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41Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mary Hollis  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Many persons, in the village of ———, in Massachusetts, remember Mary Lowe, a diligent, ingenious little girl of a respectable family, who was left an orphan when quite young, with a very slender provision, which her guardians wisely expended, in obtaining for her a decent education and the tayloring trade. She went from house to house, eating her bread in singleness of heart. She was approved by the elderly and judicious, for her prudent, industrious, and quiet ways; and she made herself the delight of all the children, by her obliging disposition and good humour. The little boys said, “Mary would always put pockets in their clothes;” and the older boys, who longed to be emancipated from the indignity of having their clothes made by a woman-taylor, were still conciliated by Mary's gentle manners, and a little, too, by the smart look which she contrived to give to their apparel. I think I can see her now bending over her goose, and as it heavily trod the seams, singing some playful song to the little group around her; and smiling and blushing as she caught the approving glances of the elders of the family.
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42Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Redwood  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: On the last day of June, in the year —, a small vessel, which traversed weekly the waters of Lake Champlain, was seen slowly entering one of the most beautiful bays of that most beautiful lake. A travelling carriage with handsome equipments, a coachman in livery and an outrider, were drawn up on the shore, awaiting the approach of the vessel. On the deck stood a group of travellers for whom the equipage was destined: a beautiful young woman, and her attendant, a female slave, were surveying it with pleased and equal eagerness, while the father of the young lady seemed quite absorbed in the contemplation of a scene which poetry and painting have marked for their own. Not a breeze stirred the waters; their mirror surface was quite unbroken, save where the little vessel traced its dimpled pathway. A cluster of islands lay in beautiful fraternity opposite the harbour, covered with a rich growth of wood, and looking young, and fresh, and bright, as if they had just sprung from the element on which they seemed to repose. The western shore presented every variety of form; wooded headlands jutting boldly into the lake, and richly cultivated grounds sloping gently to its margin. As the traveller's delighted eye explored still farther, it B 2 rested on the mountains that rise in four successive chains, one above the other, the last in the far distance dimly defining and bounding the horizon. A cloud at this moment veiled the face of the sun, and its rich beams streamed aslant upon the mountain tops, and poured showers of gold and purple light into the deep recesses of the valleys. Mr. Redwood, a true admirer of nature's lovely forms, turned his unsated gaze to the village they were approaching, which was indicated by a neat church spire that peered over the hill, on the height and declivities of which were planted several new and neat habitations. “Oh Caroline, my child,” exclaimed the father, “was there ever any thing more beautiful!” “Some months have elapsed, dear Alsop, since we parted, and parted with a truly juvenile promise to keep up an unremitting epistolary intercourse. And this I believe is the first essay made by either of us; a fair illustration of the common proportion which performance bears to such promises. You, no doubt, have been roving from pleasure to pleasure, with an untiring impulse, and your appetite, like the horse-leech, has still cried, `give, give.' If one of your vagrant thoughts has strayed after me, you have doubtless fancied me immured in my study, pursuing my free inquiries, abandoning the fallen systems of vulgar invention, and soaring far over the misty atmosphere of imposture and credulity. Or, perhaps, you deem that I have adopted your sapient advice, have returned to my home a dutiful child, gracefully worn the chains of filial obedience, made my best bow to papa, and with a, `just as you please, Sir,' fallen, secundum artem, desperately in love with my beautiful, and beautifully rich cousin; have rather taken than asked her willing hand, and thus opened for myself the path of ambition, or the golden gates that lead to the regions of pleasure, and which none but fortune's hand can open, But, alas! the most reasonable hopes are disappointed by our fantastic destiny. We are the sport of chance; and as we confess no other deity, you are bound not to deride any of the whimsical dilemmas into which his votaries are led. Alsop, you have often commended the boldness of my mind, while you laughed at a certain involuntary homage I paid to the beautiful pictures of goodness, which some dreaming enthusiasts have presented to us, or to the moral beauty which among all the varieties of accidental combination, is sometimes exhibited in real life. “I am grateful for your interest, and convinced by your arguments that I ought no longer to doze away my brief existence in this retirement. I have obtained my father's consent to the arrangement you propose; and what is still more indispensable, an ample supply in consideration of a promise I have given to him, that I will solicit the hand of my cousin immediately after my return.
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43Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Redwood  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Those only who have observed the magical effect produced upon a young lady by the presence of a candidate for her favour, whom she deems it worth her efforts to obtain or retain, can have an adequate notion of the change wrought on Caroline Redwood since the arrival of the Westalls. Instead of the listless, sullen girl, who yawned away her days in discontent or apathy, she became spirited, active, and good-humoured. Even her interest in the concerns of Ellen Bruce, and her suspicions of that artless girl's designs, were suspended in the ardour of her present pursuit, and she seemed to think of nothing and to care for nothing but how she should secure the triumph of her vanity. Every one noticed the change; (excepting Ellen, who had of late almost wholly withdrawn from the family circle) indeed, it was so manifest that Miss Deborah, who had taken a decided dislike to Caroline, and who was rather remarkable for the inveteracy of her opinions, was heard to say, that “since the girl's sweetheart had come, she was as bright as a September day after the fog was lifted; but for her part she liked to see people have sunshine within them like Ellen.” This declaration was made by Miss Debby in an imprudently loud tone of voice, as she stood at a window gazing on Mr. Redwood's carriage that had been ordered for an afternoon's drive. Mr. Redwood, Caroline, and Mrs. Westall were B 2 already in the carriage, and Charles Westall had returned to the parlour in quest of some article Mr. Redwood had forgotten; while he was looking for it, Deborah's comment fell on his ear, and probably gave a new direction to his thoughts, for during the ride Caroline rallied him on his extraordinary pensiveness; and finally perceiving that his gravity resisted all her efforts to dissipate it, she proposed that if he had not lost the use of his limbs as well as of his tongue, he should alight from the carriage with her and walk to a cottage, to which they perceived a direct path through a field, while the carriage approached by the high road which ran along the lake shore and was circuitous. Westall assented rather with politeness than eagerness; but when he was alone with Caroline, when she roused all her powers to charm him, he yielded to the influence of her beauty and her vivacity. Never had she appeared so engaging— never so beautiful—the afternoon was delicious—their path ran along the skirts of an enchanting wood—its soft shadows fell over them, the birds poured forth their melody; and, in short, all nature conspired to stimulate the lover's imagination and to quicken his sensibility. Charles forgot the sage resolutions he had made to withhold his declaration till he had satisfied certain doubts that had sometimes obtruded on him, that all in Caroline was not as fair and lovely as it seemed; he forgot Miss Deborah's hint —forgot every thing but the power and the presence of his beautiful companion, and only hesitated for language to express what his eyes had already told her. At this moment both his and Miss Redwood's attention was withdrawn from themselves to a little girl who appeared at the door of the cottage, from which they were now not many yards distant. On perceiving them she bounded over the door step, then stopped, put up her hand to shade her eyes from the sun, and gazed fixedly on them for a moment, then again sprang forward, again stopped, covered her eyes with both her hands, threw herself at full length on the grass, laid her ear to the ground and seemed for a moment to listen intently; she then rose, put her apron to her eyes and appeared to be weeping, while she retraced her way languidly to the cottage. Caroline and Westall, moved by the same impulse, quickened their pace, and in a few moments reached the cottage door, to which a woman had been attracted by the sobs of the child, and was expostulating with her in an earnest tone. “God help us, Peggy, you'll just ruin all if you go on in this way;” she paused on perceiving that the child had attracted the attention of the strangers; and in reply to Westall's asking what ailed the little girl, she said, “it's just her simplicity, Sir; but if you and the lady will condescend to walk into my poor place here, I will tell you all about it, or Peggy shall tell it herself, for when she gets upon it her tongue runs faster than mine: but bless me, here comes a grand coach—look up, Peggy, you never saw a real coach in your life.” Peggy now let fall the apron with which she had covered her face—a face if not beautiful, full of feeling and intelligence. She seemed instantly to forget her affliction, whatever it was, in the pleasure of gazing on the spectacle of the real coach. “Ah, aunt Betty,” she exclaimed, “it is the grand sick gentleman that is staying at Mr. Lenox's.” The carriage drew up to the door, and Mrs. Westall and Mr. Redwood, attracted by the uncommonly neat appearance of the cottage, alighted and followed Caroline and Charles, who had already entered it. The good woman, middle-aged and of a cheerful countenance, was delighted with the honour conferred on her, bustled around to furnish seats for her guests— shook up the cushion of a rocking chair for Mr. Redwood, and made a thousand apologies for the confusion and dirt of her house, which had the usual if not the intended effect of calling forth abundance of compliments on its perfect order and neatness. “And now, Peggy,” she said, as soon as they were all quietly seated, “take the pitcher and bring some cold water from the spring, that's what the poor have, thank God, as good as the rich, and it is all we have to offer.” The little girl obeyed, and as soon as she was out of hearing, the woman turned to Westall. “It was your wish, Sir, to know what ailed the child; the poor thing has just got the use of her eyesight, and she has been expecting some one that she loves better than all the world; and when she saw this young lady with you, she thought it was her friend—though to be sure she is shorter than this lady; but then Peggy, poor thing, does not see quite right yet, and then when she is puzzled she just lies down to the ground as you saw her, for that was her way to listen, and she knows Miss Ellen's step, for as light as it is, when my poor ear can't hear a sound.”
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44Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Redwood  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It was a fine afternoon in the month of August when our travellers passed the romantic road which traverses the mountain that forms the eastern boundary of the valley of Hancock. The varied pleasures they had enjoyed during the day, and the excitement of drawing near to the object of their long journey, animated them both with unusual spirits. Deborah's tongue was voluble in praise of the rich farms that spread out on the declivities of the hills, or embosomed in the protected vallies, called forth, as they deserved, the enthusiastic commendations of our experienced rustic. Ellen listened in silence while she gazed with the eye of an amateur upon this beautiful country, which possesses all the elements of the picturesque. Green hills crowned with flourishing villages—village spires rising just where they should rise; for the scene is nature's temple, and the altar should be there—lakes sparkling like gems in the distant vallies—Saddle mountain lifting his broad shoulders to the northern sky, and the Catskills defining with their blue and misty outline the western horizon. “I guess you will be surprised to see my pot-hooks and trammels, and puzzled enough you will be to read them; but I could not let so good an opportunity pass without letting you know that the Lord has spared our lives to this date, and that all your friends at Eton are well, except the minister, who enjoys a poor state of health.
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45Author:  Cooper James Fenimore 1789-1851Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Last of the Mohicans  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Leather-stocking tales | leather stocking tales 
 Description: It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of North America, that the toils and dangers of the wilderness were to be encountered, before the adverse hosts could meet in murderous contact. A wide, and, apparently, an impervious boundary of forests, severed the possessions of the hostile provinces of France and England. The hardy colonist, and the trained European who fought at his side, frequently expended months in struggling against the rapids of the streams, or in effecting the rugged passes of the mountains, in quest of an opportunity to exhibit their courage in a more martial conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial of the practised native warriors, they learned to overcome every difficulty; and it would seem, that in time, there was no recess of the woods so dark, nor any secret place so lovely, that it might claim exemption from the inroads of those who had pledged their blood to satiate their vengeance, or to uphold the cold and selfish policy of the distant monarchs of Europe.
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46Author:  Cooper James Fenimore 1789-1851Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Last of the Mohicans  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Leather-stocking tales | leather stocking tales 
 Description: The bloody and inhuman scene which we have rather incidentally mentioned than described, in the close of the preceding volume, is conspicuous in the pages of colonial history, by the merited title of “The massacre of William Henry.” It so far deepened the stain which a previous and very similar event had left upon the reputation of the French commander, that it was not entirely erased by his early and glorious death. It is now becoming obscured by time; and thousands, who know that Montcalm died like a hero on the plains of Abraham, have yet to learn how much he was deficient in that moral courage, without which no man can be truly great. Pages might be written to prove, from this illustrious example, the defects of human excellence; to show how easy it is for generous sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous courage, to lose their influence beneath the chilling ascendency of mistaken selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man who was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found wanting, when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior to policy. But the task would exceed our fanciful prerogatives; and, as history, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness, it is probable that Louis de Saint Véran will be viewed by posterity only as the gallant defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on the shores of the Oswego and of the Horican, will be forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on the part of our sister muse, we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts, within the proper limits of our own humbler vocation.
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47Author:  Hawthorne Nathaniel 1804-1864Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mosses from an Old Manse  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Wiley and Putnam's library of American books | wiley and putnams library of american books 
 Description: In the latter part of the last century, there lived a man of science— an eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy—who, not long before our story opens, had made experience of a spiritual: affinity, more attractive than any chemical one. He had left his, laboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared his fine countenance from the furnace-smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days, when the comparatively recent discovery of electricity, and other kindred mysteries of nature, seemed to open paths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual for the love of science to rival the love of woman, in its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit, and even the heart, might all-find their congenial aliment in pursuits which, as some of their ardent votaries believed, would ascend from one step of powerful intelligence to another, until the philosopher should lay his hand on the secret of creative force, and perhaps make new worlds for himself. We know not whether Aylmer possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimate control over nature. He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studies, ever to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his young wife might prove the stronger of the two; but it could only be by intertwining itself with his love of science, and uniting the strength of the latter to its own.
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48Author:  Hawthorne Nathaniel 1804-1864Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mosses from an Old Manse  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Wiley and Putnam's library of American books | wiley and putnams library of american books 
 Description: We, who are born into the world's artificial system, can never adequately know how little in our present state and circumstances is natural, and how much is merely the interpolation of the perverted mind and heart of man. Art has become a second and stronger Nature; she is a step-mother, whose crafty tenderness has taught us to despise the bountiful and wholesome ministrations of our true parent. It is only through the medium of the imagination that we can lessen those iron fetters, which we call truth and reality, and make ourselves even partially sensible what prisoners we are. For instance, let us conceive good Father Miller's interpretation of the prophecies to have proved true. The Day of Doom has burst upon the globe, and swept away the whole rece of men. From cities and fields, sea-shore, and mid-land mountain region, vast continents, and even the remotest islands of the ocean—each living thing is gone. No breath of a created being disturbs this earthly atmosphere. But the abodes of man, and all that he has accomplished, the foot-prints of his wanderings, and the results of his toil, the visible symbols of his intellectual cultivation, and moral progress—in short, everything physical that can give evidence of his present position—shall remain untouched by the hand of destiny. Then, to inherit and repeople this waste and deserted earth, we will suppose a new Adam and a new Eve to have been created, in the full development of mind and heart, but with no knowledge of their predecessors, nor of the diseased circumstances that had become encrusted around them. Such a pair would at once distinguish between art and nature. Their instincts and intuitions would immediately recognize the wisdom and simplicity of the latter, while the former, with its elaborate perversities, would offer them a continual succession of puzzles.
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