| | 141 | Author: | Sedgwick
Catharine Maria
1789-1867 | Add | | | Title: | A New England tale, and Miscellanies  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “In returning to my lodgings, late last evening, I was
accosted by a man, muffled in a cloak. I recognised his voice
at once. It was our unfortunate townsman, Wilson. He has
succeeded à merveille in an ingenious plan of escape from durance,
and sails in the morning for one of the West India
islands, where he will, no doubt, make his debut as pirate, or
in some other character, for which his training has equally
qualified him. A precious rascal he is indeed; but, allow me
a phrase of your fraternity, sir, I had no light to give him up
to justice, after he had trusted to me; and more than that,
for he informs me, that he had, since his confinement, written
to the Woodhulls to engage me as counsel, and through them
he learnt the fact of my being in this city. This bound me,
in some sort, to look upon the poor devil as my client; and,
as it would have been my duty to get him out of the clutches
of the law, it would have been most ungracious to have put
him into them, you know, since his own cleverness, instead of
mine, has extricated him. He has explained to me, and he
informs me has communicated to you, (for he says he cannot
trust his mother to make them public,) the particulars of the
sequestration of the old woman's money. I think Miss Elton
never imparted to you the event that led to the sudden engagement,
from which she has chosen to absolve me; and you
have yet to learn, that there is generosity, disinterestedness
in the world, that may rival the virtue which reposes under
the shadow of the broad-brim. But, your pardon. I have
wiped out all scores. The reception I have met with in this
finest of cities, has been such as to make me look upon the
incidents of an obscure village as mere bagatelles, not worthy
of a sigh from one who can bask in the broad sunshine of ladies'
favour and fortune's gifts. One word more, en passant,
of Wilson's explanations. I rejoice in it sincerely, on Miss
Elton's account. She deserved to have suffered a little for
her childishness in holding herself bound by an exacted promise,
for having put herself in a situation in which her guilt
would have seemed apparent to any one but a poor dog whom
love had hoodwinked—pro tempore. She is too young and
too beautiful a victim for the altar of conscience. However,
I forgive her, her scruples, her fanaticism, and her cruelties;
and wish her all happiness in this world and the next, advising
her not to turn anchorite here, for the sake of advancement
there. “Mr. Allen came home three weeks ago, and said it was
not sure you would be a colonel; but Mr. Oakley saw it in
the paper, yesterday, that you are one, and I hurraed and
hurraed till my little mother said I should make her deaf.
And mother dressed up, and put the blue ribbon you sent
her, round her neck, and looked so beautiful; Mr. Oakley
said the ribbon was just a match for her eyes, and then such
a rosy colour came into her cheeks. “Dear and Honoured Husband:—Your `little wifie' (I
am glad you still call me so) thanks you from the bottom of
her heart for your long letters. How kind of you, after your
long days' marches, and your hard, hard work, to sit up at
night to write to us, and especially to me, who am but a poor
and short letter-writer myself. Oh, my dear heart, when will
this tedious war be over, and you be at home again? Not that
every thing does not go on very well. Dear sister Sylvy sees
to every thing, does every thing. I am a poor thriftless wife
to you, and I am afraid I shall not even be a mere ornamental
piece of furniture—a `jim crack' of William Freeman's (as you
remember who, called me), if you do not soon come home. I
am getting thinner and thinner, and you will have to put on
your spectacles (I cannot believe you wear spectacles!) to
see me. “Dear and Respected Brother:—Your letter was
duly received two weeks after date. I thank you for
its approving words; also for your profitable advice, concerning
the farm, stock, and so forth, which shall—the Lord
willing—be attended to. “My dear Sir—Family afflictions compel me to resign my
commission. With ardent prayers for my country—all I can
now give her— “My dear Sir—I have just succeeded to the possession
of an immense fortune, and hasten to offer you the only reparation
in my power for a wrong deeply regretted by—
Yours with sentiments of immeasurable respect— “I am clean discouraged. It seems as if Providence
crowded on me. There is black disappointment, turn which
way I will. I have had an offer to go to Orleans, and part
pay beforehand, which same I send you herewith. Ellen read—“Mrs. O'Roorke,—You have been a kind
friend to me, and I thank you; and give you, in token of my
gratitude, all that I have in this room. My clothes please
give to Ellen, and the purse with the two dollars, in the
corner of the drawer, to Pat. With many thanks from me, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 142 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | The league of the Miami | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Whoever has attempted to trace through
its various windings, or plunge into and
divine the mysteries of that mysterious,
inexplicable thing, the human heart, has
ever found himself perplexed—lost in a
mazy bewilderment. Well sung one of
England's greatest poets,
“The proper study of mankind is man,”
for man is a strange, strange being; his
life is a medley of inconsistencies—his
heart a labyrinth of good and evil. There
is in our nature a propensity, a desire for
concealment, which may be termed somewhat
hypocritical, and which gives the
outward, and the inward man, two strong
contrasting aspects. Were it not for this,
we should not see the gentle smile upon
the surface, while the death-worm was
gnawing at the core. We should not be
daily told that such an one is happy, such
an one enjoys all the beauties of life,
while he, or she, is looking forward to
the cold and silent tomb to end the misery
of a life of woe. Why is this? Why
do we seek to seem other than we feel—
than we are? Ah, there is the mystery.
That it is so, none will deny. Were it
not for this—were our features the index
of our thoughts—where would be the
sacredness of grief? or the holy charm
of love? And is not one sacred to us?
Does not the other seem holy in our eyes?
Do we not hoard them in our heart of
hearts, as the miser hoards his treasures
from the gaze of the world? And do
we not, like him, feel a secret pleasure in
brooding over them in silence, alone?
Could we not do this—did the world
know us as we know ourselves—not all
the terrors of death, not all the terrors of
a great hereafter, would be sufficient to
hinder thousands from rashly plunging
into the mystic, UNKNOWN BEYOND! In
this do we not behold an All-wise
ordering? Madam:—When this reaches you, I
shall probably be no more. I believe
that we are often warned of our approaching
dissolution, and I feel that mine is
near at hand. What my end will be,
God only knows; yet, while I contemplate
and write, I shudder. Seven years
ago, I placed in your charge Cicely
Edgerton—” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 144 | Author: | Ward
Artemus
1834-1867 | Add | | | Title: | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic illustrations | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Sir—I'm movin along—slowly along—down
tords your place. I want you should rite me a
letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in your place.
My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a
Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal—t'would make
you larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss jump
up and squeal) wax figgers of G. Washington Gen.
Tayler John Bunyan Capt. Kidd and Dr. Webster
in the act of killin Dr. Parkman, besides several
miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts
& murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by
none. Now Mr. Editor, scratch orf a few lines
sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place.
I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend
upon it. I want you should git my hanbills up in
flamin stile. Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt
in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleld Show. We must
fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their
feelins. Cum the moral on 'em strong. If it's a
temprance community tell 'em I sined the pledge fifteen
minits arter Ise born, but on the contery ef your
peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial
a feller as we ever met, full of conwiviality, & the
life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take, don't you?
If you say anythin abowt my show say my snaiks is
as harmliss as the new born Babe. What a interestin
study it is to see a zewological animil like a
snaik under perfeck subjecshun! My kangaroo is
the most larfable little cuss I ever saw. All for 15
cents. I am anxyus to skewer your infloounce. I
repeet in regard to them hanbills that I shall git
'em struck orf up to your printin office. My
perlitercal sentiments agree with yourn exackly. I
know thay do, becawz I never saw a man whoos
didn't. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 146 | Author: | Child
Lydia Maria Francis
1802-1880 | Add | | | Title: | A romance of the republic | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Dearly Beloved,—I am so happy that I cannot
wait a minute without telling you about it. I have done a
naughty thing, but, as it is the first time I ever disobeyed
you, I hope you will forgive me. You told me never to
go to the plantation without you. But I waited and waited,
and you did n't come; and we were so happy there,
that lovely day, that I longed to go again. I knew it
would be very lonesome without you; but I thought it
would be some comfort to see again the places where we
walked together, and sang together, and called each other
all manner of foolish fond names. Do you remember how
many variations you rung upon my name, — Rosabella,
Rosalinda, Rosamunda, Rosa Regina? How you did pelt
me with roses! Do you remember how happy we were in
the garden bower? How we sang together the old-fashioned
canzonet, `Love in thine eyes forever plays'? And
how the mocking-bird imitated your guitar, while you were
singing the Don Giovanni serenade? “Dear Sir, — If you can spare an hour this evening to
talk with me on a subject of importance, you will greatly
oblige yours, “Dearest and best Friends,—It would take days
to explain to you all that has happened since I wrote
you that long, happy letter; and at present I have not
strength to write much. When we meet we will talk
about it more fully, though I wish to avoid the miserable
particulars as far as possible. The preparations I
so foolishly supposed were being made for me were for
a rich Northern bride,—a pretty, innocent-looking little
creature. The marriage with me, it seems, was counterfeit.
When I discovered it, my first impulse was to
fly to you. But a strange illness came over me, and
I was oblivious of everything for four months. My good
Tulee and a black woman named Chloe brought me back
to life by their patient nursing. I suppose it was wrong,
but when I remembered who and what I was, I felt sorry
they did n't let me go. I was again seized with a longing
to fly to you, who were as father and mother to me and my
darling little sister in the days of our first misfortune.
But I was too weak to move, and I am still far from being
able to bear the fatigue of such a journey. Moreover, I
am fastened here for the present by another consideration.
Mr. Fitzgerald says he bought us of papa's creditors, and
that I am his slave. I have entreated him, for the sake
of our unborn child, to manumit me, and he has promised
to do it. If I could only be safe in New Orleans, it is my
wish to come and live with you, and find some way to support
myself and my child. But I could have no peace, so
long as there was the remotest possibility of being claimed
as slaves. Mr. Fitzgerald may not mean that I shall ever
come to harm; but he may die without providing against
it, as poor papa did. I don't know what forms are necessary
for my safety. I don't understand how it is that there
is no law to protect a defenceless woman, who has done no
wrong. I will wait here a little longer to recruit my
strength and have this matter settled. I wish it were possible
for you, my dear, good mother, to come to me for two
or three weeks in June; then perhaps you could take back
with you your poor Rosa and her baby, if their lives should
be spared. But if you cannot come, there is an experienced
old negress here, called Granny Nan, who, Tulee says, will
take good care of me. I thank you for you sympathizing,
loving letter. Who could papa's friend be that left me a
legacy? I was thankful for the fifty dollars, for it is very
unpleasant to me to use any of Mr. Fitzgerald's money,
though he tells Tom to supply everything I want. If it
were not for you, dear friends, I don't think I should have
courage to try to live. But something sustains me wonderfully
through these dreadful trials. Sometimes I think
poor Chloe's prayers bring me help from above; for the
good soul is always praying for me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 147 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | The celebrated jumping frog of Calaveras County | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | IN compliance with the request of a
friend of mine, who wrote me from
the East, I called on good-natured,
garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired
after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley,
as requested to do, and I hereunto append the
result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas
W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never
knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured
that, if I asked old Wheeler about him,
it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley,
and he would go to work and bore me
nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence
of him as long and tedious as it should be useless
to me. If that was the design, it certainly
succeeded. “Dear Mark: We spent the evening very pleasantly at
home yesterday. The Rev. Dr. Macklin and wife, from Peoria,
were here. He is an humble laborer in the vineyard, and takes
his coffee strong. He is also subject to neuralgia—neuralgia in
the head—and is so unassuming and prayerful. There are few
such men We had soup for dinner likewise. Although I am
not fond of it. O Mark! why don't you try to lead a better
life? Read II. Kings, from chap. 2 to chap. 24 inclusive. It
would be so gratifying to me if you would experience a change
of heart. Poor Mrs. Gabrick is dead. You did not know her.
She had fits, poor soul. On the 14th the entire army took up
the line of march from—” “Uncle Mark, if you was here, I could tell you about Moses in
the Bulrushers again, I know it better now. Mr. Sowerby has
got his leg broke off a horse. He was riding it on Sunday.
Margaret, that's the maid, Margaret has took all the spittoons,
and slop-buckets, and old jugs out of your room, because she
says she don't think you're ever coming back any more, you
been gone so long. Sissy McElroy's mother has got another
little baby. She has them all the time. It has got little blue
eyes, like Mr. Swimley that boards there, and looks just like
him. I have got a new doll, but Johnny Anderson pulled one
of its legs out. Miss Doosenberry was here to-day; I give her
your picture, but she said she didn't want it. My cat has got
more kittens—oh! you can't think — twice as many as Lottie
Belden's. And there's one, such a sweet little buff one with a
short tail, and I named it for you. All of them's got names
now—General Grant, and Halleck, and Moses, and Margaret,
and Deuteronomy, and Captain Semmes, and Exodus, and Leviticus,
and Horace Greeley—all named but one, and I am saving
it because the one that I named for You's been sick all the time
since, and I reckon it'll die. [It appears to have been mighty
rough on the short-tailed kitten, naming it for me—I wonder
how the reserved victim will stand it.] Uncle Mark, I do believe
Hattie Caldwell likes you, and I know she thinks you are
pretty, because I heard her say nothing couldn't hurt your good
looks—nothing at all—she said, even if you was to have the
small-pox ever so bad, you would be just as good-looking as you
was before. And my ma says she's ever so smart. [Very.] So
no more this time, because General Grant and Moses is fighting. To Mr. Mark Twain: The within parson, which I have sot
to poettry under the name and style of “He Done His Level
Best,” was one among the whitest men I ever see, and it an't
every man that knowed him that can find it in his heart to say
he's glad the poor cuss is busted and gone home to the States.
He was here in an early day, and he was the handyest man
about takin' holt of any thing that come along you most ever
see, I judge. He was a cheerful, stirrin' cretur', always doin'
something, and no man can say he ever see him do any thing
by halvers. Preachin' was his nateral gait, but he warn't a
man to lay back and twidle his thums because there didn't happen
to be nothin' doin' in his own espeshial line—no, sir, he was
a man who would meander forth and stir up something for hisself.
His last acts was to go his pile on “kings-and,” (calklatin'
to fill, but which he didn't fill,) when there was a “flush” out
agin him, and naterally, you see, he went under. And so he
was cleaned out, as you may say, and he struck the home-trail,
cheerful but flat broke. I knowed this talonted man in Arkansaw,
and if you would print this humbly tribute to his gorgis
abillities, you would greatly obleege his onhappy friend. “St. Clair Higgins,” Los Angeles.—“My life is a failure; I
have adored, wildly, madly, and she whom I love has turned
coldly from me and shed her affections upon another. What
would you advise me to do?” “Arithmeticus,” Virginia, Nevada.—“If it would take a
cannon ball 3⅓ seconds to travel four miles, and 3⅜ seconds to
travel the next four, and 3⅝ seconds to travel the next four, and
if its rate of progress continued to diminish in the same ratio,
how long would it take it to go fifteen hundred millions of
miles?” “Discarded Lover.”—“I loved, and still love, the beautiful
Edwitha Howard, and intended to marry her. Yet, during my
temporary absence at Benicia, last week, alas! she married
Jones. Is my happiness to be thus blasted for life? Have I no
redress?” “Arithmeticus,” Virginia, Nevada.—“I am an enthusiastic
student of mathematics, and it is so vexatious to me to find my
progress constantly impeded by these mysterious arithmetical
technicalities. Now do tell me what the difference is between
geometry and conchology?” Distressing Accident.—Last evening about 6 o'clock, as
Mr. William Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South
Park, was leaving his residence to go down town, as has been
his usual custom for many years, with the exception only of a
short interval in the spring of 1850, during which he was confined
to his bed by injuries received in attempting to stop a runaway
horse by thoughtlessly placing himself directly in its wake
and throwing up his hands and shouting, which, if he had done
so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have frightened
the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although
disastrous enough to himself as it was, and rendered more melancholy
and distressing by reason of the presence of his wife's
mother, who was there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding
it is at least likely, though not necessarily so, that she
should be reconnoitering in another direction when incidents
occur, not being vivacious and on the lookout, as a general
thing, but even the reverse, as her own mother is said to have
stated, who is no more, but died in the full hope of a glorious
resurrection, upwards of three years ago, aged 86, being a
Christian woman and without guile, as it were, or property, in
consequence of the fire of 1849, which destroyed every blasted
thing she had in the world. But such is life. Let us all take
warning by this solemn occurrence, and let us endeavor so to conduct
ourselves that when we come to die we can do it. Let us
place our hands upon our hearts, and say with earnestness and
sincerity that from this day forth we will beware of the intoxicating
bowl.—First Edition of the Californian. “Dear Sir: My object in writing to you is to have you give
me a full history of Nevada. What is the character of its climate?
What are the productions of the earth? Is it healthy?
What diseases do they die of mostly? Do you think it would
be advisable for a man who can make a living in Missouri to
emigrate to that part of the country? There are several of us
who would emigrate there in the spring if we could ascertain to
a certainty that it is a much better country than this. I suppose
you know Joel H. Smith? He used to live here; he lives in
Nevada now; they say he owns considerable in a mine there.
Hoping to hear from you soon, etc., I remain yours, truly, Dearest William: Pardon my familiarity
—but that name touchingly reminds me of the
loved and lost, whose name was similar. I
have taken the contract to answer your letter,
and although we are now strangers, I feel we
shall cease to be so if we ever become acquainted
with each other. The thought is worthy of
attention, William. I will now respond to
your several propositions in the order in which
you have fulminated them. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 149 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | The innocents abroad, or, The new Pilgrim's progress | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | FOR months the great Pleasure Excursion to Europe and
the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers
every where in America, and discussed at countless firesides.
It was a novelty in the way of Excursions—its like had not
been thought of before, and it compelled that interest which
attractive novelties always command. It was to be a picnic
on a gigantic scale. The participants in it, instead of freighting
an ungainly steam ferry-boat with youth and beauty and
pies and doughnuts, and paddling up some obscure creek to
disembark upon a grassy lawn and wear themselves out with
a long summer day's laborious frolicking under the impression
that it was fun, were to sail away in a great steamship with
flags flying and cannon pealing, and take a royal holiday
beyond the broad ocean, in many a strange clime and in many
a land renowned in history! They were to sail for months
over the breezy Atlantic and the sunny Mediterranean; they
were to scamper about the decks by day, filling the ship with
shouts and laughter—or read novels and poetry in the shade
of the smoke-stacks, or watch for the jelly-fish and the nautilus,
over the side, and the shark, the whale, and other strange
monsters of the deep; and at night they were to dance in the
open air, on the upper deck, in the midst of a ball-room that
stretched from horizon to horizon, and was domed by the bending
heavens and lighted by no meaner lamps than the stars
and the magnificent moon—dance, and promenade, and
smoke, and sing, and make love, and search the skies for constellations
that never associate with the “Big Dipper” they
were so tired of; and they were to see the ships of twenty
navies—the customs and costumes of twenty curious peoples
—the great cities of half a world—they were to hob-nob with
nobility and hold friendly converse with kings and princes,
Grand Moguls, and the anointed lords of mighty empires! The undersigned will make an excursion as above during the coming season, and
begs to submit to you the following programme: “Monsieur le Landlord—Sir: Pourquoi don't you Mettez some savon in your bed-chambers?
Est-ce que vous pensez I will steal it? La nuit passée you charged me
pour deux chandelles when I only had one; hier vous avez charged me avec glace
when I had none at all; tout les jours you are coming some fresh game or other on
me, mais vous ne pouvez pas play this savon dodge on me twice. Savon is a necessary
de la vie to any body but a Frenchman, et je l'aurai hors de cet hôtel or make
trouble. You hear me. Allons. The steamer Quaker City has accomplished at last her extraordinary voyage
and returned to her old pier at the foot of Wall street. The expedition was a success
in some respects, in some it was not. Originally it was advertised as a “pleasure
excursion.” Well, perhaps, it was a pleasure excursion, but certainly it did
not look like one; certainly it did not act like one. Any body's and every body's
notion of a pleasure excursion is that the parties to it will of a necessity be young
and giddy and somewhat boisterous. They will dance a good deal, sing a good
deal, make love, but sermonize very little. Any body's and every body's notion of
a well conducted funeral is that there must be a hearse and a corpse, and chief
mourners and mourners by courtesy, many old people, much solemnity, no levity,
and a prayer and a sermon withal. Three-fourths of the Quaker City's passengers
were between forty and seventy years of age! There was a picnic crowd for you!
It may be supposed that the other fourth was composed of young girls. But it
was not. It was chiefly composed of rusty old bachelors and a child of six years.
Let us average the ages of the Quaker City's pilgrims and set the figure down as
fifty years. Is any man insane enough to imagine that this picnic of patriarchs
sang, made love, danced, laughed, told anecdotes, dealt in ungodly levity? In my
experience they sinned little in these matters. No doubt it was presumed here at
home that these frolicsome veterans laughed and sang and romped all day, and day
after day, and kept up a noisy excitement from one end of the ship to the other;
and that they played blind-man's buff or danced quadrilles and waltzes on moonlight
evenings on the quarter-dock; and that at odd moments of unoccupied time
they jotted a laconic item or two in the journals they opened on such an elaborate
plan when they left home, and then skurried off to their whist and euchre labors
under the cabin lamps. If these things were presumed, the presumption was at
fault. The venerable excursionists were not gay and frisky. They played no
blind-man's buff; they dealt not in whist; they shirked not the irksome journal,
for alas! most of them were even writing books. They never romped, they talked
but little, they never sang, save in the nightly prayer-meeting. The pleasure ship
was a synagogue, and the pleasure trip was a funeral excursion without a corpse.
(There is nothing exhilarating about a funeral excursion without a corpse.) A free,
hearty laugh was a sound that was not heard oftener than once in seven days about
those decks or in those cabins, and when it was heard it met with precious little
sympathy. The excursionists danced, on three separate evenings, long, long ago,
(it seems an age,) quadrilles, of a single set, made up of three ladies and five gentlemen,
(the latter with handkerchiefs around their arms to signify their sex,) who
timed their feet to the solemn wheezing of a melodeon; but even this melancholy
orgie was voted to be sinful, and dancing was discontinued. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 151 | 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 |
| 155 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Cipher | | | | 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: | Spreading this upon the table before him, Mr. Gillies slowly read—but not
aloud, for, to have afforded gratuitous information upon his affairs even to the
walls and the sea, would have been to do violence to his nature—these words: Pardon the seeming discourtesy of my abrupt departure, and my first signifying it to
Francia. I could not see you again, Neria, I could not write to you of less than the
whole. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 156 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Outpost | | | | 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: | “The last day of October!” said the Sun to himself, —
“the last day of my favorite month, and the birthday of
my little namesake! See if I don't make the most of it!” “Since writing to you last month, I have been going on
with my studies under the Rev. Mr. Brown, as I then mentioned.
I do not find that it hurts me to study in the hot
weather at all; and I have enjoyed my vacation better this
way than if I had been idle. “We shall be at home on Wednesday evening, at six
o'clock, and shall bring some guests. You will please prepare
tea for eight persons; and make up five beds, three of
them single ones. Tell Susan to make the house look as
pretty as she can; and send for any thing she or you need in
the way of preparation. Yours of the 10th duly received, and as welcome as your
letters always are. So you have seen the kingdoms of the
world and the glory thereof, and find that all is vanity, as
saith the Preacher. Do not imagine that I am studying divinity
instead of medicine; but to-day is Sunday, and I have
been twice to meeting, and taken tea with the minister
besides. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 157 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | The shadow of Moloch mountain | | | | 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: | The Brewster Place
454EAF. [Page 005]. In-line image of a house with a straw roof and smoking chimney. In
front of the house is a person holding open a gate.
“My Dear Niece Beatrice: It is a long time
since we heard any thing from you, and I trust that
both you and brother Israel are in good health
and prospered in your undertakings. We are all
in the enjoyment of our usual health, except your
grandmother, who has an attack of rheumatism,
from standing at the porch-door talking to Jacob,
our hired man, about the new calf. This calf is
the daughter of Polly, the red and white heifer
that you liked so well and dressed with a garland
of wild flowers, which she pulled off and eat up.
That was last Independence-day, you remember, and
you got mostly blue flowers, because, you said, she
must be red, blue, and white. The new calf is very
pretty, and we think of raising it; but we shall not
name it until you come home, as you may have a
choice in the matter. Grandfather is very well, considering,
and often speaks of you. He says he wants
to see you very much, and hopes you will not have
grown out of knowledge. He forgets, being old, that
you are grown up already, and will not change outwardly
any more until you begin to grow old, which I
suppose will not be yet. “I know that you will feel remorseful, because, even
without fault of your own, you have done me an injustice
by your suspicions; and, later on, have dealt me a
blow whose wound will endure for years. To natures
ike yours, there is no comfort like reparation and
atonement. I offer you the opportunity for both in
this set of trinkets, brought from India by me for the
unknown lady of my love. If you will take them and
wear them, I shall feel that we are friends once more,
and that you have forgiven yourself and me for the injury
that friendship has sustained. Do not refuse me
this amends; and believe me always while I live, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 158 | Author: | Bagby
George William
1828-1883 | Add | | | Title: | What I did with my fifty millions | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | For twenty years at least I had been in the habit of
putting myself to sleep by imagining what I would do
with the precise sum of fifty millions of dollars. An
excellent hypnotic I found it, with no morphine or
chloral after-effects. It may have unfitted me for the
hard grind of actual life, but no matter now. When it
came I was as tranquil as a May morning. The fact is,
the transfer was not completed until the close of the
month of May, 1876. Negotiations, etc., had been going
on for months beforehand, and it has always been a
matter of inordinate pride to me that I attended to my
regular duties and kept the whole thing a profound secret
from my family, friends, and, indeed, everybody in
America—the money having come from Hindostan. It
required a deal of innocent lying to do this, but secrecy
was indispensable to the surprises I meditated, and a
surprise, you know, is the very cream of the delight as
well of giving as receiving. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 159 | Author: | Baldwin
Joseph G.
(Joseph Glover)
1815-1864 | Add | | | Title: | The flush times of Alabama and Mississippi | | | | 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: | And what history of that halcyon period, ranging from the
year of Grace, 1835, to 1837; that golden era, when shin-plasters
were the sole currency; when bank-bills were “as
thick as Autumn leaves in Vallambrosa,” and credit was a
franchise,—what history of those times would be complete,
that left out the name of Ovid Bolus? As well write the
biography of Prince Hal, and forbear all mention of Falstaff.
In law phrase, the thing would be a “deed without a
name,” and void; a most unpardonable casus omissus. My Dear Sir,—Having established, at great expense,
and from motives purely patriotic and disinterested, a monthly
periodical for the purpose of supplying a desideratum in
American Literature, namely, the commemoration and perpetuation
of the names, characters, and personal and professional
traits and histories of American lawyers and jurists, I
have taken the liberty of soliciting your consent to be made
the subject of one of the memoirs, which shall adorn the columns
of this Journal. This suggestion is made from my
knowledge, shared by the intelligence of the whole country,
of your distinguished standing and merits in our noble profession;
and it is seconded by the wishes and requests of
many of the most prominent gentlemen in public and private
life, who have the honor of your acquaintance. Dear Sir—I got your letter dated 18 Nov., asking me
to send you my life and karackter for your Journal. Im
obleeged to you for your perlite say so, and so forth. I got
a friend to rite it—my own ritin being mostly perfeshunal.
He done it—but he rites such a cussed bad hand I cant rede
it: I reckon its all korrect tho'. My Dear Sir—The very interesting sketch of your life
requested by us, reached here accompanied by your favor of
the 1st inst., for which please receive our thanks. Dear Mr. Editor—In your p. s. which seems to be the
creem of your correspondents you say I can't get in your
book without paying one hundred and fifty dollars—pretty
tall entrants fee! I suppose though children and niggers
half price—I believe I will pass. I'll enter a nolly prossy
q. O-n-e-h-u-n-d-r-e-d dollars and fifty better! Je-whellikens! We can only give it in our way, and only such parts as
we can remember, leaving out most of the episodes, the casual
explanations and the slang; which is almost the play of
Hamlet with the Prince of Denmark omitted. But, thus
emasculated, and Cave's gas let off, here goes a report about
as faithful as a Congressman's report of his spoken eloquence
when nobody was listening in the House. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 160 | Author: | Longstreet
Augustus Baldwin
1790-1870 | Add | | | Title: | Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck | | | | 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: | Many years ago there lived in a small village in the State of
Georgia, a pious widow, who was left with an only son and two
daughters. She was in easy circumstances, and managed her temporal
concerns with great prudence; so that her estate increased with
her years. Her son exhibited, at a very early age, great precocity
of genius, and the mother lost no opportunity of letting the world
know it. When he was but six years old, he had committed little
pieces in prose and poetry, which he delivered with remarkable propriety
for his years. He knew as much of the scriptures as any
child of that age probably ever knew; and he had already made
some progress in geography and mental arithmetic. With all this,
he was a very handsome boy. It is not to be wondered at, that his
mother should be bringing him out in some department of science,
upon all ocoasions; of course; she often brought him out upon very
unsuitable occasions, and sometimes kept him out, greatly to the
annoyance of her company. Not to praise his performances, would
have been discouraging to Master William Mitten, and very mortifying
to his mother; accordingly, whether they were well-timed or
ill-timed, everybody praised them. The ladies, all of whom loved
Mrs. Mitten, were not unfrequently thrown into raptures at the
child's exhibitions. They would snatch him up in their arms, kiss
him, pronounce him a perfect prodigy, both in beauty of person and
power of mind; and declare that they would be willing to go beggars
upon the world to have such a child. Others would piously
exhort Mrs. Mitten not to set her heart too much upon the child.
“They never saw the little creature, without commingled emotions
of delight and alarm; so often is it the case that children of such
wonderful gifts die early.” Her brother, Capt. David Thomson, a
candid, plain-dealing excellent man, often reproved Mrs. M. for parading,
as he called it, “her child upon all occasions.” “Having recently understood that you have procured a private
teacher, we have ventured to stop your advertisement, though ordered
to continue it until forbid, under the impression that you have probably
forgotten to have it stopped. If, however, we have been misinformed,
we will promptly resume the publication of it. You will
find our account below; which as we are much in want of funds, you
will oblige us by settling as soon as convenient. Hoping your
teacher is all that you could desire in one, “Dear Sir: On taking leave of me, you requested me to give
you early information of the standing, conduct, and progress of your
nephew; and, as my letter will reach you through the kindness of
Mr. Jones, the bearer, nearly or quite a week sooner than it would
by regular—or rather irregular—course of mail, I avail myself
of the opportunity to comply with your request. William has been
under my instruction just a week to-day; and though I would not
venture confident predictions of him, upon so short an acquaintance,
I will give you my present estimate of him, for what it is worth. If
I am not grossly deceived in him, he is destined to a most brilliant
future. He was a little rusty in the principles of construction at
first—no, in the application of them—for of the principles themselves,
he is master, and he improves in the application of them
with every lesson. His class was a week ahead of him in the Greek
grammar, when he entered it. He has already made up the deficiency,
and now stands fully equal to the best in his class in this
study—indeed, in all their studies. He is moral, orderly, and studious,
and if he will only do half as much for himself as nature has
done for him, he will be the pride of his kindred and the boast of
his country. You will not be much more delighted at receiving this
intelligence, than I am in communicating it. “Dear Mother:—I just write for fear you will feel uneasy if you
get no letter from me by this mail. Tom can tell you all about me.
Delighted with my boarding house—Fare much better than New's.
Health good—Told Mr. Wad'l I wished to go to preach'g with him,
if he went to-day, but he don't go till next Sat'y—Best love to all. “My Dearest Boy: Two days after you left us, your Uncle was
attacked with bilious fever. The attack is very severe, but we hope
not fatal. Last evening he begged that you might be sent for. Come
as quick as you can, in mercy to your horse. The Doctor says there
is no probability of his dying in four or five days; so do not peril the
life of your horse, in your haste to get here. “But the main object of this letter is to offer your son encouragements
to return to school. He left here under great depression of
spirits, and under the impression that his character was irretrievably
lost. No one in this vicinity, in or out of the school, thinks so. Now
that the story of his misfortunes is fully understood, every one attributes
them to a train of untoward circumstances which surrounded
him, on his return hither, rather than to depravity of heart. Indeed,
he has some noble traits of character, which almost entirely
conceal his faults from the eyes of the public and his school-fellows—
I say the public, for though it is a very uncommon thing for the public
to know or notice school-boy delinquencies, yet so wide-spread
was William's reputation from his performances at our last Examination
and Exhibition, that every one who knows him takes an interest
in him, and every one, I believe, regards him with more of sympathy
than censure. All would rejoice, I doubt not, to hear of his
return to the school, and his return to his good habits. Gilbert Hay,
his room-mate and bed-fellow, bids me say that he loves him yet, and
that the half of his bed is still reserved for him; and the feelings of
Gilbert Hay towards him, I believe, are the feelings of nine-tenths
of the school towards him. For myself, I shall give him a cordial
welcome. But you will naturally ask, what will be my dealings
with him, if he return? I answer the question very frankly: I shall
feel myself bound to correct him; though in so doing I shall not
forget the many circumstances of extenuation in his case. Had he
been guilty of but one offence, and that of a veneal nature, I should
freely forgive it, as is my custom, with the first offence. But he has
been guilty of several offences, and though none of them are very
rare in schools, they are, nevertheless, such as I have never allowed to
go unpunished in my school, and which I could not allow to escape
with impunity in this instance, without setting a dangerous precedent,
as well as showing marked partiality. I have reason to believe
that William would cheerfully submit to the punishment of his
faults, even though it were much severer than it will be, if that
would restore him to his lost position; now, I can hardly conceive
of anything better calculated to have that effect, than his volunteering
to take the punishment which he knows awaits him on his return,
when he might perchance avoid it by abandoning the school.
But with or without the punishment, he has only to be, for ten
months, what he has been for nearly as many, to regain the confidence
of everybody. Nothing but the peculiar circumstances of this
case, and the very lively interest which I take in the destiny of your
highly-gifted son, could have induced me to write a letter so liable
to misconstruction, as this is. But brief as is our acquaintance, I
think you will credit me, when I assure you, that my own pecuniary
interest has had no more to do with it, than yours will have in deliberating
upon its contents. Verily, the loss or gain of a scholar is
nothing to “When I think, my dearest mother, of the trouble I have
given you—how I abused your goodness, and disappointed your
reasonable expectations, my conscience smites me, and my cheeks
burn with blushes. How could I have been such an ingrate! How
could I have sent a pang to the bosom of the sweetest, the kindest,
the tenderest, the holiest, the best of mothers! Well, the past is
gone, and with it my childish, boyish follies: they have all been forgiven
long ago, and no more are to be forgiven in future. That I
am to get the first honor in my class is conceded by all the class
except four. These four were considered equal competitors for it
until I entered the class, and they do not despair yet; but they had
as well, for they equal me in nothing but Mathematics, and do not
excel me in that. The funds that you allow me ($500 per annum)
are more than sufficient to meet all my college expenses, and allow
me occasional pleasure rambles during the vacation. What I have
written about my stand in College, you will of course understand as
intended only for a mother's eye. “All your letters have been received. They have given the Principal
of the School great uneasiness, and me great delight. He
knows only whence they come—know you whether they have gone;
into the most hallowed chamber of my heart. Mail your letters
anywhere, but at Princeton; my answers will be returned through a
confidante in Morristown. “I have been tormented by strange reports concerning you which
I cannot, I will not believe, until they receive some confirmation from
your own lips. I will not aggravate your griefs by repeating them
now, farther than just to say, that if true, your last brief epistle from
Princeton was untrue. “Mr. William Mitten—Sir: Your dismissal from College,
and your misrepresentation to me, I could forgive; but I never can
forgive your addresses to me, while you were actually engaged to
Miss Amanda Ward. “Let them follow the heart of the giver. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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