| | 101 | Author: | Thorpe
Thomas Bangs
1815-1878 | Add | | | Title: | The mysteries of the backwoods, or, Sketches of the
Southwest  | | | | 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: | We have wandered over the Louisiana prairies,
our little pony, like an adventurous bark, seemingly
trusting itself imprudently beyond the headlands, a
mere speck, moving among the luxuriant islands of
live oak that here and there sit so quietly upon the
rolling waves of vegetation. Myriads of wild geese
would often rise upon our intrusion, helping out the
fancy of being at sea; but the bounding deer, or
wild cattle, that occasionally resented our presence
and rattled off at break-neck pace, kept us firmly on
the land. In the spring seasons, the prairies are
covered with the choicest flowers, that mix with the
young grass in such profusion as to carpet them
more delicately, and more richly, than in the seraglio
of a sultan. Upon this vegetation innumerable
cattle feed and fatten, until they look pampered, and
their skins glisten like silk in the sun. Apparently
wild as the buffalo, they are all marked and numbered,
and in them consist the wealth of the inhabitant
of the prairie. It is easy to imagine that herdsmen
of such immense fields live a wild and free life;
ever on horseback, like the Arabs, they have no
fear save when out of the saddle, and nature has
kindly provided a “steed” that boasts of no particular
blood, that may be called the “yankee” of his
kind, because it never tires, never loses its energy,
and makes a living and grows fat, where all else
of its species would starve. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 103 | Author: | Tucker
Beverley
1784-1851 | Add | | | Title: | George Balcombe | | | | 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: | At length, issuing from the wood, I entered a
prairie, more beautiful than any I had yet seen.
The surface, gently undulating, presented innumerable
swells, on which the eye might rest with
pleasure. Many of these were capped with
clumps and groves of trees, thus interrupting the
dull uniformity which generally wearies the traveller
in these vast expanses. I gazed around for
a moment with delight but soon found leisure
to observe that my road had become alarmingly
indistinct. It is easy, indeed, to follow the faintest
trace through a prairie. The beaten track, however
narrow, wears a peculiar aspect, which makes
it distinguishable even at a distance. But the name
of Arlington, the place of my destination, denoted
at least a village; while the tedious path which I
was travelling seemed more like to terminate in
the midst of the prairie, than to lead to a public
haunt of men. I feared I had missed my way, and
looked eagerly ahead for some traveller, who might
set me right, if astray. But I looked in vain.
The prairie lay before me, a wide waste, without
one moving object. The sun had just gone down;
and as my horse, enlivened by the shade and the
freshness of evening, seemed to recover his mettle,
I determined to push on to such termination as my
path might lead to. “I wrote you, under date of March tenth, that
the bill remitted by you for one thousand dollars,
drawn by Edward Montague on the house of
Tompkins and Todd of this city, had been paid
by a draft on Bell and Brothers of Liverpool, England.
This draft I remitted, according to your
directions, to my friend John Ferguson, of the
house of Ferguson and Partridge, our correspondents
there, with instructions to obtain, if possible,
from the same house, a draft on the county of
Northumberland. In this he succeeded, by procuring
a draft on Edward Raby, Esq. of that
county, for a like amount. “A draft drawn by Edward Montague, Esq.,
for one thousand dollars, was this day presented,
and paid by us in pursuance of your standing instructions. “The draft of Messrs. Tompkins and Todd, on
account of Mr. Montague's annuity, is to hand, and
has been duly honoured. “Among the crosses of a wayward destiny, it
is not the least, that for so many years I have lost
all trace of the only man on earth to whom I
could look for kindness or sympathy. Since accident
has discovered to me your residence, I have
felt as if fate might have in store for me some
solace for a life of poverty and disgrace. For the
last, indeed, there is no remedy; for the opinion
of others cannot stifle the voice of self-reproach,
nor deaden the sense of merited dishonour. But,
bad as these are, (and they are enough to poison
all enjoyment, to extinguish all hope, and to turn
the very light of heaven into blackness,) they may
be rendered more intolerable by the cold scorn of
the world, by the unappeased wants of nature, and
by the constant view of sufferings, brought by ourselves
on those we love. This complication of
evil has been my lot; and if one ray of comfort
has ever shot into my benighted mind, it came with
the thought, that he who knew me best knew all
my fault, but did not think me vile. But what
reason have I to think this? Why may not the
misconstruction, which conscience has denied me
power to correct, have reached you uncontradicted?
How can I hope that you have not been
told, that the lip, on which, with your last blessing,
you left the kiss of pure, and generous, and ill-requited
love, has not been since steeped in the
pollution of a villain's breath? All this may have
been told you. All this you may believe. But,
whatever else may be credited against me, you
will never doubt my truth. No, George; the fearful
proof I once gave that I am incapable of deception,
is not forgotten. Take, then, my single
word, against all the world can say, that that hallowed
kiss `my lip has virgined' to this hour.
VOL. I.—M.
Except the cold and clammy brow of my dying
father, no touch of man has since invaded it; nor
has one smile profaned it, since in that moment I
consecrated it to virtue. “It is not the purpose of this letter to reproach
you with your crimes, or to degrade myself by
fruitless complaint of the wretchedness they have
brought upon me. My weak voice can add no
terrors to the thunders of conscience. The history
of my sufferings would be superfluous. So
far as you are capable of comprehending them, you
already know them. The want of the necessaries
of life you can appreciate. Of the sting of self-reproach
to a conscience not rendered callous by
crime, of the deep sense of irreparable dishonour,
of the misery of witnessing distress brought by
our fault on those we love, you can form no conception. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 104 | Author: | Tucker
Beverley
1784-1851 | Add | | | Title: | George Balcombe | | | | 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: | We now approached the seat of justice for
— county, and as we mingled in the crowd of
countrymen flocking to the same point, our conversation
was necessarily interrupted. I soon saw
that Balcombe was distinguished, and that he was
an object of interest and curiosity, which was
painful to me. By him it seemed to be unmarked,
and he moved on with a countenance of
quiet serenity, as a man familiar with notoriety,
and secure of himself “Your extraordinary communication of the 15th
ultimo is before me. In answering it I find myself
under the necessity of adverting to much
more than it contains; and I shall do so fully, because
I find it necessary to make you understand
distinctly the relation between us. “Let me indulge a hope that the sight of my
name at the bottom of this letter may not prevent
you from reading it. Having hitherto received
nothing at my hands but what, to you at least, appeared
to be injustice, I cannot expect to engage
your attention to what I am about to say, without
first assuring you that the purpose of this letter is
altogether friendly. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 105 | Author: | Tucker
Beverley
1784-1851 | Add | | | Title: | The partisan leader | | | | 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: | Poor Arthur! B— had predicted too truly that
his heart would have some hankerings at the thought
of leaving the house where he had, of late, spent so
many pleasant hours. It is so long that I have said
nothing about him, that the reader may think him
forgotten, or may, himself, have forgotten that there
was such a person. He had, in truth, no part in the
transactions of which we have been speaking. He
was at that time of life when the mind, chameleon
like, takes its hue from surrounding objects. He
was too young to be advised with, or trusted with
important secrets. I have already mentioned that,
on the day of the election, he had been detained at
home by indisposition. But he had heard of the occurrences
of that day; and he was, moreover, unconsciously
exposed to influences from every member of
the family, all tending to the same point. Least apparent,
but not least efficacious, was that of his cousin
Lucia. They were of that age when hearts, soft
and warm, grow together by mere contact. With
thought of love, but without thinking of it, they had
become deeply enamored of each other. The thing
came about so simply and so naturally, that the result
alone needs to be told. Sir: I have the honor to lay before your Excellency
an account of the operations of the troops
under my command, since the date of my last despatch. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 106 | Author: | Tuckerman
Henry T.
(Henry Theodore)
1813-1871 | Add | | | Title: | Isabel, or, Sicily | | | | 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, perhaps, no approach to the old world
more impressive to the transatlantic voyager, than
the Straits of Gibraltar. The remarkable promontory
which rises abruptly before him, is calculated to
interest his mind, wearied with the monotony of sea-life,
not less as an object of great natural curiosity
than from the historical circumstances with which it
is associated. Anciently deemed the boundary of
the world, it was fabled, that at this point Europe
and Africa were united until riven asunder by Hercules,
forming the south-western extremity of Andalusia,
and long occupied as a Moorish fortress, it
awakens the many romantic impressions which embalm
the history of Spain; constituting, as it were,
the gate of the Mediterranean, the comer from the
new world cannot pass its lofty and venerable form,
without feeling that he has left the ocean whose
waters lave his native shore, and entered a sea
hallowed by the annals of antiquity, and renowned
for scenes of southern luxuriance and beauty. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 107 | Author: | Tyler
Royall
1757-1826 | Add | | | Title: | The Algerine captive, or, The life and adventures of Doctor Updike Underhill | | | | 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: | MINISTER OF THE UNITED STATES AT THE
COURT OF LISBON, $C. I derive my birth from one
of the first emigrants to New England,
being lineally descended from Captain
John Underhill, who came into the Massachusetts
in the year one thousand six
hundred and thirty; of whom honourable
mention is made by that elegant, accurate,
and interesting historian, the Reverend
Jeremy Belknap, in his History of New
Hampshire. Remembrin my kind love to Mr. Hilton,
I now send you some note of my
tryalls at Boston.—Oh that I may come
out of this, and al the lyke tryalls, as
goold sevene times puryfyed in the furnice. Them there very extraordinary pare
of varses, you did yourself the onner to
address to a young lada of my partecling
acquaintance calls loudly for explination.
I shall be happy to do myself
the onner of wasting a few charges of
powder with you on the morro morning
precisely at one half hour before sun rose
at the lower end of — wharff. We saluted the castle with
seven guns, which was returned with
three, and then entered within the immense
pier, which forms the port. The
prisoners, thirty in number, were conveyed
to the castle, where we were received
with great parade by the Dey's
troops or cologlies, and guarded to a
heavy strong tower of the castle. The
Portuguese prisoners, to which nation
the Algerines have the most violent antipathy,
were immediately, with every
mark of contempt, spurned into a dark
dungeon beneath the foundations of the
tower, though there were several merchants
of eminence, and one young nobleman,
in the number. The Spaniards,
whom the Dey's subjects equally detest,
and fear more, were confined with me in
a grated room, on the second story. We
received, the same evening, rations similar
to what, we understood, were issued
to the garrison. The next day, we were
all led to a cleansing house, where we
were cleared from vermin, our hair cut
short, and our beards close shaved; thence
taken to a bath, and, after being well
bathed, we were clothed in coarse linen
drawers, a strait waistcoat of the same
without sleeves, and a kind of tunic or
loose coat over the whole, which, with a
pair of leather slippers, and a blue cotton
cap, equipped us, as we were informed,
to appear in the presence of the Dey,
who was to select the tenth prisoner from
us in person. The next morning, the
dragomen or interpreters, were very busy
in impressing upon us the most profound
respect for the Dey's person and
power, and teaching us the obeisance necessary
to be made in our approaches to this
august potentate. Soon after, we were
paraded; and Captain Hamed presented
each of us with a paper, written in a base
kind of Arabic, describing, as I was informed,
our persons, names, country, and
conditions in life; so far as our captors
could collect from our several examinations.
Upon the back of each paper was
a mark or number. The same mark was
painted upon a flat oval piece of wood,
somewhat like a painter's palette, and suspended
by a small brass chain to our
necks, hanging upon our breasts. The
guards then formed a hollow square.
We were blind folded until we passed
the fortifications, and then suffered to
view the city, and the immense rabble,
which surrounded us, until we came to
the palace of the Dey. Here, after much
military parade, the gates were thrown
open, and we entered a spacious court
yard, at the upper end of which the Dey
was seated, upon an eminence, covered
with the richest carpeting fringed with
gold. A circular canopy of Persian silk
was raised over his head, from which
were suspended curtains of the richest
embroidery, drawn into festoons by silk
cords and tassels, enriched with pearls.
Over the eminence, upon the right and
left, were canopies, which almost vied in
B 2
riches with the former, under which stood
the Mufri, his numerous Hadgi's, and
his principal officers, civil and military;
and on each side about seven hundred
foot guards were drawn up in the form
of a half moon. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 108 | Author: | Tyler
Royall
1757-1826 | Add | | | Title: | The Yankey in London | | | | 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: | ACCEPT my warmest thanks for the
letters of introduction you presented me
at parting, and for those transmitted me
by the ship Union; and suffer me, through
you, to make my grateful acknowledgments
to Mr. G. for his very friendly
proffer of making me known to some
“excellent English friends.”—I do assure
you, very few of our countrymen have
left in London such favourable impressions
of the American character as that
gentleman. Indeed, all our United States'
agents have done honour to our national
diplomacy: among them Mr. K. and Mr.
G. will be long distinguished; the former
for the classical elegance of his bureau
address, the latter for his commercial
science—and both for that dignified, polished
demeanour which European gentlemen
will hardly admit can be attained
without the tour of that continent. I
ought, in justice, to observe, that our present
envoy is a gentleman highly esteemed
for the suavity of his manners, and respected
for his adherence to the commercial
rights of his nation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 110 | Author: | Ware
William
1797-1852 | Add | | | Title: | Letters of Lucius M. Piso, from Palmyra, to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome | | | | 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: | As I returned from the worship of the Christians to
the house of Gracchus, my thoughts wandered from the
subjects which had just occupied my mind, to the condition
of the country, and the prospect now growing more
and more portentous of an immediate rupture with
Rome. On my way I passed through streets of more
than Roman magnificence, exhibiting all the signs of
wealth, taste, refinement, and luxury. The happy, lighthearted
populace were moving through them, enjoying at
their leisure the calm beauty of the evening, or hastening
to or from some place of festivity. The earnest tone of
conversation, the loud laugh, the witty retort, the merry
jest, fell upon my ear from one and another as I passed
along. From the windows of the palaces of the merchants
and nobles, the rays of innumerable lights
streamed across my path, giving to the streets almost the
brilliancy of day; and the sound of music, either of
martial instruments, or of the harp accompanied by the
voice, at every turn arrested my attention, and made me
pause to listen. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 111 | Author: | Ware
William
1797-1852 | Add | | | Title: | Probus, or, Rome in the third century | | | | 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 record which follows, is by the hand of me,
Nichomachus, once the happy servant of the great Queen
of Palmyra, than whom the world never saw a queen
more illustrious, nor a woman adorned with brighter virtues.
But my design is not to write her eulogy, nor recite
the wonderful story of her life. That task requires
a stronger and a more impartial hand than mine. The
life of Zenobia by Nichomachus, would be the portrait
of a mother and a divinity, drawn by the pen of a child
and a worshipper. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 112 | Author: | Ware
William
1797-1852 | Add | | | Title: | Probus, or, Rome in the third century | | | | 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: | Marcus and Lucilia are inconsolable. Their grief,
I fear, will be lasting as it is violent. They have no
resource but to plunge into affairs and drive away memory
by some active and engrossing occupation. Yet
they cannot always live abroad; they must at times
return to themselves and join the company of their own
thoughts. And then memory is not to be put off; at
such moments this faculty seems to constitute the mind
more than any other. It becomes in a manner the mind
itself. The past rises up in spite of ourselves, and overshadows
the present. Whether its scenes have been
prosperous or afflictive, but especially if they have been
shameful, do they present themselves with all the vividness
of the objects before us and the passing hour, and
minister to our joy or increase our pains. We in vain
attempt to escape. We are prisoners in the hands of a
giant. To forget is not in our power. The will is impotent.
The effort to forget is often but an effort to remember.
Fast as we fly, so fast the enemy of our peace
pursues. Memory is a companion who never leaves us
— or never leaves us long. It is the true Nemesis.
Tartarean regions have no worse woes, nor the Hell of
Christians, than memory inflicts upon those who have
done evil. My friends struggle in vain. They have
not done evil indeed, but they have suffered it. The
sorest calamity that afflicts mortals has overtaken them;
their choicest jewel has been torn from them; and they
can no more drown the memory of their loss than they
can take that faculty itself and tear it from their souls.
Comfort cannot come from that quarter. It can come
only from being re-possessed of that which has been lost
hereafter and from enjoying the hope of that felicity now.
See how Marcus writes. After much else he says, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 113 | Author: | Ware
William
1797-1852 | Add | | | Title: | Julian, or Scenes in Judea | | | | 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: | Praise to the God of Abraham. The locusts
are flown. The land which they found flourishing
and verdant as a garden, they have
changed to the barrenness of a desert. The
cities and the villages, but now so full of people,
are become the region of desolation and
death. Even the very city and house of God
are level with the dust, and the ploughshare
has gone over them. And here, upon the hill
of Olives, I sit, a living witness of the ruin.
By reason of the wonderful compassions of God,
which never fail, I am escaped as a bird from
the net of the fowler. Yet I take little joy in
this. For why should the days of one like me
be lengthened out, when the mighty and excellent
of the land are cut off? I rather rejoice
in this, that the spoiler is gone; the armies of
the alien have ceased to devour; and they
who are fled, and hidden in caves and dens
of the rocks, may come forth again to inhabit
the land and build up the waste places.
A multitude, which no man could number, have
fallen before the edge of the sword, or by famine,
and the air is full of the pestilential vapors
that steam up from their rotting carcases. But
a greater multitude remains; and it may well
be that ere many years have passed, they shall
fill the land as before, and gathered into one by
him who, though long delaying, will come, pay
back, and more, the measure they have received.
That time will surely come. Even as the
Assyrian could not finally destroy, but the hand
of the Almighty was put forth, and the city
and the temple grew again from their ruins
to a greater glory than before, so shall it be now.
The Roman triumph shall be short. Messiah
shall yet appear; and Jerusalem clothed in her
beautiful garments shall sit upon her hills, the
joy and crown of the whole earth. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 114 | Author: | Whittier
John Greenleaf
1807-1892 | Add | | | Title: | Leaves from Margaret Smith's journal in the province of Massachusetts Bay, 1678-9 | | | | 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: | “Dear Friend: I salute thee with much love from
this new Countrie, where the Lord hath spread a table
for us in the Wilderness. Here is a goodlie companie
of Friends, who doe seek to know the mind of Truth,
and to live thereby, being held in favor and esteem by
the Rulers of the Land, and soe left in Peace to worship
God according to their consciences. The whole
Countrie being covered with Snow, and the Weather
being extreme cold, we can scarce say much of the
natural gifts and advantages of our new Home; but it
lyeth on a small River, and there be fertile Meadowes
and old Cornfields of the Indians, and good Springs of
Water, soe that I am told it is a desirable and pleasing
place in the warm season. My soul is full of Thankfulness;
and a sweet inward Peace is my portion.
Hard things are made easie to me; this desert place,
with its lonelie Woods and wintry Snows, is beautiful
in mine eyes. For here we be no longer gazing-stocks
of the rude Multitude, we are no longer haled from our
Meetings, and rayled upon as Witches and possessed
People. Oh! how often have we been called upon
heretofore to repeat the prayer of one formerlie —
`Let me not fall into the hands of man.' Sweet,
beyond the power of words to express, hath been the
change in this respect; and in view of the Mercies
vouchsafed unto us, what can we do but repeat the
language of David? — `Praise is comelie; yea, a joyful
and pleasant thing it is to be thankful. It is a good
thing to give thanks unto the Lord, to sing praises unto
thy Name, O Most High! to show forth thy loving
kindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every
night.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 115 | Author: | EDITED BY N. P. WILLIS. | Add | | | Title: | The legendary | | | | 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 is, I believe, or should be, a maxim of the
true church, that confession of a sin is the first step
towards its expiation. `When you receive this letter, your three sons will
be no more. Frederic de Lancey is the bearer of it.
He has done our dear Edward a signal service, and I
have thought him trustworthy to convey to Alice the
picture of my mother. My heart bleeds when I think
of you, without one prop for your old age, save our innocent
and helpless sister. We are all satisfied De
Lancey would be a faithful son to you if you will permit
him to be. In case of his death tomorrow—and the
chances of war are alike to all—he has bequeathed to
us all he is worth, and it is the earnest wish of my
brothers as well as myself, that if he should be the only
survivor, you would adopt him; and if he and sister
Alice should fancy each other, that he may become a
son in reality. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 116 | Author: | EDITED BY N. P. WILLIS. | Add | | | Title: | The legendary | | | | 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: | `Have you ever read Undine, Tom? Did you conceive
of a river of wondrous and perfect beauty?
Was it fringed with all manner of stooping trees, and
kissed to the very lip by clover? Did it wind constantly
in and out, as if both banks were enamoured of its flow
and enticed it from each other's bosoms? Was it hidden
sometimes by thick masses of leaves meeting over
it, and sometimes by the swelling of a velvet slope that
sent it rippling away into shadow? and did it steal out
again like a happy child from a hiding place, and flash
up to your eye till you would have sworn it was living
and intelligent? Did the banks lean away in a rich,
deep verdure, and were the meadows sleeping beneath
the light, like a bosom in a silk mantle? and when
your ear had drank in the music of the running water,
and the loveliness of color and form had unsettled the
earthliness within you, did you believe in your heart
that a strip of Eden had been left unmarred by the angel? `She who brings you this letter is my only child—
all the treasure I possess in this world. Therefore, I
trust her to you, relying on your honor. If the walls of
Soleure fall, I shall be buried under their ruins; but if
you grant your protection to my daughter, I shall have
no more anxiety for her. Give me some token that
you grant my petition, and you will receive your reward
from that Being who watches over the innocent, and
who knows our hearts. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 120 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Add | | | Title: | The Winkles, or, The merry monomaniacs | | | | 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: | Babbleton was an ancient village near the city of Philadelphia.
It had a wharf where the steamboats landed, and a
depot where the locomotives whistled. Hence, although the
principal mansions were situated on commodious lots, and in
many instances separated from each other by broad yards and
close fences, it is not to be inferred there was ever a monotonous
deficiency of noise and excitement in the place. It had
its proud and its miserable, its vanities and its humiliations,
its bank and its bakers, its millionaires and its milliners; and
was not unfrequently the scene of some of those entertaining
comedies of life, which have been considered in all enlightened
countries worthy of preservation in veracious and impartial
history. Such a record we have attempted to produce; and
although the direct manner of narration adopted may offend
the taste of the fastidious critic, yet the less acutely discerning
reader may possibly deem himself compensated for the
labor of perusal, by the reliable assurance of the anthenticity
of the story, and the interest attending the occurrences flitting
before his mental vision. “My Dear Aunt:—It becomes my melancholy duty to
announce a sad calamity—an unexpected suicide—which must
affect you deeply. This morning poor Jocko was found suspended
from the eve of the portico, and quite dead. That he
did it himself, must be evident from the fact that no human
being would be likely to climb down to the edge of the roof.
It seems that he had driven a large nail into the wood through
the last link of his chain, and then sprang over, either dislocuting.
his neck, or producing suffocation. I could not hear
his struggles, from the distant chamber I occupied, or you
should not have been called upon to lament his untimely end.
Poor Jocko! As the weather is very warm, I will have his
body taken down and packed in ice. It will keep, dear aunt,
until I receive your instructions, in regard to the disposition
you would have made of it. Every thing shall be done according
to your orders. You need not hasten your return to
the city. I am quite comfortable here, and the house is kept
very quiet from morning till night. My love to mother, sister,
uncle, all. “If I see so plainly the imprudence of such disgraceful
matches in others, you may suppose I shall be careful to avoid
falling into the like silly practices myself. It is true I intend
to marry. My nuptials will be celebrated some time during
the present year. But the man of my choice will be a gentleman
of distinction—a genius of celebrity. You know him,
Walter—Mr. Pollen, the poet. If he is poor—if he has been
sometimes, as you informed me, without a shirt—that is no
disgrace. How was it with Chatterton, Defoe, and even
Milton himself? And what lady in the world would not
have been honored by being the wife of a Chatterton, a Defoe,
a Milton? Shame upon the ladies who permitted them to
languish in poverty! I will set an example for the wealthy
ladies to follow hereafter. Genius is the very highest kind of
aristocracy, because it cannot be conferred by mortal man, nor
taken away even by the detracting tongue of women. Farewell.
Present my adieus to your mother and Lucy. We
will not meet again, unless it be accidentally, and then it is
probable there will be no recognition on my part, and I desire
there shall be none on yours. You may say to Mr. Lowe that
a visit from him would be agreeable to me I believe him to
be a gentleman, and would have no objections to his society,
if he could answer one or two questions satisfactorily. You
may say to him that although I am resolved to marry, I don't
expect to feel what the silly girls call a romantic passion for
any man. I don't believe in any such nonsense. I want a
partner at whist as much as any thing else. “My Dear Niece:—I send my Edith for you, and I desire
that you will return with her, by the evening mail. She
is discreet, and no one knows her in Babbleton. By accompanying
her, your persecutor will not be able to trace you to
your asylum. Wear a thick veil, so that he may not recognize
your features when you go to the cars. You may safely
confide in Edith. She has been my confidant for many years,
as your mother knows. She was personally acquainted with
the Great Unknown—Sir Walter—and is familiar with the
plots and stratagems of villains. She reads for me every
night, and has a romantic and literary disposition. Since I
received your dear pathetic letter, I have been going over the
`Children of the Abbey' again, and find my eyes continually
suffused with the miseries of poor Amanda. My dear child!
You remind me of her so much, that I am painfully impatient
to clasp you to my heart! Do not delay a moment. My
love to sister Edith. Tell her not to insist on my Edith having
any refreshments, for she never takes any. “Dear Sir: Excuse my bad writing, for you know I write
with my left hand, and hold the paper down with my right
stump. I saw Col. Oakdale to-day, and he said you would be
home to-night, therefore I write. “Here is news from Babbleton,” said Lucy, and narrated
in my dear mother's merry vein. Listen, aunt:—“Griselda
still keeps my poor brother a close prisoner, while she dashes
about in her coach and four. But she has cut all her poor
acquaintances, and of course I am blotted out of her books.
She passes without calling, and without knowing how heartily
I laugh at the ridiculous figure she makes. But she patronized
our minister, Mr. Amble, and that is a charitable expenditure,
because the money will certainly reach the poor of
the parish. Mr. A. you know, has either nine or thirteen (I
forget which) children of his own, and they must be provided
for. I suppose it is because I could render no
assistance, that he has not called on me lately—not, I believe,
since my house was sold. Perhaps he did not hear I was the
purchaser * * * Still I think Roland is love mad. But his
passion is two-fold. He has laid regular siege to Virginia
Oakdale, who is my guest, and opens his batteries once or
twice every week, and then disappears most mysteriously. I
presume he occupies his blue carriage on the alternate days.
Virginia never refuses to see him; but the spirited girl laughs
at his pretensions, and banters him in such a moeking manner
that he must soon despair of making any progress. Why do
you not treat him in the same way? Or why do you not
marry him, and then have your revenge? It is so absurd to
see men of fortune running after the girls, and vainly teasing
them for a smile. Marry them, and they will run the other
way. Walter is still at Washington, and has not yet received
his appointment. I believe he has ceased writing to Virginia.
What does it mean? More tomfoolery? Lowe has been
absent some time—and I suppose you have seen him. Remember!
* * * We had an exciting scene in the street the
other day. Sergeant Blore, when stumping on his way to
see me, was seized by Mrs. Edwards. She demanded his
money—and he cried murder! He tripped her up with his
wooden leg and made his escape. But it seems he sprained
her ankle, and she has since threatened to bring “an haction”
against him for “hassault” and battery! You see how
husbands are served! Bill Dizzle gallants Patty O'Pan to
church every Sunday. I wrote you how Patty mortally
affronted the Arums and Crudles. She kept up till Bill
and Susan beat a retreat. It has been a mystery to me
how the impudent hussy obtained the means to perpetrate
such an annoyance. Some of her finery must have cost a
great deal of money, and no one ever supposed Lowe possessed
a superabundance of it. By the way, I forgot to
mention that Bell Arum has written home a precious budget
of news, which her mother, as usual, has published to all
her acquaintances. She says she saw you examining the
register, and that you were in the habit of wandering
about alone and unprotected. She says Mr. Lowe is likewise
in the city; and if her ma would put that and that together,
she would know as much as the writer, no doubt! And she
says they have an invitation to the aristocratic Mrs. Laurel's
parties, and that some of the British nobility of the highest rank
are expected over this winter. But (she says) if L. W. and
Mr. L. are to be met there, she is determined to expose them. “My impudent nephew Walter,
who will persist in writing me, notwithstanding I have cast
him off for sanctioning his uncle's marriage with that vulgar
bonnet-maker (I forget her name), informs me that Mr. Pollen,
the silly poet who abandoned my hospitality to borrow a few
dirty dollars of the milliner, is now working himself to death
in New York to earn a scanty living, which he might have had
for nothing by remaining here and behaving himself. He is a
fool—just like other poets who have genius, and therefore he
ought not to be permitted to kill himself. Enclosed I send a
check for a trifling sum payable to bearer, which, perhaps, with
delicate management you may induce him to make use of for
his own benefit. Perhaps he needs some new shirts. I have
seen him twice without any—and I believe he has one of
Walter's yet. Speaking of checks and of Walter, I gave my
cast-off nephew one when he was on his way to that Babylonian
rendezvous of demagogues, which, for some reason—or
rather for the want of reason—he did not use. I suppose he
gave it to some fool or other poorer than himself. But the
cashier of the bank did not pay the money. There needed
Walter's name on it, he said, written with his own hand, as it
was drawn to his order, or something of the sort, which I did
not understand, and did not choose to inquire about. Walter
says Lucy is with you. Tell her I have five letters from
Ralph Roland begging me to intercede for him. I believe him
a knave—but if he writes me again I shall also believe him in
earnest, and that the rascal is absolutely in love. It would
be a better match than her uncle's, which she attended. “It must be for me,” said Walter. “Put it on the
table. I will look at it when I have searched my pockets
once more.” Not finding the check, he opened the letter and
read as follows: “Misther Walther Wankle, Sir — I have
sane Misthress Famble and mi busnes is faxd. She seed you
at super and sez she wants to no you. She ses she liks yer
lukes, and wud like to sarve you but ses Misther Famble is
beging for a nother man. Don't be onasy she kin do mor in
a dozzin husbins. Pleases anser this and lave at the barr for
your obeydant sarvint “Would you deign to read the news here, if I promise not
to be tedious? Well, I promise. The mortgage on our house
and grounds has been paid. Will you facilitate me on that?
You must not ask where the money came from, for that is a
secret upon which to exercise your faculty of guessing. But
that is not all. Colonel Oakdale's debt to Roland has been
paid. That must be news for you. You would never guess
who loaned him the money, and I will tell you, so that you
may pour out your gratitude to him should your relations
with the family of the senator—we have just heard of his election
by the Legislature—ever become more intimate than
they have been hitherto. It was John Dowly, whom every
one supposed to be in indigent circumstances. Blessings on
my old beau. Walter never slept more soundly, or enjoyed more pleasant
dreams, than he did in prison. And he had an excellent
appetite for breakfast, which was damaged, however, by the
contents of the letters and papers brought in by his keeper. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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