and live
in a state of dependence, when they might command
affluence on the very easy terms of sharing
it with an agreeable man, who would think himself
honored by her acceptance of his protection:
and this I know to be your case. The marquis
of H—, who is an intimate friend of lord
Linden's, and whom you have seen at my house
and at my mother's, has often expressed his
fervent admiration of your person, manners and
accomplishments. He was present when my
mother told us of your quarrel; I do assure you
he took your part very highly, called you a
persecuted angel; raved at my mother, and
was setting off post haste, to offer you consolation,
in the form of a young handsome lover and
a settlement; but I stopped him, told him he
must conduct himself with prudence and delicacy,
if he wished to succeed with you—so while he is
writing his amorous epistle, I have scrawled
these hasty lines, to intreat you to give his proposal
a fair perusal, and take it into serious consideration.
Only reflect, my dear, on the
unprotected state, in which you now are, in a
strange place, without friends or money. You will
perhaps say, you have reputation; but, child,
will reputation pay your lodging, or buy you a
new gown when you want one? No, believe me,
poor reputation is many a time left naked in the
street, while those who have disclaimed and
turned her out of doors, are sumptuously clothed,
inhabit palaces, and ride in splendid equipages.
But I will say no more; your own good sense
will direct you; and surely I think you cannot be
so wilfully blind to your own interest, as to refuse
the offers of the marquis. Do, child, be wise for
once, and take the advice of a friend, though I
am arguing against myself to persuade you to do
so. But if you are romantic enough to prefer
dependence; why, if you must leave ma, come
and live with me, and I will take Caroline home;
at any rate, pray do not, in a flight of elevation,
run from those evils which you know, to those of
which at present you can have no conception. THOUGH I have but a few times enjoyed the
pleasure of being in your company, those few
have been enough to awaken in my mind sentiments
of the highest esteem for your talents
and virtues. I have understood from my friend,
lord Linden, that you have connected yourself in
marriage, with a man who knows not how justly
to appreciate your worth; and who has permitted
you to come unprovided and unprotected into
this country, that by the exertion of your abilities,
you may obtain means of subsistence; this,
madam, being the case, prevents my having the
honor of laying myself and fortune at your feet.
But as from the treatment you have experienced
from your husband, every tie must be broken
between you, every obligation dissolved—permit
me to offer you protection and independence;
allow me to hope to be admitted among the
chosen few, whom you may honor with esteem.
I have a neat house, ready for your reception, a
few miles from Dublin, whether you can retire,
until one can be prepared in the city, should you
prefer residing there; a carriage and servants
shall attend your order, free of expense, and a
settlement of five hundred pounds a year during
your life, awaits your acceptance; only allow me
the privilege of passing some hours of every
day in your society, and by studying your
charmingly intelligent countenance, discover and
prevent your wishes, before you have time to
give them utterance. I have desired the person
who brings you this, not to wait for an answer.
I will not hurry your gentle and delicate nature;
take your own time to consider my proposals;
only to give me one comforting gleam of hope,
allow me to see you for five minutes this evening,
at Mrs. Bellamy's; I will call about nine
o'clock; I will not say one word on the subject
of this letter; my visit shall be confined to the
period mentioned; if it is your wish, only receive
me without a frown, and I will live in the hope, that
my future visits (when you are settled in your
own house) will be welcomed with a smile. I
am, madam, with the utmost respect, your sincere
adorer, IN pursuance of your advice, I sought out
Mrs. Bellamy, and waited on her to inquire
after Mrs. Darnley, who I perceived, by your
letter, was a person in whose fate either yourself,
or some of your friends, were particularly
interested. When I discovered who this Mrs.
Bellamy was, I will confess I was surprised how
you could be any way engaged in an inquiry after
a woman who had resided in her family; as
she is the mother of the celebrated Mrs. O'Donnell,
who has alienated the affection of the
(otherwise) worthy lord Linden, from his amiable
lady and her lovely children; and this
Mrs. Bellamy was always supposed to be the
vile agent who instigated the daughter to attempt
to ensnare, and whose counsel afterwards assisted
her to bind fast, the fetters which hold his lordship
in his unworthy bondage. However, I presumed
you had some very good reason for desiring
me to be particular in my inquiry, and I set
in earnest about it. The old gentlewoman received
me with politeness, regretted that it was
not in her power to give me the desired information
where Mrs. Darnley was to be found; said
she had been much deceived in her; that she had
brought her from England with her, to superintend
the education of her grand-daughter; but
that very soon after their arrival in Dublin,
she, Mrs. Darnley, made acquaintance with
some low people in the neighborhood; and
one day when she was out, she had taken her
trunk and gone off, without leaving any message
whatever; and that she imagined she was gone
with a kind of sailor-looking man, who used frequently
to come after her. While she was
speaking, a servant came in to bring a note; of
whom she inquired whether any of the people
below had heard or seen any thing of Darnley,
since she went away? The young woman replied,
that Mrs. O'Donnell's John had said, he
saw her a few days since go into a house in an
alley at the lower end of the town. `It is no
great matter where she is,' replied Mrs. Bellamy,
`for what is she good for? She imposed
on me, when she applied for employment, by
telling an artful tale of her husband's misfortunes;
said necessity had obliged her to separate herself
from him; but I rather think, from what
I have since heard, that he had good reasons for
separating from her.' After this intelligence,
my good sir, you may be sure I felt no very
great curiosity to hear any more about your fair
adventurer; but as you had expressed so ardent
a desire for information, I took down the name
of the alley where the woman said she had been
seen, and went immediately there; inquired at
every house where I thought it was likely I
might find her, describing her person according
to the description given in your letter; I had
almost given up all hope, when going into a house
that stood a little more back than the rest, I
found she was known to the mistress of it, and
had lived there several weeks. THE trouble I am about to give your lordship
may, perhaps, be deemed an impertinent
intrusion; and an apologizing introduction, might
by some, be thought indispensible; but I trust
your lordship will admit the cause, when I have
explained it, of itself a sufficient excuse for the
liberty I take, without my offering any other. I WAS honored with your favor of July 17,
and feel myself impelled to admire a friendship
so ardent and sincere, as that which you profess
to feel for the charming Mrs. Darnley. You
were right in your conjecture, that I should
make instant inquiry after the lovely fugitive,
who had taken such alarm at my letter, and fled
from what she termed my persecution. In that
letter, I told her I would see her in the evening;
and at the hour I had appointed, I repaired to
Mrs. Bellamy's house. Judge of my surprize at
hearing she was gone, and had taken her trunks
with her, leaving no message I inquired how
she was conveyed from the house; and learning
that she went in a hackney coach, on my return
home, I employed one of my servants to
inquire at the stands around, for the man who
had taken up a fare at such an hour, in such a
street—by this man I discovered where he had
taken her, and went in the evening of the following
day, to the lane where he directed me;
intending, if I could not prevail on your fair
friend to favor my suit, to insist upon being her
banker, and serve her even against her will. “THOUGH Lady Bourke has not the pleasure
of a personal acquaintance with Mrs. Darnley,
she knows and respects her character; she
begs Mrs. D. to consider the furniture, &c.
which she will find at Woodland Cottage, as her
own; and use it as such, as long as the situation
Mr. Darnley holds, may render a residence
there agreeable. Lady B. hopes Mrs. D.
will find every accommodation, and enjoy much
happiness in her new habitation.” | | Similar Items: | Find |
142 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Charlotte's daughter ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | “What are you doing there Lucy?” said Mrs.
Cavendish to a lovely girl, about fifteen years old.
She was kneeling at the feet of an old man sitting
just within the door of a small thatched cottage situated
about five miles from Southampton on the coast
of Hampshire. “What are you doing there child?”
said she, in rather a sharp tone, repeating her question. I am sensible you will blame the step
I am about to take, but I cannot be happy unless as
the wife of Sir Stephen Haynes. Before you will
receive this, I shall be considerably advanced on the
road to Scotland, not that, being my own mistress,
any one has a right to control me, but I dreaded expostulation,
shuddered at the idea of published banns,
or a formal wedding by license, with settlements,
lawyers, and parchments. These things have, I believe,
little to do with love.—” You cannot be surprised, Theresa, after
the explanation which took place between Lady
Mary and myself yesterday, that I should declare
my utter inability to make those settlements which
I talked of before our excursion to the north. I
must beg you to make my acknowledgments to the
dear generous girl for all marks of favour and kindness
bestowed by her on her unworthy, humble
servant, but my finances are in such a state, that
it is totally impossible for me to take a journey to
Wilts, as proposed, or to solicit her company to
France, whither I must repair as speedily as possible,
to rusticate; whilst my affairs in England are put in
train to restore me to some comparative degree of
affluence. My friend, Richard Craftly, Esq. has offered
the cottage to you and your lovely friend as long
as you may please to occupy it. He is, Miss Brenton,
a man of good abilities, amiable disposition, and
possessed of a small but genteel and unincumbered
estate, which upon the death of his mother will be
augmented. He will call on you this afternoon, I
recommend him to your notice. My best wishes
attend you and your fair associate Lady Mary. “From the hour when I closed the eyes of your
beloved, ill fated mother, you, my dear Lucy, have
been the delight and solace of your grandmother and
myself. And your amiable disposition has led us to
hope, that you may in future be the happy inheritress
of the estate and property on which we have lived
above thirty-five years: happy, my child, in bestowing
11*
comfort on others, and doubly happy in the
enjoyment of reflected joy from grateful hearts. “I have sat down, my dear sir, to fulfil
a most unpleasant task in communicating to you by
the desire of our lovely and esteemed friend, Miss
Blakeney, a copy of her grandfather's letter, which
I inclose, thinking it best to keep the original in my
possession. | | Similar Items: | Find |
143 | Author: | Royall
Anne Newport
1769-1854 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The Tennessean ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | MY ancestors came from England. They were part
of the persecuted dissenters, who sought an asylum in
the wilds of America—of those enterprising few, who
landed at Plymouth, in sixteen hundred and twenty. Dear Friend—You complain, in your last, of the violent
proceedings of your town on the old subject; but it
is trifling, compared to the zeal of our minister.—
Though my health is little improved, since I wrote you
last, yet I went to hear Mr. Williams, last Sabbath. I
was shocked at the discourse; but, dear Thomas, it
would cost me my life, if this were known. He raged,
he stamped, he foamed at the mouth, and all this for a
mere phantom—a shadow. Strange, that our teachers
should set such examples of wrath. I am sure, Christ
enjoins it upon us, to be meek and lowly. But I will try
to give you a plain account of some of the sermon. He
said that “the cross of St. George, in the English colours,
was a downright popish relict; that it was Idolatry,
and popish whoredom, to retain this ensign of hellish
superstition.” But his language would be too tiresome
to you, and withal, not edifying. So much did his
discourse affect the congregation, that they held a meeting,
that same evening, and passed a decree, that it
should be publicly cut out of the colours, and should never
be seen amongst God's people.” I am very doubtful
that this is not the right way—moreover, our minister
and another one, by the name of Roberts, had some
very uncivil talk that same evening. This cannot be
the right way—we have lost it, somehow. We are, in
truth, without teachers; for I would put no more faith
in this madman, Williams, than I would in Satan. It
puts me in mind of a saying of Luther's friend, Mclancthon,
of Wittemberg. He said “that he longed to
be dissolved, and that for two reasons—first, that he
might enjoy the much desired presence of Christ, and
the heavenly church—secondly, that he might be freed
from the cruel and implacable discords of divines.”—
But I shall not, I trust, be long in this turbulent world.
I am heart-sick of it. What a monster is man! Better
had we remained in England:—I could laugh, there;
here I dare not smile. Adieu, dear friend, &c. &c. Dear Charles—So soon as thee receives this letter,
thee will proceed home without delay.—I am ruined!—
All my effects were seized yesterday, to satisfy Clark
& Co. of Liverpool, vs. Burlington & Co. I do not understand
this; I am bewildered; something is wrong
in this business. I did not know that I owed that
house aught, except part of the last importation;
but I know nothing, nor can I do any thing. Haste thee
home with all speed. I am very much indisposed—thy
mother is distracted; we need thy presence and assistance.
The family send their greeting to thy young
friend. Very Dear Friend—Your situation is one that admits
of little relief—nothing but time can heal the wounds of
the heart. But permit me to mingle my tears with
yours—permit me to say that I feel for your sufferings,
and that on a double account; but this is too tender a
subject, and yet I cannot forbear. Dear Charles, forgive
me, for in your breast alone I would repose the secret
of my heart; but I dare not name it—cannot you
guess, oh, dearest Charles? Write to me, quickly, and
let me know. But I am raving—I sat down to console
you, whilst I need consolation myself. I shall see you,
at the end of the term, at all hazards—in the mean time,
2*
let me know whether I may dare to hope—you understand
me. Say to your sister, that her sorrows are
mine. You say she weeps incessantly.—Oh, God! tell
her it wounds me to the heart—never again write to me
thus. Dear Charles, you have pierced my soul. Say
something to relieve me.—Accept the trifle I send you,
until you can make it convenient to return it. Do not let
this mark of my eternal regard for you, wound your
delicacy—you know my heart—you know if I were in
your situation, and you in mine, that I would be proud
to give you this proof of our friendship. Know, from
henceforth, that what is mine is yours. Your very distressed
friend, Sir—Agreeable to your request I waited on Mr.
Hunter and demanded a settlement: he said he was ready,
and forthwith we proceeded to the place where his
books were kept. Upon examining the accounts between
him and your father I am sorry to inform you that he
brings your father in debt. Upon presenting the account
you sent me, he denied the whole; and made use of language
that is useless to repeat to you. I do think myself
that your account is just; but you can get nothing
of Hunter. The property you spoke of was sold a few
days since for the benefit of “Clark & Co.:” therefore
Hunter is insolvent. It is thought, pretty generally,
that the goods were purchased by his friends and with
his own money. You ask of Hunters reputation—he
has hitherto been esteemed an honest man and a fair
dealer; but since your affair, he has fallen very much in
the esteem of the public. It is hinted here that he laid
this plan of treachery when last in Liverpool; the agent
for that house says he failed for the sum for which the
seizure was made. I am very sorry for your situation,
and have no comfort for you but the very poor ones of
patience and resignation. Should you have any farther
commands in this city I will attend to them with pleasure.—Yours,
respectfully, &c. “Dear Henry.—You will receive this by Captain T.,
who has undertaken to visit you and learn your true situation.
Your captivity has afflicted us with the deepest
sorrow; your mother is unconsolable and refuses to be
comforted. Our Government is negociating your ransom,
which is attended with much difficulty; but I expect
it will soon be brought about: if them Spanish dogs
don't cut your throat or something worse, you will receive
one thousand dollars. If that will set you at liberty
I shall think it well laid out. I am in too much
trouble to say more. “You will recollect, said she, that my father promised
to see the Vice Roy and ask his permission for your
friend to deliver the letter; he promised you he would
go that evening and accordingly he went, but was unable
to get an audiance that evening. After his return he
came into my parlour, as he always does when he concludes
the business of the day. Whilst he was talking
in a careless manner, and growing sleepy he yawned and
observed, “Your friend is still here, he has been with me often.
He is disguised in the habit of an Indian, and has two
fleet horses ready, and now the nights being dark, you
may expect him. Heaven grant you may get safe to
your country, where you will sometimes deign to think
of I received your kind letter of November last, in
which you congratulated me on my happy asylum—alas,
my dear brother! this proves how little you know of the
world—much better, had it pleased Divine Providence,
that I had followed my parents to the grave! Much better
for me, had I been destitute of those advantages, to
which alone, perhaps, I owe my present distress. But
I will try and compose myself, if it be possible, for the
purpose of acquainting you with the principal incidents
which have happened to me of late. What has become of you? Have you forgot your
Mary? Are you alive? Oh, for heaven's sake send me
but one line, but one word—I ask no more. But it is in
vain—you cannot be living—what has become of Wilson?
has he too forgot me? Alas then, I have no friend!
ye cannot both be dead!—but I will cease to complain—
Oh that God would take me to himself! There was but
two—but no matter—and yet I cannot think that if living,
you would forget me. My last letter you never answered—I
heeded that not, as I expected to see yourself.
I looked not for a letter, but I looked in vain for either.
This is the last I shall trouble you with; I shall ask no
more for help, where no help is to be found. I received your favour this day: I am truly glad to
hear that you have returned, and that Mary is at length
happy. I have never heard of Dupon since Mrs. Cary
left here—old Mr. Simpson is dead. His oldest daughter,
Clarissa, ran away with Hunter, it is supposed, as
she was missing the night he escaped from prison, and
has never been heard of since. I hasten to reply to both yours of this instant. Hunter
owns the property mentioned in your letter. You
refer to me for information respecting its value: this I
would wish to decline.—In the first place I am not a
judge; and in the second place the price of property is
so fluctuating that it is not easy to say. It might sell to
day six per cent higher than it would to-morrow. “Dear Sir.—Agreeably to my promise, I communicate
the following particulars relative to Miss Simpson. | | Similar Items: | Find |
144 | Author: | Sargent
Epes
1813-1880 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | What's to be done? ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | 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 a dark and chilly evening in the last
month of the year, a young portrait-painter
named Stanford was sitting alone in the room
where he practised his art. An easel was before
him, and on it was a painting, although so
dim was the light shed by a solitary candle from
an adjoining table, that it was difficult to distinguish
the figures on the canvass. There was
a fireplace in the apartment, but it no longer
emitted a cheerful warmth, for the last spark
upon the hearth-stone had expired, and the air
was growing colder and colder. | | Similar Items: | Find |
145 | Author: | Sigourney
L. H.
(Lydia Howard)
1791-1865 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | Not far from where the southern limits of Connecticut
meet the waters of the sea, the town of N— is situated.
As you approach from the west, it exhibits a rural aspect,
of meadows intersected by streams, and houses overshadowed
with trees. Viewed from the eastern acclivity,
it seems like a citadel guarded by parapets of rock, and
embosomed in an ampitheatre of hills, whose summits
mark the horizon with a waving line of dark forest green.
Entering at this avenue, you perceive that its habitations
bear few marks of splendour, but many of them, retiring
behind the shelter of lofty elms, exhibit the appearance
of comfort and respectability. Travelling southward about
two miles, through the principal road, the rural features
of the landscape are lost, in the throng of houses, and
bustle of men. The junction of two considerable streams
here forms a beautiful river, which, receiving the tides of
the sea, rushes with a short course into its bosom. “With the circumstances of my escape you were undoubtedly
made acquainted, at the return of my pursuers.
The bearer will inform you that my reception on board
the gallies, and at this place, has been favourable to our
wishes. I am able confidently to assure you, that the suspicions
excited by Arnold are false as himself. Not one of
our officers is supposed by the British to be otherwise than
inimical to their cause. Only one has fallen, one son of perdition.
To have the pleasure of doing this justice to fidelity,
balances the evils of my situation. I was yesterday compelled
to a most afflicting step, but one indispensable to
the completion of our plan. It was necessary for me to
accept a commission in the traitor's legion, that I might
have uninterrupted access to his house. Thither he usually
returns at midnight, and previously to retiring, walks
a short time in his garden. There I am to seize, and gag
him, and with the assistance of this trusty spy, bear him
to a boat, which will be in readiness. In case of interrogation,
we shall say, that we are carrying an intoxicated
soldier to the guard-house. Some of the pales from the
garden fence are to be previously removed, that our silent
passage to the alley may be facilitated. On the night,
which the bearer is commissioned to appoint, meet me at
Hoboken, with twenty of the Virginia cavalry, those
brothers of my soul, and there, God willing, I will deliver
to your hand, the troubler of Israel. | | Similar Items: | Find |
146 | Author: | Sigourney
L. H.
(Lydia Howard)
1791-1865 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Sketches ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | I was in the full tide of a laborious and absorbing
profession,—of one which imposes on intellect
an unsparing discipline, but ultimately opens the
avenues to wealth and fame. I pursued it, as one
determined on distinction,—as one convinced that
mind may assume a degree of omnipotence over
matter and circumstance, and popular opinion. Ambition's
promptings were strong within me, nor was
its career unprosperous.—I had no reason to complain
that its promises were deceptive, or its harvest
tardy. | | Similar Items: | Find |
147 | Author: | Sigourney
L. H.
(Lydia Howard)
1791-1865 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Water-drops ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | 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 the environs of one of the large towns of New-England,
a pleasant dwelling attracted the eye of the traveller.
It was a kind of Gothic cottage, whose face of
brown stucco, and pointed windows, were adorned with
clustering vines. Its lawn of green turf was smoothly
shaven, while occasional borders, and circles of dark,
weedless mould, gave nutriment to a multitude of flowers. Louisa is worthy of you.—Return. | | Similar Items: | Find |
148 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The book of my lady ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | Were these days of fiction, rather than of fact, and
could the popular sense be persuaded to regard that
period of exciting circumstance in past history, called
the era of romance, in any other light than that of a
pleasant dream about to be forgotten, your charms
might once again bring into exercise, not merely the
lay of the minstrel, but the valour of the knight. Instead
of the goosequill, spear and sword might, with
sufficient reason, be lifted in your service. Alas! however,
for the time—it brings forth no such offering. As
an especial rebuke to such glorious errantries as made
the middle ages the prime period of romantic adventure;
state prisons and penitentiaries frown upon us
from every quarter—instead of the warlike and stirring
blasts of the bugle, calling the watchful warder to the
turret, and arousing the sleeping porter to the approach
of the visiter, the tintinnabulary house-bell presents
itself conveniently at the portals, and the liveried servitor
opens the door at the first friendly summons. Romance
knows none of these comforts, and well may
adventure sigh after a period which left something for
achievement to do, in scaling walls and mounting windows.
Had we, my lady, been born in such a period,
doubt not that I should have done something worthy to
be named along with the daring doings of the time.
Doubt not that lance had been lifted, and bugle wound,
and battle done gallantly, in your behalf and for your
love. As the times are, however, this may not be the
case; and all that chivalry may now proffer to his ladylove,
is some little tribute of romance like this,—its
relic and remembrance—comprised in a tiny volume,
quite unworthy of your genius, but all that I can yield
from mine. Pardon me, then, dear lady, that these
pages—many of which have been already uttered in
your ears—have received a name, which, though not
fairly identified with yourself or yours, must nevertheless,
and necessarily, refer to you for that countenance and
favour, which is more than popular applause to me.
May they not prove altogether unworthy your acceptance,
nor seem to be altogether ungracious in your
sight. | | Similar Items: | Find |
149 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Guy Rivers ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | 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 the upper part of the State of Georgia, extending
into the country of the Cherokee Indians—
a region, at this period, fruitful of dispute—lying
at nearly equal distances between the parallel
waters of the Chatahoochie river, and that branch
of it which bears the name of the Chestatee, from a
now almost forgotten but once formidable tribe—
will be found a long reach of comparatively barren
lands, interspersed with hills, which occasionally
aspire to a more elevated title, and garnished only
here and there with a dull, half-withered shrubbery,
relieved at intervals, though even then but imperfectly,
by small clumps of slender pines that fling
out their few and skeleton branches ruggedly and
abruptly against the sky. The entire face of the
scene, if not absolutely desolate, has, at least, a
dreary and melancholy expression, which can
not fail to elicit, in the bosom of the most indifferent
spectator, a feeling of gravity and even gloom.
The sparse clusters of ragged woods, and thin
undergrowth of shrivelled herbage, gave token of
the generally steril character of that destiny,
which seemed to have taken up its abode immediately
within, while presiding over, the place.
All around, as far as the eye could reach, a continual
recurrence of the same objects and outline
arrested and fatigued the gaze; which finally sickened
of long levels of sand, broken with rude hills
of a dull species of rock, and a low shrubbery from
which all living things had taken their departure.
Though thus barren to the eye, this region was not,
however, utterly deficient in resources; and its possessions
were those of a description not a little
attractive to the great majority of mankind. It
was the immediate outpost—the very threshold of
the gold country, now so famous for the prolific
promise of the precious metal; far exceeding, in
the contemplation of the knowing, the lavish abundance
of Mexico and of Peru, in the days of their
palmiest and most prosperous condition. Nor,
though only the frontier and threshold as it were
to these swollen treasures, was the portion of country
now under our survey, though bleak, steril
and to the eye uninviting, wanting in attractions
of its own; it contained the signs and indications
which denoted the fertile regions, nor was it entirely
deficient in the precious mineral itself. Much gold
had been gathered already, with little labour, and
almost upon its surface; and it was perhaps only
because of the little knowledge then had of its
wealth, and of its close proximity to a more productive
territory, that it had been suffered to remain
unexamined and unexplored. Nature, thus,
we may remark, in a section of the world seemingly
unblessed with her bounty, and all ungarnished
with her fruits and flowers, appeared desirous,
however, of redeeming it from the curse
of barrenness, by storing its bosom with a product,
which, only of use to the world in its conventional
necessities, has become, in accordance
with the self-creating wants of society, a necessity
itself; and however the bloom and beauty of her
summer decorations may refresh the eye of the
enthusiast, it would here seem, that, with an extended
policy, she had created another, and perhaps
a larger class, which, in the attainment of those
spoils which are of less obvious and easy acquisition,
would even set at nought those which have
at all times been the peculiar delight and felicity
of the former. Nothing is entirely barren in her
dominions; and, to some spirits, her very solitude
and sterility seem as inviting and grateful, as to
others may appear her rich landscapes and voluptuous
flowers. “I guess I am pretty safe now from the regulators,
and saving my trouble of mind, well enough,
and nothing to complain about. Your animal goes
as slick as grease, and carried me in no time out
of reach of rifle shot—so you see it's only right
to thank God, and you, lawyer; for if God hadn't
touched you, and you hadn't lent me the nag, I
guess it would have been a sore chance for my
bones, in the hands of them savages and beasts of
prey. | | Similar Items: | Find |
150 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Guy Rivers ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | The night began to wane, and still did Lucy
Munro keep lonely vigil in her chamber. How
could she sleep? Threatened herself with a connexion
so dreadful as to her mind was that proposed
with Guy Rivers—deeply interested as
she now felt herself in the fortunes of the young
stranger, for whose fate and safety, knowing the
unfavourable position in which he stood with the
outlaws, she had every thing to apprehend—it can
cause no wonder when we say sleep grew a stranger
to her eyes, and without retiring to her couch,
though extinguishing her light, she sat musing by
the window of her chamber upon the thousand
conflicting and sad thoughts that were at strife in
her spirit. She had not been long in this position
when the sound of approaching horsemen reached
her ears, and after a brief interval, during which
she could perceive that they had alighted, she heard
the door of the hall gently unclosed, and footsteps,
as if set down with a nice caution, passing through
the passage. A light danced for a moment fitfully
along the chamber, as if borne from the sleeping
apartment of Munro to that adjoining the hall in
which the family were accustomed to pursue their
domestic avocations. Then came an occasional
murmur of speech to her ears, and then silence.
Perplexed with these circumstances, and wondering
at the return of Munro at an hour something
unusual—prompted too by a presentiment of something
wrong, and apprehensive on the score of
Ralph's safety—a curiosity, not surely under these
circumstances discreditable, to know what was
going on, determined her to ascertain something
more of the character of the nocturnal visitation.
She felt assured from the strangeness of the occurrence
that evil was afoot, and solicitous for its prevention,
she was persuaded to the measure solely
with the view to good. Hastily, yet cautiously, but
with trembling hands, undoing the door of her
apartment, she made her way into the long and
dark gallery, with which she was perfectly familiar,
and soon gained the apartment already referred to.
The door fortunately stood nearly closed, and she
was therefore enabled to pass it by and gain the
hall, which immediately adjoined, and lay in perfect
darkness; without herself being seen, she was
enabled, through a crevice in the partition dividing
the two rooms, to survey its inmates, and to hear
distinctly at the same time every thing that was
uttered. As she expected, there were the two conspirators,
Rivers and Munro, earnestly engaged in
discourse; to which, as it concerns materially our
progress, we may well be permitted to lend our
attention. They spoke on a variety of topics entirely
foreign to the understanding of the half-affrighted
and nervously-susceptible, but still resolute
young girl who heard them; and nothing but
her deep anxieties for one, whose own importance
in her eyes at that moment she did not conjecture,
could have sustained her while listening to a dialogue
full of atrocious intention and development,
and larded throughout with a familiar and sometimes
foul phraseology that certainly was not altogether
unseemly in such association. | | Similar Items: | Find |
151 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The partisan ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | Our narrative begins in South Carolina, during the
summer of 1780. The arms of the British were at that
time triumphant throughout the colony. Their armies
overran it. Charlestown, the chief city, had stood a
siege, and had fallen, after a protracted and honourable
defence. One-half of the military strength of the lower
country, then the most populous region, had become prisoners
of war by this disaster; and, for the present, were
thus incapacitated from giving any assistance to their
brethren in arms. Scattered, crushed, and disheartened
by repeated failures, the whigs, in numerous instances,
hopeless of any better fortune, had given in their adhesion
to the enemy, and had received a pledge of British
protection. This protection secured them, as it was
thought, in their property and persons, and its conditions
simply called for their neutrality. Many of the
more firm and honourably tenacious, scorning all compromise
with invasion, fled for shelter to the swamps
and mountains; and, through the former, all Europe
could not have traced their footsteps. In the whole
state, at this period, the cause of American liberty had
no head, and almost as little hope: all was gloomy and
unpromising. Marion, afterward styled the “Swamp
Fox,” and Sumter, the “Game Cock”—epithets aptly
descriptive of their several military attributes—had not
yet properly risen in arms, though both of them had
been engaged already in active and successful service.
Their places of retreat were at this time unknown;
and, certainly, they were not then looked to, as at an
after period, with that anxious reliance which their
valour subsequently taught their countrymen to entertain.
Nothing, indeed, could be more deplorably prostrate
than were the energies of the colony. Here and
there, only, did some little partisan squad make a stand,
or offer a show of resistance to the incursive British
or the marauding and malignant tory—disbanding, if
not defeated, most usually after the temporary object
had been obtained, and retreating for security into shelter
and inaction. There was no sort of concert, save
in feeling, among the many who were still not unwilling
for the fight: they doubted or they dreaded one
another; they knew not whom to trust. The next-door
neighbour of the stanch whig was not unfrequently a
furious loyalist—as devoted to George the Third as the
other could have been to the intrinsic beauty of human
liberty. The contest of the Revolution, so far as it had
gone, had confirmed and made tenacious this spirit of
hostility and opposition, until, in the end, patriot and
loyalist had drawn the sword against one another, and
rebel and tory were the degrading epithets by which
they severally distinguished the individual whose throat
they strove to cut. When the metropolis fell into the
hands of the British, and their arms extended through
the state, the tories alone were active and formidable.
They now took satisfaction for their own previous
trials; and crime was never so dreadful a monster as
when they ministered to its appetites. Mingled in with
the regular troops of the British, or forming separate
bodies of their own, and officered from among themselves,
they penetrated the well-known recesses which
gave shelter to the fugitives. If the rebel resisted, they
slew him without quarter; if he submitted, they hung
him without benefit of clergy: they spoiled his children
of their possessions, and not unfrequently slew them
also. But few sections of the low and middle country
escaped their search. It was only in the bald regions
of North Carolina that the fugitives could find repose;
only where the most miserable poverty took from crime
all temptation, that the beaten and maltreated patriots
dared to give themselves a breathing-space from flight.
In the same manner the frontier-colony of Georgia had
already been overrun and ravaged by the conquerors;
and there, as it was less capable of resistance, all show
of opposition had been long since at an end. The invader,
deceived by these appearances, declared in
swelling language to his monarch, that the two colonies
were properly subjugated, and would now return
to their obedience. He knew not that, | | Similar Items: | Find |
152 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The partisan ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | The clouds were gathering fast—the waters were
troubled—and the approaching tumult and disquiet of
all things in Carolina, clearly indicated the coming of
that strife, so soon to overcast the scene—so long to
keep it darkened—so deeply to impurple it with blood.
The continentals were approaching rapidly, and the
effect was that of magic upon the long prostrated energies
of the South. The people were aroused, awakened,
stimulated, and emboldened. They gathered in
little squads throughout the country. The news was
generally abroad that Gates was to command the expected
army—Gates, the conqueror at Saratoga, whose
very name, at that time, was a host. The successes of
Sumter in the up-country, of Marion on the Peedee, of
Pickens with a troop of mounted riflemen—a new species
of force projected by himself—of Butler, of Horry,
James, and others, were generally whispered about
among the hitherto desponding whigs. These encouraging
prospects were not a little strengthened in
the parishes by rumours of small successes nearer at
hand. The swamps were now believed to be full of
enemies to royal power, only wanting imbodiment and
arms; and truly did Tarleton, dilating upon the condition
of things at this period in the colony, give a
melancholy summary of those influences which were
crowding together, as it was fondly thought by the
patriots, for the overwhelming of foreign domination. | | Similar Items: | Find |
153 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The Yemassee ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | There is a small section of country now comprised
within the limits of Beaufort District, in the State of
South Carolina, which, to this day, goes by the name
of Indian Land. The authorities are numerous which
show this district, running along, as it does, and on its
southern side bounded by, the Atlantic Ocean, to have
been the very first in North America, distinguished by
an European settlement. The design is attributed to
the celebrated Coligni, Admiral of France,[1]
[1]Dr. Melligan, one of the historians of South Carolina, says farther,
that a French settlement, under the same auspices, was actually
made at Charleston, and that the country received the name of La
Caroline, in honour of Charles IX. This is not so plausible, however,
for as the settlement was made by Huguenots, and under the auspices
of Coligni, it savours of extravagant courtesy to suppose that they
would pay so high a compliment to one of the most bitter enemies
of that religious toleration, in pursuit of which they deserted their
country. Charleston took its name from Charles IL, the reigning
English monarch at the time. Its earliest designation was Oyster
Point town, from the marine formation of its soil. Dr. Hewatt—
another of the early historians of Carolina, who possessed many advantages
in his work not common to other writers, having been a
careful gatherer of local and miscellaneous history—places the first
settlement of Jasper de Coligni, under the conduct of Jean Ribaud, at
the mouth of a river called Albemarle, which, strangely enough, the
narration finds in Florida. Here Ribaud is said to have built a fort,
and by him the country was called Carolina. May river, another
alleged place of original location for this colony, has been sometimes
identified with the St. John's and other waters of Florida or
Virginia; but opinion in Carolina settles down in favour of a stream
still bearing that name, and in Beaufort District, not far from the subsequent
permanent settlement. Old ruins, evidently French in their
origin, still exist in the neighbourhood.
who, in the
reign of Charles IX., conceived the project with the ulterior
view of securing a sanctuary for the Huguenots,
when they should be compelled, as he foresaw they
soon would, by the anti-religious persecutions of the
time, to fly from their native into foreign regions. This
settlement, however, proved unsuccessful; and the
events which history records of the subsequent efforts
of the French to establish colonies in the same neighbourhood,
while of unquestionable authority, have all
the air and appearance of the most delightful romance. | | Similar Items: | Find |
154 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The Yemassee ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | Some men only live for great occasions. They
sleep in the calm—but awake to double life, and unlooked-for
activity, in the tempest. They are the
zephyr in peace, the storm in war. They smile until
you think it impossible they should ever do otherwise,
and you are paralyzed when you behold the change
which an hour brings about in them. Their whole life
in public would seem a splendid deception; and as their
minds and feelings are generally beyond those of the
great mass which gathers about, and in the end depends
upon them, so they continually dazzle the vision and
distract the judgment of those who passingly observe
them. Such men become the tyrants of all the rest,
and, as there are two kinds of tyranny in the world,
they either enslave to cherish or to destroy. | | Similar Items: | Find |
155 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Mellichampe ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | The battle of Dorchester was over; the victorious
Partisans, successful in their object, and bearing away
with them the prisoner whom they had rescued from the
felon's death, were already beyond the reach of their
enemies, when Colonel Proctor, the commander of the
British post, sallied forth from his station in the hope to
retrieve, if possible, the fortunes of the day. A feeling
of delicacy, and a genuine sense of pain, had prompted
him to depute to a subordinate officer the duty of attending
Colonel Walton to the place of execution. The rescue
of the prisoner had the effect of inducing in his mind
a feeling of bitter self-reproach. The mortified pride
of the soldier, tenacious of his honour, and scrupulous
on the subject of his trust, succeeded to every feeling
of mere human forbearance; and, burning with shame
and indignation, the moment he heard a vague account
of the defeat of the guard and the rescue of Walton, he
led forth the entire force at his command, resolute to recover
the fugitive or redeem his forfeited credit by his
blood. He had not been prepared for such an event as
that which has been already narrated in the last pages of
“The Partisan,” and was scarcely less surprised, though
more resolute and ready, than the astounded soldiers
under his command. How should he have looked for
the presence of any force of the rebels at such a moment,
when the defeat and destruction of Gates's army,
so complete as it had been, had paralyzed, in the minds
of all, the last hope of the Americans? With an audacity
that seemed little less than madness, and was desperation,
a feeble but sleepless enemy had darted in between
the fowler and his prey—had wrested the victim of
the conqueror from his talons, even in the moment of
his fierce repast; and, with a wild courage and planned
impetuosity, had rushed into the very jaws of danger,
without shrinking, and with the most complete impunity. “`Dare Gin'ral—There's a power of red-coats jist
guine down by the back lane into your parts, and they do
tell that it's arter you they're guine. They're dressed
mighty fine, and has a heap of guns and horses, and as
much provisions as the wagons can tote. I makes bold
to tell you this, gin'ral, that you may smite them, hip and
thigh, even as the Israelites smote the bloody Philistians
in the blessed book. And so, no more, dare gin'ral,
from your sarvant to command, | | Similar Items: | Find |
156 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Mellichampe ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | Let us retrace our steps—let us go back in our
narrative, and review the feelings and the fortunes of
other parties to our story, not less important to its details,
and quite as dear in our regards. Let us seek
the temporary dwelling of the Berkeley family, and contemplate
the condition and the employment of its inmates
during the progress of the severe strife of which
we have given a partial history. Its terrors were not
less imposing to them than they were to those who had
been actors in the conflict. To the young maidens,
indeed, it certainly was far more terrible than to the
brave men, warmed with the provocation and reckless
from the impulses of strife. And yet, how differently
did the events of the day affect the two maidens—how
forcibly did they bring out and illustrate their very different
characters. To the casual observer there was
very little change in the demeanour of Janet Berkeley.
She seemed the same subdued, sad, yet enduring and
uncomplaining creature, looking for affliction because
she had been so often subjected to its pressure; yet,
from that very cause, looking for it without apprehension,
and in all the strength of religious resignation. “You must convey the prisoner, Mellichampe,” so
ran that portion of it which concerned the maiden, “so
soon as his wounds will permit, under a strong guard, to
the city, where a court of officers will be designated for
his trial as a spy upon your encampment. You will
spare no effort to secure all the evidence necessary to
his conviction, and will yourself attend to the preferment
of the charges.” And there, after the details of other
matters and duties to be attended to and executed, was
the signature of the bloody dragoon, which she more
than once had seen before— | | Similar Items: | Find |
158 | Author: | Whittier
John Greenleaf
1807-1892 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | Legends of New-England ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | One hundred years ago!—How has New-England
changed with the passing by of a single century! At
first view, it would seem like the mysterious transformations
of a dream, or like the strange mutations of
sunset-clouds upon the face of the Summer Heavens.
One hundred years ago!—The Oak struck its roots
deeply in the Earth, and tossed its branches loftily in
the sunshine, where now the voice of industry and
enterprise rises in one perpetual murmur. The shadows
of the forest lay brown and heavily, where now
the village church-spire overtops the dwellings clustered
about it. Instead of the poor, dependent and feeble
colonists of Britain, we are now a nation of ourselves—a
people, great and prosperous and happy. | | Similar Items: | Find |
159 | Author: | Irving
Washington
1783-1859 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | A book of the Hudson ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | It used to be a favorite assertion of the venerable Diedrich
Knickerbocker, that there was no region more rich in themes
for the writer of historic novels, heroic melodramas, and
rough-shod epics, than the ancient province of the New
Netherlands, and its quondam capital, at the Manhattoes.
“We live,” he used to say, “in the midst of history, mystery,
and romance; he who would find these elements, however,
must not seek them among the modern improvements and
monied people of the monied metropolis; he must dig for
them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, in out of the way
places, and among the ruins of the past.” Never did sage
speak more truly. Poetry and romance received a fatal blow
at the overthrow of the ancient Dutch dynasty, and have ever
since been gradually withering under the growing domination
of the Yankees. They abandoned our hearths when the old
Dutch tiles were superseded by marble chimney pieces; when
brass andirons made way for polished grates, and the crackling
and blazing fire of nut wood gave place to the smoke and
stench of Liverpool coal; and on the downfall of the last
crow-step gables, their requiem was tolled from the tower of
the Dutch Church in Nassau street, by the old bell that came
from Holland. But poetry and romance still lurk unseen
among us, or seen only by the enlightened few who are able
to contemplate the common-place scenes and objects of the
metropolis, through the medium of tradition, and clothed with
the associations of foregone ages. | | Similar Items: | Find |
160 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Requires cookie* | | Title: | The western merchant ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | Published: | 1997 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | Description: | I was born in one of the eastern cities, and was the sixth
of eleven children, of poor parents. When I was about
six years of age, my family emigrated to Kentucky, then
considered the “far west.” At the end of six years, my
father failed in business; and as he was now entirely too
poor to provide for his large family, those that were deemed
old enough sought employment to support themselves.
Nor were they wholly unprepared for the exigency; for
our honored parent, in more propitious times, had placed
the proper estimate upon the importance of education, and
from the time we were old enough to go to school, until
the loss of his fortune, (and every dollar was honorably
offered up to his creditors,) we had excellent preceptors.
Being unluckily the sixth child, I was not so far advanced
in the books as my seniors, when the disaster alluded to
befell us—but as I had the advantage of my five juniors,
there was no just cause of complaint. I had the rudiments
of a good English education, and an insatiable passion for
books, which they deemed quite sufficient for the very
humble part it seemed I was destined to play in the great
drama of life. “Dear Luke:—I cannot restrain myself any longer from
writing to you. Your last letter, informing me of your good
prospects, and of your intention to commence business for
yourself at Hanover, was directed to me, and not in an
envelope to a third person—so it fell into the hands of
my guardian-uncle, and excited his wrath and indignation
to a frightful extent. But the worst of it was that he did
not tell me what it was all about, but kept the letter himself.
Now, I am my own mistress, and have some fortune
here in old Virginia in my own right. I might at any time
13
relieve myself of his supervision, and his eccentric solicitude.
Yet as my uncles are the nearest of kin that I have,
I hope to be able to avoid a rupture with them. But to
my narration. A few days after your letter fell into his
hands, he announced his intention to take me to Virginia,
and leave me under the protection of his brother, my uncle
Edgar Beaufort. Not being aware of the cause which induced
this step on his part, I was delighted with the idea
of going back to old Virginia, and so I readily agreed to
his proposition, without paying any particular attention to
his remarks about the opportunity the change would afford
me of marrying some one of my own station, equal in birth
and fortune. “Luke, if you come to see me, remember it is merely
the careless passing visit of a friend. There is a Methodist
meeting house near the — hotel, in which they are
holding a protracted meeting. If you follow a merry little
old woman (you will know her by her shouting in the meeting
house) to her broading-house, you will find me. My
uncle is here, and might be harsh if he met you. Should
you meet, you must not resent anything he may say, and
above all, have no hostile collision with him. You must
register a promise in heaven to do as I bid, before starting
hitherward; else you have not my permission to come.
Remember “Sir—In violation of the expressed desire of my brother,
you have persisted in addressing letters to my niece; you
have not only done that, but you have had the presumption
to seek and obtain a clandestine interview with her.
Being her next of kin, and natural protector, I deem it incumbent
on me to demand, in this formal manner, the satisfaction
which one gentleman has a right to require of another
(and which no gentleman can refuse), for such an intrusive
disregard of the wishes expressed by my brother, and endorsed
by myself. “Dear Sir—I am at No. 6, — hotel, an entire stranger,
and have received a challenge from Mr. E. Beaufort to
meet him in mortal combat. I have never seen Mr. Beaufort
before to-day, and certainly never insulted or injured
him. If you will consent to give me the benefit of your
advice in the premises, I will avail myself of the opportunity
to relate all the circumstances of the case to you. “Luke:—The servant who hands you this, belongs to
me, and has informed me that my uncle has challenged
you to mortal combat. He says he heard my uncle tell
his friends that he liked your appearance so much, he was
almost sorry that he had quarreled with you, and that if
you behaved well on the field, he would tender you his
friendship, after an exchange of shots, which he hoped
might have no serious result. Now, Luke, are you willing
to fight for me? You have never said you desired to
have me, nor I that I was at your service. I desire it to
be distinctly understood by you, as it is sufficiently by
him, that I am not at the disposal of my uncle. I am of
age, and am my own mistress. My uncle is kind to me
in my presence, and never seeks to control my actions.
Should I make an unworthy alliance, the worst thing he
could do, or would have a desire to attempt, would be to
abandon my society. You now understand the relation in
which we stand. I do not, however, wish to break with
my uncle. He is generous, brave, and magnanimous; and
of course it would wound me past recovery if you, my
friend, should slay him in a duel. Thus you see that, by
acceding to his proposition, to obtain his friendship, you
would lose mine. Of that you may be assured. If you
resolve to meet him, I resolve never to see you again. You
must choose between him and me. But if you determine
to accede to my request, and depart without a collision with
him, you have my promise that, at a future day, should
it be your pleasure, you can see me again, unchanged
in every particular. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of
your note of this morning. In reply, I have to state that,
inasmuch as no definite proposal has been made by me to
your niece, and as my engagements will demand my unintermitting
presence at a point some two thousand miles
distant from this, for at least a year to come, I must decline
the meeting you demand, at least for the present.
Should fortune bring me again in the vicinity of your niece,
at some future day, and it should then be your pleasure to
renew the demand, that will be the proper time for me to
announce my final decision. “Luke,” said Blanche, “if you have seen proper to afflict
yourself without reason, it was cruel to afflict Blanche
also, who never did you any harm. And now, if you persist
in dying, you may have the consolation, if the fact
can console you, of knowing that Blanche will die also,
murdered by you. * * * * You declare your love, and announce
your purpose never to see me more. Would it
not have been generous to have withheld the declaration,
and left me in doubt? Luke, did you know that the passion
was mutual? You have spoken plainly, at last; and
I will do so too. Never, since we first parted, no, never for
a moment, have I entertained the shadow of a thought that
I could or would bestow my hand on any other than yourself—and
such is the case still. * * * * * Luke, I have
been addressed by several since we parted last, and all
have abandoned the pursuit on learning my purpose,
which I have frankly made known to them. My uncle
took me to the falls of Niagara, Saratoga Springs, and
divers other gay places last summer; but all in vain: he
found that it was impossible to wean me from my first
attachment. On my return, I pronounced my last positive
rejection of the suit of the one whom my uncle preferred.
Luke, we were standing on the balcony of a hotel in
23
Philadelphia, when he desired to know my decision. At
that moment I thought I beheld your pale features, and
that you cast upon me a look of reproach and sadness. A
monosyllable sufficed for my petitioner, and I did not even
have the curiosity to look after him, and observe how
deeply he was disappointed and piqued. I had eyes only
for the vision before me, if vision it was. I felt that Providence
had linked our destinies together by adamantine
chains, and I had no disposition to rupture them if they
had been formed of a weaker material. Luke, was it you?
Oh, if it was, how cruel not to come and speak to me!
* * * * * * Luke, when I learned through the newspapers
of your loss on that terrible steamer, my mind was made
up. It was my fixed determination to place myself and
my little fortune in your keeping, if you desired it, as soon
as we met. How could you suppose that the loss of your
money might involve the loss of my affection? No, Luke,
you have not yet learned fully the character of Blanche.
In misfortune she will cling the more closely to you, and
be all the bolder in her ministrations of solace and encouragement.
* * * * * Adhere Steadfastly to your Business. | | Similar Items: | Find |
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