| | 62 | 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 |
| 63 | 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 |
| 65 | 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 |
| 66 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion | | | | 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: | “My dear Champ—I have heard of your conduct, sir,
and have no intention of being made the laughing-stock of
my neighbors, as the father of a fool. No, sir! I decline
being advised and pitied, and talked about and to by the
country on your account. I know why you have left the
Hall, sir, and taken up your residence in town. Alethea
has told me how you insulted her, and flouted her well-meant
advice, and because she entreated you, as your sister, not to
go near that young woman again, tossed from her, and fell
into your present courses. I tell you again, sir, that I will
not endure your conduct. I won't have the parson condoling,
and shaking his head, and sighing, and, when he comes
in the Litany to pray for deliverance from all inordinate and
sinful affections—from all the deceits of the world, the
flesh, and the devil—have him looking at the Hall pew,
and groaning, until every body understands his meaning.
No, sir! If you make yourself a fool about that common
actress, you shall not drag us into it. And Clare Lee!
have you no regard for her feelings? Damn my blood, sir!
I am ashamed of you. Come away directly. If you are
guilty of any thing unworthy toward that young woman, I
will strike your name from the family Bible, and never look
upon your face again. Remember, sir; and you won't be
fool enough to marry her, I hope. Try it, sir, and see the
consequence. Pah! a common actress for my daughter—
the wife of the representative of the house of Effingham,
after my death. 'Sdeah, sir! it is intolerable, abominable;
and I command you to return at once, and never look upon
that young woman again. For shame, sir. Am I, at my
age, to be made a laughing-stock of, to be jeered at by the
common people, at the county court, as the father of the
young man that played the fool with the actress? No, sir.
Leave that place, and come and do what you are expected to
do, called on to do—take Clare Lee to the Governor's ball.
I inclose your invitation. Leave that woman and her artful
seductions. Reflect, sir, and do your duty to Clare, like a
gentleman. If it is necessary, I repeat, sir, I command you
to return, and never see that girl again. “I have received your letter, sir, and decline returning
to Effingham Hall, or being dictated to. I have passed my
majority, and am my own master. No one on earth shall
make a slave of me. “A man about to die, calls on the only Englishman he
knows in this place, to do a deed of charity. Hallam, we
were friends—a long time since, in Kent, Old England, and
to you I make this appeal, which you will read when I will
be cold and stiff. You know we were rivals—Jane chose
to marry me! I used no underhand acts, but fought it fairly
and like an honest soldier—and won her. You know it, and
are too honest a man to bear me any grudge now. I married
her, and we went away to foreign countries, and I became
a soldier of fortune—now here—now there:—it runs
in the family, for my father was covered with wounds. She
stuck to me—sharing all my trials—my suffering—as she
shared my fortunate days. She was my only hope on earth
—my blessing:—but one day God took her from me. She
died, Hallam, but she left herself behind in a little daughter
—I called her Beatrice, at the request of her mother. The
locket around the child's neck, is her mother's gift to her:
preserve it. Well: we travelled—I grew sick—I came to
Malta, here—I am dying. Already I feel the cold mounting
from my feet to my heart—my eyes are growing hazy, as
my hand staggers along—my last battle's come, comrade!
Take the child, and carry her to my brother John Waters,
who lives in London somewhere—find where he is, and tell
him, that Ralph Waters sends his baby to him to take care
of:—she is yonder playing on the floor while I am dying. I
ask you to do this, because you are an honest man, and because
you loved Jane once. I have no money—all I had is
gone for doctor's stuff and that:—he couldn't stand up
against death! Keep my military coat to remember me by
—it is all I have got. As you loved her who was my wife,
now up in heaven, take care of the child of an English soldier;
and God reward you. “Please come to me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 67 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion | | | | 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: | “This indenture, made in the month of March, of the
year of grace one thousand seven hundred and ninety-five,
in the Colony of Virginia, Continent of North America,—” “Come over to `the Trap,' and dine and sleep with me.
Be sure to be in trim to ride through a cane-brake, that is,
in buff and leather: and ride Tom—the large piebald: he's
a glorious animal, by George! “Oh my dear Miss Donsy! “I regret the harshness and passion of my address to you
yesterday. I trust you will not permit it to remain in your
recollection. I have no calmness on that subject, and for
this reason must ask you never again to allude to it. I am
afraid of myself. For God's sake! don't arouse the devil in
me when I am trying to lull it, at the risk of breaking my
heart in the attempt. This is an unhappy world, and devious are the
ways thereof. Man—especially a rude fellow, morbleu!—
knows not what to do often; he is puzzled; he hesitates and
stands still. Do you ask me what I mean by this small moral
discourse? Parbleu! I mean that I am the rude fellow
and the puzzled man. Your letter is offensive—I will not make any derogatory
agreement with you, sir. I would rather end all at
once, and I hereby call on you to meet me, sir, this very day,
at the Banks' Cross-roads. At five o'clock this evening, I
shall await you. “Not simply `sir,' because you are what I have
written—friend, companion. Let me out with what I would
write at once—and in the best manner I can write it, being
but a rude soldier, unused to handling the pen. “I accede to the request of Captain Waters. I know
him for a brave soldier, and a most honorable man. I ask
nothing more. The rest lies with my daughter. “I know what I have done is disgraceful, and horrible,
and awful, and all that—but it was meant well, and I
don't care what you may say; it has succeeded. The time
to acknowledge the trick is come, and here goes. It went
this way: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 69 | Author: | Cozzens
Frederic S.
(Frederic Swartwout)
1818-1869 | Add | | | Title: | Prismatics | | | | 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 loveliest thing in life,” says a gifted author, “is
the mind of a young child.” The most sensitive
thing, he might have added, is the heart of a young
artist. Hiding in his bosom a veiled and unspeakable
beauty, the inspired Neophyte shrinks from contact with
the actual, to lose himself in delicious reveries of an ideal
world. In those enchanted regions, the great and powerful
of the earth; the warrior-statesmen of the Elizabethan
era; the steel-clad warriors of the mediæval ages; gorgeous
cathedrals, and the luxuriant pomp of prelates, who had
princes for their vassals; courts of fabled and forgotten
kings; and in the deepening gloom of antiquity, the nude
Briton and the painted Pict pass before his enraptured
eyes. Women, beautiful creations! warm with breathing
life, yet spiritual as angels, hover around him; Elysian
landscapes are in the distance; but ever arresting his
steps,—cold and spectral in his path,—stretches forth the
rude hand of Reality. Is it surprising that the petty
miseries of life weigh down his spirit? Yet the trembling
magnet does not seek the north with more unerring fidelity
than that “soft sentient thing,” the artist's heart, still
directs itself amid every calamity, and in every situation, towards
its cynosure—perfection of the beautiful. The law
which guides the planets attracts the one; the other is
influenced by the Divine mystery which called the universe
itself into being; that sole attribute of genius—creation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 70 | Author: | Cozzens
Frederic S.
(Frederic Swartwout)
1818-1869 | Add | | | Title: | The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men | | | | 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,” said our learned friend, Dr. Bushwhacker,
“we are indebted to China for the four principal
blessings we enjoy. Tea came from China, the
compass came from China, printing came from China,
and gunpowder came from China—thank God! China,
sir, is an old country, a very old country. There is one
word, sir, we got from China, that is oftener in the
mouths of American people than any other word in the
language. It is cash, sir, cash! That we derive from
the Chinese. It is the name, sir, of the small brass coin
they use, the coin with a square hole in the middle. And
then look at our Franklin; he drew the lightning from
the skies with his kite; but who invented the kite, sir?
The long-tailed Chinaman, sir. Franklin had no invention;
he never would have invented a kite or a printing-press.
But he could use them, sir, to the best possible
advantage, sir; he had no genius, sir, but he had remarkable
talent and industry. Then, sir, we get our umbrella
from China; the first man that carried an umbrella, in
London, in Queen Anne's reign, was followed by a mob.
That is only one hundred and fifty years ago. We get
the art of making porcelain from China. Our ladies must
thank the Celestials for their tea-pots. Queen Elizabeth
never saw a tea-pot in her life. In 1664, the East India
Company bought two pounds two ounces of tea as a present
for his majesty, King Charles the Second. In 1667,
they imported one hundred pounds of tea. Then, sir,
rose the reign of scandal—Queen Scandal, sir! Then,
sir, rose the intolerable race of waspish spinsters who
sting reputations and defame humanity over their dyspeptic
cups. Then, sir, the astringent principle of the
herb was communicated to the heart, and domestic troubles
were brewed and fomented over the tea-table. Then, sir,
the age of chivalry was over, and women grew acrid and
bitter; then, sir, the first temperance society was founded,
and high duties were laid upon wines, and in consequence
they distilled whiskey instead, which made matters a great
deal better, of course; and all the abominations, all the
difficulties of domestic life, all the curses of living in a
country village; the intolerant canvassing of character,
reputation, piety; the nasty, mean, prying spirit; the
uncharitable, defamatory, gossiping, tale bearing, whispering,
unwomanly, unchristianlike behavior of those
who set themselves up for patterns over their vile
decoctions, sir, arose with the introduction of tea.
Yes, sir; when the wine-cup gave place to the tea-cup,
then the devil, sir, reached his culminating point. The
curiosity of Eve was bad enough; but, sir, when Eve's
curiosity becomes sharpened by turgid tonics, and scandal
is added to inquisitiveness, and inuendo supplies the
place of truth, and an imperfect digestion is the pilot
instead of charity; then, sir, we must expect to see human
nature vilified, and levity condemned, and good
fellowship condemned, and all good men, from Washington
down, damned by Miss Tittle, and Miss Tattle,
and the Widow Blackleg, and the whole host of tea-drinking
conspirators against social enjoyment.” Here
Dr. Bushwhacker grew purple with eloquence and indignation.
We ventured to remark that he had spoken of
tea “as a blessing” at first. “Yes, sir,” responded Dr.
Bushwhacker, shaking his bushy head, “that reminds
one of Doctor Pangloss. Yes, sir, it is a blessing, but
like all other blessings it must be used temperately, or
else it is a curse! China, sir,” continued the Doctor,
dropping the oratorical, and taking up the historical,
“China, sir, knows nothing of perspective, but she is
great in pigments. Indian ink, sir, is Chinese, so are vermillion
and indigo; the malleable properties of gold, sir,
were first discovered by this extraordinary people; we
must thank them for our gold leaf. Gold is not a pigment,
but roast pig is, and Charles Lamb says the origin of
roast pig is Chinese; the beautiful fabric we call silk,
sir, came from the Flowery Nation, so did embroidery,
so did the game of chess, so did fans. In fact, sir, it is
difficult to say what we have not derived from the Chinese.
Cotton, sir, is our great staple, but they wove and
spun long staple and short staple, yellow cotton and white
cotton before Columbus sailed out of the port of Palos in
the Santa Maria.” Dear Fredericus: A. Walther writ this in `quaint
old sounding German.' It is done into English by your
friend, My Dear Cozzens:—I had hoped to spend my vacation
in quiet idleness, with a rigorous and religious abstinence
from pen and ink. But I cannot refuse to comply with
the request you urge so eloquently, placing your claim to
my assistance not only on the ground of old friendship,
but also as involving important objects, literary and scientific,
as well as social and commercial; all of them (to
repeat your phrase and Bacon's), “coming home to the
business and bosoms of men.” My dear Editor:—I have been much amused in learning
through the press, as well as from the more sprightly narrative
of your private letter, that such and so very odd claims
and conjectures had been made as to the authorship of
my late hasty letter to you, in proof that the poets and
gentlemen of old Greece and Rome drank as good
champagne as we do. You know very well that the
letter which you published was not originally meant for
the public, and the public have no right at all to inquire
who the author may be; nor, indeed, has the said impertinent
public to inquire into the authorship of any
anonymous article which harms nobody, nor means to do
so. I have not sought concealment in this matter, nor
do I wish notoriety. If any one desires the credit of
the communication, such as it is, he or she is quite welcome
to it until I find leisure to prepare for the press a
collection of my Literary Miscellanies under my own
name. I intend to embody in it an enlarged edition of
this essay on the antiquity of champagne mousseux, with
a regular chain of Greek and Latin authorities defending
and proving all my positions. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 71 | Author: | Cummins
Maria S.
(Maria Susanna)
1827-1866 | Add | | | Title: | El Fureidîs | | | | 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 sun was setting over that far-famed Eastern land,
which, when the Most High divided unto the nations their
inheritance, He gave unto his chosen people,—that land
which the leader of Israel's hosts saw from afar, though he
entered not in,—that land immortalized as the paradise of
our earthly parents, the Canaan of a favored race, the birthplace
and the tomb of prophets, the scene of Jehovah's
mightiest works, the cherished spot whence the dayspring
from on high has visited us, the blessed soil which the
feet of the Prince of Peace have trod. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 72 | Author: | Curtis
George William
1824-1892 | Add | | | Title: | The Potiphar papers | | | | 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: | It is surely unnecessary to call the attention
of so astute an observer, and so austere a critic,
as yourself, to the fact that the title of the leading
essay in this little volume (of which, permit
me to say, you are so essential an ornament) is
marked as a quotation; and a quotation, as you
will very well remember, from the lips of our
friend, Mrs. Potiphar, herself. If gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy common
sense, what a fine thing our society would
be! If to lavish money upon objets de vertu,
to wear the most costly dresses, and always to
have them cut in the height of the fashion; to
build houses thirty feet broad, as if they were
palaces; to furnish them with all the luxurious
devices of Parisian genius; to give superb banquets,
at which your guests laugh, and which
make you miserable; to drive a fine carriage
and ape European liveries, and crests, and coats-of-arms;
to resent the friendly advances of your
baker's wife, and the lady of your butcher (you
being yourself a cobbler's daughter); to talk
much of the “old families” and of your aristocratic
foreign friends; to despise labour; to
prate of “good society;” to travesty and parody,
in every conceivable way, a society which we
know only in books and by the superficial
observation of foreign travel, which arises out
of a social organization entirely unknown to us,
and which is opposed to our fundamental and
essential principles; if all this were fine, what
a prodigiously fine society would ours be! My dear Caroline,—Lent came so frightfully
early this year, that I was very much afraid
my new bonnet à l'Impératrice would not be out
from Paris soon enough. But fortunately it arrived
just in time, and I had the satisfaction
of taking down the pride of Mrs. Crœsus, who
fancied hers would be the only stylish hat in
church the first Sunday. She could not keep
her eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved,
and so calmly looking at the Doctor, that she
was quite vexed. But, whenever she turned
away, I ran my eyes over the whole congregation,
and would you believe that, almost without
an exception, people had their old things?
However, I suppose they forgot how soon Lent
was coming. As I was passing out of church,
Mrs. Croesus brushed by me: It certainly is not papa's fault that he doesn't
understand French; but he ought not to pretend
to. It does put one in such uncomfortable situations
occasionally. In fact, I think it would be
quite as well if we could sometimes “sink the
paternal,” as Timon Crœsus says. I suppose
every body has heard of the awful speech pa
made in the parlor at Saratoga. My dearest
friend, Tabby Dormouse, told me she had heard
of it every where, and that it was ten times as
absurd each time it was repeated. By the by,
Tabby is a dear creature, isn't she? It's so nice
to have a spy in the enemy's camp, as it were,
and to hear every thing that every body says
about you. She is not handsome,—poor, dear
Tabby! There's no denying it, but she can't
help it. I was obliged to tell young Downe so,
quite decidedly, for I really think he had an
idea she was good-looking. The idea of Tabby
Dormouse being handsome! But she is a useful
little thing in her way; one of my intimates. My Dear Mrs. Downe,—Here we are at last!
I can hardly believe it. Our coming was so sudden
that it seems like a delightful dream. You
know at Mrs. Potiphar's supper last August in
Newport, she was piqued by Gauche Boosey's
saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way: I hear and obey. You said to me, Go, and I
went. You now say, come, and I am coming,
with the readiness that befis a slave, and the
cheerfulness that marks the philosopher. I am very anxious that you should allow me
to receive your son Frederic as a pupil, at my
parsonage, here in the country. I have not lived
in the city without knowing something about
it, despite my cloth, and I am concerned at the
peril to which every young man is there exposed.
There is a proud philosophy in vogue
that every thing that can be injured had better
be destroyed as rapidly as possible, and put out
of the way at once. But I recall a deeper and
tenderer wisdom which declared, “A bruised
reed will he not break.” The world is not
made for the prosperous alone, nor for the
strong. We may wince at the truth, but we
must at length believe it,—that the poor in
spirit, and the poor in will, and the poor in
success, are appointed as pensioners upon our
care. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 74 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Miss Ravenel's conversion from secession to loyalty | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 was shortly after the capitulation of loyal Fort Sumter
to rebellious South Carolina that Mr. Edward Colburne
of New Boston made the acquaintance of Miss Lillie
Ravenel of New Orleans. “My dear Colonel,” it ran, “I am sorry that I can give
you no better news. Waldo and I have worked like Trojans,
but without bringing anything to pass. You will
see by enclosed copy of application to the Secretary, that
we got a respectable crowd of Senators and Representatives
to join in demanding a step for you. The Secretary is all
right; he fully acknowledges your claims. But those
infernal bigots, the Sumner and Wilson crowd, got ahead
of us. They went to headquarters, civil and military. We
couldn't even secure your nomination, much less a senatorial
majority for confirmation. These cursed fools mean
to purify the army, they say. They put McClellan's defeat
down to his pro-slavery sentiments, and Pope's defeat to
I
McClellan. They intend to turn out every moderate man,
and shove in their own sort. They talk of making Banks
head of the Army of the Potomac, in place of McClellan,
who has just saved the capital and the nation. There
never was such fanaticism since the Scotch ministers at
Dunbar undertook to pray and preach down Cromwell's
army. You are one of the men whom they have black-balled.
They have got hold of the tail-end of some old
plans of yours in the filibustering days, and are making the
most of it to show that you are unfit to command a brigade
in `the army of the Lord.' They say you are not the
man to march on with old John Brown's soul and hang
Jeff. Davis on a sour apple-tree. I think you had better
take measures to get rid of that filibustering ghost. I have
another piece of advice to offer. Mere administrative
ability in an office these fellows can't appreciate; but they
can be dazzled by successful service in the field, because
that is beyond their own cowardly possibilities; also because
it takes with their constituents, of whom they are the
most respectful and obedient servants. So why not give
up your mayoralty and go in for the autumn campaign?
If you will send home your name with a victory attached
to it, I think we can manufacture a a public opinion to
compel your nomination and confirmation. Mind, I am
not finding fault. I know that nothing can be done in
Louisiana during the summer. But blockheads don't know
this, and in politics we are forced to appeal to blockheads;
our supreme court of decisions is, after all, the twenty
millions of ignorami who do the voting. Accordingly, I
advise you to please these twenty millions by putting yourself
into the fall campaign. “My dear Lillie,” began the first; and here she paused
to kiss the words, and wipe away the tears. “We have
had a smart little fight, and whipped the enemy handsomely.
Weitzel managed matters in a way that really
does him great credit, and the results are one cannon,
three hundred prisoners, possession of the killed and
wounded, and of the field of battle. Our loss was trifling,
and includes no one whom you know. Life and
limb being now doubly valuable to me for your sake, I
am happy to inform you that I did not get hurt. I am
tired and have a great deal to do, so that I can only scratch
you a line. But you must believe me, and I know that
you will believe me, when I tell you that I have the heart
to write you a dozen sheets instead of only a dozen sentences.
Good bye, my dear one. “My dear Doctor,—I have had the greatest pleasure
of my whole life; I have fought under the flag of my
country, and seen it victorious. I have not time to write
particulars, but you will of course get them in the papers.
Our regiment behaved most nobly, our Colonel proved
himself a hero, and our General a genius. We are encamped
for the night on the field of battle, cold and hungry,
but brimming over with pride and happiness. There
may be another battle to-morrow, but be sure that we shall
conquer. Our men were greenhorns yesterday, but they
are veterans to-day, and will face any thing. Ask Miss
Ravenel if she will not turn loyal for the sake of our gallant
little army. It deserves even that compliment. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 76 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Playing the mischief | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | JOSEPHINE MURRAY was one of those
young women whom every body likes
very much on a first acquaintance. “My dear Friend”—her epistle ran—
“Why did you not take the kind trouble to
tell me all that with your own kind lips?
It would have been so much more friendly
on your part, and I should have understood
every thing so much better, and without the
worry of long pondering over it. I do hope
that you will call to see me soon, if only to
assure me that you are not annoyed. Cordially,
your friend, “My dear Uncle” (he read),—“I can
not tell you how keenly I regret that any
difference should have arisen between us. I
assure you that I set the very highest value
upon the good opinion and friendship of
yourself and my dear, excellent, generous
aunt. To recover your consideration and
kindness I would do more than for any other
object which I can conceive. I feel all
this the more deeply because I hear that
your wife is ill. Is it possible that I have
been in any way the cause of her sickness?
If so, it would comfort me very much to be
allowed to see her, and to tell her of my regret
and my lasting affection. Could she
grant me this favor, and could you sanction
it? Do pray have the goodness to let me
know whether this may be. Very affectionately,
your niece, “My dear Josie” (he wrote her),—“You
have not received me for two days past.
May I ask, in all kindness, if you have tired
of me? I must remember that your situation
has changed since the day I was happy
enough to secure the promise of your hand,
and the gift, as I then trusted, of your heart.
You were then in moderate circumstances;
you, perhaps, stood in need of a protector.
Now you are rich, and can suffice for yourself,
and can do without me. Do not, I earnestly
beg of you, suppose that I wish to get
free from my engagement, or that I could
part with you, even at your desire and for
your good, without great suffering. I only
wish to be kind, to be honorable, and to show
myself truly loving. For this reason alone,
and for the sole purpose of sacrificing myself,
if need be, to your happiness, I set you free
from your engagement. But to-morrow I
shall call again, shall beg to see a lady who
is now as much above me in fortune as in all
things else, and shall renew my offer of marriage.
Very respectfully and very lovingly,
yours, “My dearest Friend,—How could you
so misjudge me? Be sure you keep your
promise to come and see me. Those who know Mr. Drummond intimately,
and those who have had the startling good
fortune to listen to him in his moments of
épanchement, can imagine how he blasphemed
over this letter. One comment, however, is
sufficiently decorous for quotation, and sufficiently
keen to be worthy of it. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 77 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Seacliff, or, The mystery of the Westervelts | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 was exactly a year since I had said good-bye to Mr.
and Mrs. Westervelt, and to the two Misses Westervelt,
in Switzerland. “I write this at the earnest request of my daughter,
who is a friend of yours, and who wishes me to interfere
between you and the slanders of a certain young man who is
in the habit of visiting your country-house. My child has
repeated some of these falsehoods to me, while others are
of so shocking a nature that she declares she will never utter
them to a human being. I will not state a single one of the
vile fictions here, because I do not wish to pain you, and also
because your character is so pure that you will never find it
necessary to contradict them. Your friends will do that for
you. But even if the slanders are not worth your notice,
the slanderer ought to be punished. Of course, you will
simply exclude him from your society, without explaining
the reason to him or to any one else. The less said in
such matters, the sooner they are over. His name is Fitz
Hugh. “Dear Grandchild,—Mr. Louis Fitz Hugh has called on
me and requested your hand in marriage. I am pleased
with his statements, as well as his appearance; and, from
what I can learn concerning him, I infer that you have made
a good choice and shown your usual discretion. Your father
having left me to decide concerning the acceptance of Mr.
Fitz Hugh's suit, I take pleasure in saying that I see no
sufficient objection to it, and that I shall be happy to welcome
him into our family. I must inform you, however, that his
income is small, and that, if you marry him, you must make
up your mind to economy. But this will be all the better for
you. I should despise a girl who would draw back from a
marriage on this account. Economy is not only a virtue, but
a talent; and you ought to be proud to show that you are
capable of it. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “I wish you in the first place to believe that I love you
from the bottom of my heart, and that never, never since our
marriage have I been unfaithful to you in deed or thought.
I declare this to you most solemnly, as if with my dying
breath; and I will repeat it to you at the last great day; and
God knows that it is the truth. Do not, I beg of you, believe
one word that Mr. Somerville may say against my honor as
a wife. I have sins enough to answer for, but not that one. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 78 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | The Wetherel affair | | | | Published: | 2002 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | YOUNG Mr. Edward Wetherel and his more mature friend Mr. Frank
Wolverton were on the after promenade deck of the steamer Elm City,
bound from New York to New Haven. “My dear, dear friend,” she began, “what shall I say to you? We must
wait, and you must have patience; can't you? I hope and believe that you
trust me, notwithstanding that you cannot see me. You may confide in me
thoroughly. I have thought this matter all over, and, my dear, dear friend, I
have prayed over it, and it seems to me that I have received some light upon
it. When I remember how we were allowed to meet, and to learn to believe
in each other, until it was too late to disbelieve, it seems to me that we were
led by a mighty hand, a hand reaching from the other world. I think so with
frequent trembling, and yet with prevailing cheerfulness. And so I shall keep
my promise to you, in spite of your good uncle's warning. My dear, dear
friend, the friend that has come nearest to my heart of any on earth, if you
have not been always a good man heretofore, you must be a good man henceforward
for my sake, as well as for far greater motives. I will not write any more,
for perhaps I ought not. But I could not help writing this. What I have to
ask you, then, is to have patience until we can hear from my father. Is it too
much? “Dear Coz,” it ran, “I am in durance vile. I regret to darken your mind
with my calamity; but school keeps not to-day, and Walter is in no set place;
a thousand boys would not find him. Some one who knows me must come to
the Tombs and swear that I am a harmless philosopher and no midnight villain.
Such is the charge against me, that I am a midnight villain. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 79 | Author: | Derby
George Horatio
1823-1861 | Add | | | Title: | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Of a Military Survey and Reconnoissance of the route from San Francisco to the
Mission of Dolores, made with a view to ascertain the practicability
of connecting those points by a Railroad.*
* The Mission Dolores is only 2½ miles from the City Hall of San Francisco, and
is a favorite suburban locality, lying within the limits of the City Survey. This fact
is noted for the benefit of distant readers of these sketches.
It having been definitely determined, that the great Railroad,
connecting the City of San Francisco with the head of
navigation on Mission Creek, should be constructed without
unnecessary delay, a large appropriation ($120,000) was
granted, for the purpose of causing thorough military examinations
to be made of the proposed routes. The routes,
which had principally attracted the attention of the public,
were “the Northern,” following the line of Brannan Street,
“the Central,” through Folsom Street, and “the extreme
Southern,” passing over the “Old Plank Road” to the Mission.
Each of these proposed routes has many enthusiastic
advocates; but “the Central” was, undoubtedly, the favorite
of the public, it being more extensively used by emigrants
from San Francisco to the Mission, and therefore more
widely and favorably known than the others. It was to the
examination of this route, that the Committee, feeling a confidence
(eminently justified by the result of my labors) in my
experience, judgment and skill as a Military Engineer, appointed
me on the first instant. Having notified that Honorable
Body of my acceptance of the important trust confided
to me, in a letter, wherein I also took occasion to congratulate
them on the good judgment they had evinced, I drew
from the Treasurer the amount ($40,000) appropriated for
my peculiar route, and having invested it securely in loans
at three per cent a month (made, to avoid accident, in my
own name), I proceeded to organize my party for the expedition. Miss Pelican.—Never during our dramatic experience, has a
more exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our
theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright, resplendent
and particular star, whose honored name shines refulgent
at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded,
almost unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen
across the plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm
in her favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the
San Diego Lyceum, last evening, in the trying and difficult character
of Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to
describe our sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her
superhuman efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by
far the superior of any living actress; and, as we believe hers to
be the perfection of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief
that no one hereafter will ever be found to approach her. Her
conception of the character of Ingomar was perfection itself; her
playful and ingenuous manner, her light girlish laughter, in the
scene with Sir Peter, showed an appreciation of the savage
character, which nothing but the most arduous study, the most
elaborate training could produce; while her awful, change to the
stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the tragic scene of
Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss Pelican is
about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and most
thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably,
as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her most
truthfully, perfection. Mr. John Boots took the part of Parthenia
very creditably, etc., etc. Miss Pelican.—As this lady is about to leave us to commence
an engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should
regret exceedingly if any thing we have said about her, should
send with her a prestige which might be found undeserved on
trial. The fact is, Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed,
one of the most indifferent ones we ever happened to see.
She came here from the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised
her so injudiciously that she became completely spoiled. She
has performed a round of characters during the last week, very
miserably, though we are bound to confess that her performance
of King Lear last evening, was superior to any thing of the kind
we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about forty-three years of age,
singularly plain in her personal appearance, awkward and embarrassed,
with a cracked and squeaking voice, and really dresses
quite outrageously. She has much to learn—poor thing! “PISTOL SHOOTING—A CHALLENGE. By Mr. Orion W. Mudge, Esq. The Committee on Antiquities left at once, in the night
boat, for Vallejo, the residence of their Chairman, who had
informed them of the existence at that place of some specimens
of a substance termed “Old Monongahela” lately discovered
by a scientific gentleman residing at the Capitol;
—the Committee on Geology were seen eagerly inquiring
for the omnibus for Yerba Buena Island; that on Ethnology
appointed a sub-committee for the City of San Francisco,
and made arrangements for the departure of its main body
to the upper counties of the State, for the purpose of holding
interviews with the primitive inhabitants, while the Castilian
savant in the glazed hat, who had been appointed Chairman
of the Committee on Toxicology, repaired incontinently to a
drinking saloon, where he commenced a series of experiments
in hydrostatics, with the endeavor to ascertain the quantity
of fluid possible to be raised from a glass in a given time, by
a straw applied to his mouth, which resulted so much to his
satisfaction that he was seen to emerge therefrom at four
o'clock on the following morning, in a high state of pleasurable
excitement, chanting huskily as he meandered down the
street, that highly refreshing Mexican anthem— My Dear Friend:—I presume you will be perfectly
surrounded this morning, as usual, by a crowd of heartless
office-seekers; I therefore take this method of addressing you.
I thank God, I want no office for myself or others. You
have known me for years, and have never known me to do
a mean or dishonorable action. I saw W— up at Stockton
the other day, and he is very anxious that I should be
appointed Inspector of Steamboats. He said that I needed
it, and deserved it, and that he hoped you would give it to
me; but I told him I was no office-seeker—I should never
ask you for any office. He said he would write to you about
it. Please write to me as soon as you receive this, care of
Parry & Batten. My Dear Sir:—Allow me to congratulate you on your
success in obtaining your wishes. I have called twice to see
you, but have not been able to find you in. You were kind
enough to assure me, before leaving for Washington, that I
might depend upon your friendship. I think it very improbable
that I shall be re-nominated. The water-front Extension
project has not been received with that favor that I
expected, and what with Roman and the Whigs and that
d—d Herald, I feel very doubtful. You will oblige me by
retaining in your possession, until after the Convention, the
office of — to the Custom House. I must look about me to
command the means of subsistence. I will see you again on
this subject. Mon Amie:—I ave been ver malade since that I hav arrive,
I ver muche thank you for you civilite on la vapor which
we come ici, juntos. The peoples here do say to me, you si
pued give to me the littel offices in you customs house. I
wish if si usted gustan you me shall make to be Inspectors
de cigarritos. Je l' entends muy bien. Come to me see. Sir:—I have been a dimocrat of the Jackson School
thank God for twenty years. If you sir had been erected to
an orifice by the pusillanimous sufferings of the people as I
was onst I would have no clam but sir you are appointed by
Pierce for whom I voted and King who is dead as Julia's
sister and I expectorate the office for which my friends will
ask you sir I am a plane man and wont the orifice of Prover
and taster of Brandy and wish you write to me at the Niantic
where I sick three days and have to write by a young
gentleman or come to see me before eleven o'clock when I
generally get sick Yours Mr. Colected H—. Detor Sir:—I have held for the last four years the appointment
of Surveyor of Shellfish in the Custom House, and have done
my duty and understand it. I have been a Whig, but never
interfered in politics, and should have voted for Pierce—it
was my intention—but a friend by mistake gave me a wrong
ballot, and I accidentally put it in, having been drinking a
little. Dear sir, I hope you will not dismiss me; no man in
this city understands a clam as I do, and I shall be very
much indebted to you to keep my office for the present
though have much finer offers but don't wish at present to
accept. I would respectfully call the attention of the Evening
Journal to the following fable, to be found in Esop's collection,
page 194: On receiving my long-promised file of The Pioneer, accompanied
by your affecting entreaty to “Come over into Macedonia
and help us,” deeply impressed with the importance of
the crisis, I rushed about this village as wildly as a fowl decapitated,
but with purpose more intent. Dear Sir:—Perceiving by perusal of your interesting article on Astronomy,
that you have an organ which it is presumed you would like to dispose
of, I am instructed by the vestry of the meeting-house on — street,
to enter into a negotiation with you for its purchase. Please state by return
of mail, whether or no the organ is for sale; if so, the price, and if
it is in good repair, and plays serious tunes. Lieut. —, U. S. A., San Diego, Cal. My dear Charles:—I have received your modest request
of the 4th of January, that I will give you five or ten per
cent. of any sum that Congress may hereafter, in its infinite
beneficence, appropriate to my relief; a request which you
state you make to me at the instance of “a number of officers
stationed in Texas.” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 80 | Author: | Derby
George Horatio
1823-1861 | Add | | | Title: | The Squibob papers | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 Sir: — I am requested by a number of
your brother officers, and other gentlemen, to solicit
you to deliver the oration at the celebration
of the approaching Fourth of July, at this post. “Dear Sir: — I have the honor to acknowledge
the receipt of your very polite invitation to
address a number of my brother officers, and other
gentlemen, on the coming glorious anniversary,
at Vancouver. Dear Cate, you know I luv you mor an any
uther Girle in the World, and wat's the Reson
you allways want Me to tell you so. I no you ar
almost gitting tired of waiting for me; I no you luv
me fit to brake your hart. I no we ort to git
marid, but how kin we if we kant — sa! Wat's
the use in thinkin bout it. I thort wen I sold mi
mule that I wud have nough to pay the precher
and by you nice goun. But I tried mi luk at
poker and got strapt the fust nite. Cate, you
never played poker — in korse not. Wel, it's
a confounded mity nice game as long as you kin
sit behind a smorl par; but when you kant get a
par, the pot's gone. I luv you so much, Cate, that
I allmost hav a notion to sel me 1 horse wagin and
buck a nite or 2 at farow; but how kin I — sa!
Mi whol wagin wudent fech more an fore or 5
good staks. ile go back to the mountings an
work and dig and swet and do every thing I kin
to get money to git marid. I ain't any ways gelus,
Cate, but pleze don't hug and kiss and set on
J—n B—s lapp any noor. you know he
ain't worth shaks, he kant drink mor an 3 hornes
'thout gittin tite; I kin stand up under fiftey.
You know I kin lick him 2, and hav dun it and
kin do it agin. But I ain't a bit gelus, I no I out
to marid long ago. leven years is rether long to
kort a gal, but ile hav you yit Cate. Gentlemen, — At a large and respectable meeting
held by your guests this evening, in the bar
room of your exquisite hotel. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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