| 241 | Author: | Eggleston
Edward
1837-1902 | Add | | Title: | The end of the world ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | “I DON'T believe that you'd care a cent if she
did marry a Dutchman! She might as well as to
marry some white folks I know.” “If all they say is true, you have quickly changed. I do
not hold you by any promises you wish to break. “To whom it may concern: I have a list of eight men connected
with the riotous mob which broke into the house of Gottlieb Wehle, a
peaceable and unoffending citizen of the United States. The said eight
men proceeded to commit an assault and battery on the person of the
said Gottlieb Wehle, and even endeavored at one time to take his life.
And the said riotous conduct was the result of a conspiracy, and the
said assault with intent to kill was with malice aforethought. The said
eight men, after having committed grievous outrages upon him by
dipping him in the water and by other means, warned the said Wehle
not to return to the State. Now, therefore, I give notice to all
and several of those concerned in these criminal proceedings that
the said Wehle has returned by my advice; and that if so much as a
hair of his head or a splinter of his property is touched I will appear
against said parties and will prosecute them until I secure the infliction
of the severest penalties made and provided for the punishment
of such infamous crimes. I hope I am well enough known here to
render it certain that if I once begin proceedings nothing but success
or my death or the end of the world can stop them. | | Similar Items: | Find |
242 | Author: | Halpine
Charles G.
(Charles Graham)
1829-1868 | Add | | Title: | The life and adventures, songs, services, and speeches
of Private Miles O'Reilly [pseud.] (47th regiment, New York volunteers.) ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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 N: Our friend, Major Wright, showed
me one paragraph of your letter to him, in
which you referred, apparently with surprise, to the
fact that the attack on Charleston by the iron-clads
should have been discontinued “when so few casualties
had occurred.” This is so obvious a reflection,
on the first hasty view of the affair, and one so radically
unjust when we look calmly at the facts, that,
in Major Wright's absence (he has gone down the
posts along the Florida coast on a tour of inspection)
I will venture to occupy your time a few moments
on the subject. “Sir:— We take pleasure in inviting you to be
present as a guest, on the occasion of a banquet for
which we have found an excellent excuse in the
person of Private Miles O'Reilly, Forty-seventh
regiment New York Volunteers, late a prisoner on
Morris Island, South Carolina, but released from
durance vile by order of our benevolent and truly
amiable President. All guests must bring with
them an unlimited supply of good appetite and
humor. The napkins, wines and things will be provided
by our accomplished caterer. Have to remain here watching my Cabinet. There
might be a row in the family if I went away. Telegraphing
not a good medium for stories; but have
an anecdote appropriate to O'Reilly's case, which I
send in letter by this day's mail. Gentlemen,—I regret that a sentiment and surroundings
which you can appreciate will not allow
me to join your festive assembly. The Navy is not
forgetful of the tribute paid by Private O'Reilly to
the merit of many of its most deserving officers. In
the manly pathos of his reference to the late Fleet
Captain George W. Rodgers, in that song for which
he suffered imprisonment, he struck strings of the
human heart which must vibrate so long as courage
can enkindle respect, or the death of a hero and
martyr claim the tribute of a tear. Your invitation reaches me just as I am preparing
to move upon the enemy's works. Be assured my
sympathies are with every movement which aims to
acknowledge our indebtedness, as individuals and as
a nation, to the private soldiers—the countless,
nameless, unrewarded, often disregarded heroes of
the musket and bayonet—to whose true patriotism,
patient endurance, and courage in the day of danger
we, who are generals, owe victory, and the country
will yet owe its salvation. Gentlemen,—A recent chill blast from Ohio,
coupled with a cold shiver recently caught in
Pennsylvania,* have laid me up with an indisposition
which confines me to that home in which I am both
prized and appreciated. I look upon your banquet
with a single eye to the public good; and am far
from convinced that it may not soon be even a better
investment to take stock in the national fortunes, than
to embark with my friend Lamar in that blockaderunning
enterprise about which some of my foolish
enemies have lately been making a fuss. Just now
I am so doubled up with rheumatic twinges that my
walk is slantendicular; and I make it my rule never
to appear in public when in this attitude. Very
candidly and sincerely yours. Dear Develin—Am just polishing off and finishing
up Mayor Opdyke. Will be with you in a moment
when I get through. Gentlemen—Your invitation is received, but me
it does not suit to be of your guests invited. I, who
have bearded a Russian Emperor, am not to bow in
homage abject to any of the great asses who are in
this country heroes made. The President (I have
proved it) is a mountebank; Secretary Seward is a
faineant and traitor; General McClellan is a traitor
and ass. Chase is an ass. I have no doubt Gillmore
is an assish asinine ass; as indeed are all the men
whose names we in the newspapers see, or in men's
mouths hear, there being only one exception, who is
with highest consideration, yours, Am worried to death about the New York Police
Commissioners. Sometimes think I will remove
them; sometimes think that I won't. If I can make
up my mind either one way or other, will be with
you. If not, will stay here, and do nothing else but
try. Gentlemen—I regret that the severe studies and
labors in which I am now engaged will not permit
me to be present at your very interesting demonstration.
Having commenced my investigations of
naval science by a close analysis of that most famous
vessel of antiquity in which the second great progenitor
of our race avoided destruction—and of which,
let me add, the so-called models placed in the hands
of our children are even ludicrously erroneous when
examined by the light of antiquarian science—I
have now reached, in my descending studies, the
type of vessels used in the great Spanish armada;
and it is my hope, ere the termination of an existence
already bountifully protracted, to have brought
down my researches to that amazing new starting
point in naval history—the discoveries and successful
experiments of the immortal Fulton! With the
introduction of steam as a motor of vessels, a great
change, all will admit, has been effected in the conditions
of maritime warfare. That change it is my
hope, and shall be my unceasing endeavor to grasp
and appreciate, if not while in official existence, then
in that bright and tranquil period of repose which a
grateful country will not fail to afford to the declining
years of a conscientious and faithful old public
servant. Gentlemen—As you have had the good taste to
invite the members of my staff and the most prominent
officers of my command, as well as myself, I
thank you in their name and in my own. The managers
of the late Russian banquet did differently; but
those managers were members of the Common Council,
which explains, if it does not palliate their offence.
Their neglect in this respect extended to
the Governor of the State, only one member of whose
military family was asked; and to General Dix, who
was invited to appear, so far as I can learn, altogether
unattended, to meet foreign officers, some of
equal, many of inferior, rank—but all attended by
their proper retinue. I thank you again in behalf
of my staff and the senior officers of the First Division,
as also for myself; and beg to assure you that
such of us as feel like it, will, with pleasure, avail
ourselves of your very kind and hospitable invitation. Let to-day be chronicled as a great day for Ireland,
and let it live as the greatest of Thanksgiving Days
in American history! This afternoon took place the
interesting ceremonial of presenting Private Miles
O'Reilly, Forty-seventh Regiment New York Volunteers,
to his Excellency the President of the United
States, by whom, in turn, the young Milesian warrior
and bard of the Tenth army corps was presented to
several members of the Cabinet and foreign diplomatic
corps, who were paying a Thanksgiving Day
call to the President when the cards of General
T. F. Meagher and Father Murphy were handed in
by Colonel Hay—these gentlemen having kindly
consented to act as the chaperons, or social godfathers
and godmothers of Private O'Reilly, who was accompanied
by Major Kavanagh and Captain Breslin, of
the old Sixty-ninth New York, and by Mr. Luke
Clark, of the Fifth Ward of your City, as his own
“special friends.” The details of this interview will
hereafter form an instructive episode in the grand
drama of our national history. It was in a manner
the apotheosis of democratic principles—an acknowledgment
of our indebtedness to the men who carry
muskets in our armies. It had its political significance,
also, and may prove another link between our
soldiers in the field and the present lengthy occupant
of the White House, who is understood to be not
averse to the prospect of a lengthier lease of that
“desirable country residence,” which has none of the
modern improvements. | | Similar Items: | Find |
243 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Add | | Title: | The luck of Roaring Camp, and other sketches ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | Respected Sir, — When you read this, I am run
away. Never to come back. Never, Never, NEVER.
You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my
Amerika's Pride [a highly colored lithograph from a
tobacco-box] to Sally Flanders. But don't you give
anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dare to. Do
you know what my oppinion is of her, it is this, she is
perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present
from | | Similar Items: | Find |
246 | Author: | Hawthorne
Nathaniel
1804-1864 | Add | | Title: | Septimius Felton, or, The elixir of life ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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 was a day in early spring; and as that sweet,
genial time of year and atmosphere calls out tender
greenness from the ground, — beautiful flowers, or
leaves that look beautiful because so long unseen
under the snow and decay, — so the pleasant air and
warmth had called out three young people, who sat
on a sunny hillside enjoying the warm day and one
another. For they were all friends: two of them
young men, and playmates from boyhood; the third,
a girl who, two or three years younger than themselves,
had been the object of their boy-love, their
little rustic, childish gallantries, their budding affections;
until, growing all towards manhood and womanhood,
they had ceased to talk about such matters,
perhaps thinking about them the more. | | Similar Items: | Find |
247 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Add | | Title: | Darkness and daylight ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | Collingwood was to have a tenant at last. For twelve
long years its massive walls of dark grey stone had
frowned in gloomy silence upon the passers-by, the terror
of the superstitious ones, who had peopled its halls with
ghosts and goblins, saying even that the snowy-haired old
man, its owner, had more than once been seen there, moving
restlessly from room to room and muttering of the
darkness which came upon him when he lost his fair
young wife and her beautiful baby Charlie. The old man
was not dead, but for years he had been a stranger to his
former home. “Dear Sir: — A wholly unexpected event makes it
necessary for me to be absent from home for the next few
weeks. During this time my house will be shut up, and
I shall be very glad if in her daily rides Miss Hastings
will occasionally come round this way and see that every
thing is straight. I would like much to give the keys into
her charge, knowing as I do that I can trust her. The books
in my library are at her disposal, as is also the portfolio
of drawings, which I will leave upon the writing table. “Dear Sir, — Miss Hastings accepts the great honor of
looking after your house, and will see that nothing gets
mouldy during your absence. “Darling Miggie: — Nina has been so sick this great
long while, and her head is so full of pain. Why don't
you come to me, Miggie? I sit and wait and listen till
my forehead thumps and thumps, just as a bad nurse
thumped it once down in the Asylum. “Poor blind man! Nina is so sorry for you to-night,
because she knows that what she has to tell you will crush
the strong life all out of your big heart, and leave it as
cold and dead as she will be when Victor reads this to
you. There won't be any Nina then, for Miggie and
Arthur, and a heap more, will have gone with her way
out where both my mothers are lying, and Miggie'll cry,
I reckon, when she hears the gravel stones rattling down
just over my head, but I shall know they cannot hit me,
for the coffin-lid will be between, and Nina'll lie so still.
No more pain; no more buzzing; no more headache; no
more darkness; won't it be grand, the rest I'm going to.
I shan't be crazy in Heaven. Arthur says so, and he
knows. “.... It will be dreadful at first, I know, and may
be all three of the darknesses will close around you for a
14
time, — darkness of the heart, darkness of the brain, and
darkness of the eyes, but it will clear away and the daylight
will break, in which you will be happier than in
calling Miggie your wife, and knowing how she shrinks
from you, suffering your caresses only because she knows
she must, but feeling so sick at her stomach all the time,
and wishing you wouldn't touch her. I know just how it
feels, for when Arthur kissed me, or took my hand, or even
came in my sight, before the buzz got into my head, it
made me so cold and faint and ugly, the way the Yankees
mean, knowing he was my husband when I wanted Charlie
Hudson. Don't subject Miggie to this horrid fate.
Be generous and give her up to Arthur. He may not deserve
her more than you, but she loves him the best and
that makes a heap of difference. | | Similar Items: | Find |
248 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Add | | Title: | The pillar of fire, or, Israel in bondage ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | “I trust, my dear Sesostris,” he writes, “that you
are passing your time both with pleasure and profit, in
visiting places of interest in the valley of the Lower
Nile, and in studying the manners and usages of the
people. You will find the pyramids an exhaustless
source of attraction. From the priests, who are the
most intelligent and learned class in Egypt, you will
obtain all the information respecting those mysterious
monuments of the past, which is known, besides many
legends. “Your Majesty,—I address my letter to you from
this petty castle, though, albeit, the stronghold of your
kingdom seaward, over which you have made me governor.
For a subject, this would be a post of honor.
For me, the son of your husband's brother, your royal
nephew, it is but an honorable exile from a court where
you fear my presence. Honorable, do I say?—rather,
dishonorable; for am I not a prince of the blood of
the Pharaohs? But let this pass, your majesty. I
do not insist upon any thing based upon mere lineage.
I feel that I was aggrieved by the birth of Remeses. I
see that you turn pale. Do not do so yet. You must
read further before the blood wholly leaves your cheek.
I repeat, I am aggrieved by the `birth of Remeses.'
You see I quote the last three words. Ere you close
this letter, your majesty will know why I mark them
thus. Your husband, the vicegerent of the Thisitic
kingdom of the South, after leaving his capital, Thebes,
at the head of a great army, died like a soldier descended
from a line of a thousand warrior kings, in
combat with the Ethiopian. I was then, for your majesty
was without offspring, the heir to the throne of
Egypt. I was the son of your husband's younger
brother. Though but three years old when your lord
was slain, I had learned the lesson that I was to be king
of Egypt, when I became a man. But to the surprise
of all men, of your council of priests, and your cabinet
of statesmen, lo! you soon afterwards became a mother,
when no evidences of this promise had been apparent!
Nay, do not cast down this letter, O queen! Read it to
the end! It is important you should know all. “Your Majesty,—I write from my pavilion pitched
at the foot of the Libyan mountains. I need not forewarn
you of the subject of this letter, when I assure you
that within the hour I have received intelligence from
Memphis, that you are about to abdicate your throne in
favor of Remeses, your suppositious son. This intelligence
does not surprise me. When I was in Lower
Egypt, I saw through you and your policy. I perceived
that while you feared me, you resolved to defeat my
power over you. This purpose, to surrender the sceptre
of the two Egypts, I can penetrate. You design, thereby,
securely to place Remeses beyond my power to
harm him, for that, being king, if I lift a finger he can
destroy me. I admire your policy, and bow in homage
to your diplomacy. But, O queen, both you and
Remeses are in my power! Nay, do not flash your
imperial eyes at this assertion. Hear me for a few
moments. | | Similar Items: | Find |
249 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Add | | Title: | The Prince of the House of David, or, Three years in
the Holy City ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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 Father:—My first duty, as it is my highest
pleasure, is to comply with your command to write
you as soon as I arrived at Jerusalem; and this letter,
while it conveys to you intelligence of my arrival, will
confirm to you my filial obedience. “Dearest Ruth:—I fear you have been impatient at
my long silence; but I love you not less, though you do
not often hear from me. Now that I am safe I will write
to you, which I would not do in a state of uncertainty.
Know that after our ship left Cesarea for Crete, we were
caught by a north wind, and in striving to make the east
end of the island, we lost way, and were driven upon
Africa, where we were wrecked, losing all our cargo, and
the lives of many who sailed with us. With others, I was
taken by the barbarians, and carried inland to a country
of rocky mountains, and there became a bondman to one
of the chief men of the nation wherein I was captivated.
At length, inspired by a consciousness of the anguish you
and my beloved mother must suffer, should you never
more hear tidings of me, I resolved to effect my escape.
After great perils, I reached the sea-side, and at the
expiration of many days, by following the coast, I was
taken on board by a small ship of Cyprus, and conveyed
to Alexandria. The vessel was owned by a rich merchant
of my own people, Manassah Benjamin Ben Israel, who,
finding me sick and destitute of all things, just as I
escaped, took me home to his hospitable house, and treated
me as a son till I recovered my health and strength; saying
that he had a daughter far away, in Judea, and he
hoped that if she ever needed the aid of strangers, God
would repay him by making them kind to her.” “The bearer, beloved, is one of the disciples of Jesus.
His name is Bartimeus. He was blind and poor, and
subsisted by begging; and, as you see, his sight is restored,
and he insists now on going from town to town where he
has been known as a blind man, to proclaim what Jesus
has done for him. He takes this to you. I write to say
that I wish thou mayest prosper in all things, and find
the health for which thou and thy cousin sought the air of
Mount Tabor. I have no greater joy than to hear of your
welfare. This letter cometh beseeching thee, lady, that as
we love one another unfeignedly, so may we soon be united
in that holy union which God hath blessed and commanded.
I would have thee bear in remembrance that
thou gavest thy promise hereto when last we met at Nazareth.
But, having much to say hereupon, I will not
commit it to paper and ink; but by to-morrow, or the day
after, I trust to come to you, and speak with you, dearly
beloved, face to face, those things which come now to my
lips. Farewell, lady, and peace be with you, and all in
your house. Greet thy friends in my name, letting them
know that we shall shortly be with you, with Amos, your
father, now our dear brother in the Lord. There are
many things which I have seen and heard touching my
holy Master, Jesus, and his holy mission to the world,
which I will declare unto you when we meet, that you also
may have fellowship with us in those things which we
know and believe concerning him. My Master saluteth
thee and all in your house; Amos, also, greeteth thee with
10*
a kiss. This is the second epistle I have written unto you
from Nazareth.” | | Similar Items: | Find |
252 | Author: | Judd
Sylvester
1813-1853 | Add | | Title: | Margaret ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | “Didymus Hart being summoned to this Committee, on
the information of sundry witnesses, that the said Hart on
the 27th day of this month, had violated the laws of the
Continental and Provincial Congress, and done other acts
contrary to the liberties of the country, appeared, and after
due proof being made of said charge, the said Hart was
pleased to make a full confession thereof, and in the most
equivocal and insulting manner attempted to vindicate said
conduct, to wit:— “Whereas I, the subscriber, have from the perverseness
of my wicked heart maliciously and scandalously abused
the character and proceedings of the Continental and Provincial
Congress, Selectmen of this town, and the Committees
of Safety in general, I do hereby declare, that at
the time of my doing it, I knew the said abuses to be the
most scandalous falsehoods, and that I did it for the sole
purpose of abusing those bodies of men, and affronting my
townsmen, and all the friends of liberty throughout the
Continent. Being now fully sensible of my wickedness
and notorious falsehoods, I humbly beg pardon of those
worthy characters I have so scandalously abused, and voluntarily
renouncing my former principles, do promise for
the future to render my conduct unexceptionable to my
countrymen, by strictly adhering to the measures of Congress,
and desire this my confession may be printed in the
Kidderminster Chronicle for three weeks successively. | | Similar Items: | Find |
253 | Author: | Judd
Sylvester
1813-1853 | Add | | Title: | Margaret ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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 Anna:—You told me to write you every
thing; but how shall I utter myself? How can I give
shape or definition to what I am? Easy were it for me to
tell you what I am not. Has a volcano burst within me?
Has a tornado prostrated me? If you were to excavate
the Herculaneum that I seem to myself to be, would you
find only charred effigies of things, silent fountains of old
emotions, deserted streets of a once busy and harmonious
life, skeletons of hopes stricken down in the act of running
from impending danger? With Rose, I would forget myself,
that to which this writing recalls me. She says I can
endure the prospect better than she. If this be so, it must
be attributed to its possessing the merit of novelty. I am
in ruins, and so are all things about me. Yet in the windfall
some trees are new sprouting; invisible hands are rebuilding
the shattered edifice. View me as you will, I
think I am a doit improving. Do I begin existence wholly
anew, or rise I up from the chaos of an earlier condition?
What is the transition—from myself to myself, or from myself
to another? What is the link between Molly Hart and
Margaret Brückmann, can you tell? In which of the climacterics
do I now exist? I am witheringly afflicted.
Chilion is not!
“Te sine, væ misero mihi! lilia nigra videntur,
Palentesque rosæ, nec dulce rubens hyacinthus!”
The vision of those days distracts me, the remembrance of
my brother turns the voices of the birds into wailing, and
the sun is pale at midday. In Scotland are Caves of Music,
deep pits where unseen water keeps up a sort of midnight
melody. I am such a cave. Chilion flows through
me, a nethermost, mournfullest dirge. Then, too, Ma is so
silent; her features are so rigidly distressed. She smokes
and weaves, hour after hour; I fear she will never smile
again. Pa has lost his glow of countenance; he has grown
absolutely pale; and where he sits working, I see tears drip
on his leathern apron. Hash is so sober, so soft, it frightens
me. Nimrod comes down from the Ledge and does
his best to enliven us, but his gayety has fled, and he knows
not how to be mournful. Bull had one leg broke at the
time of Chilion's trial, and hobbles out to Chilion's boat,
where he sits by the hour. Rose is soothing and active,
but she has a load at her own heart, which, in truth, I need
help her bear. Isabel rides up almost every day, full of
sympathy and generous love. Deacon Ramsdill, Master
Elliman, Mrs. Bowker aud others, have made us kind
visits. Sibyl Radney comes and milks the cow, and does
some of my little chores. Yesterday, Rose and Isabel
went with me to the burying-ground. Good old Philip
Davis, the Sexton, so I have been told, had the courage and
the kindness to go one night and cover Chilion's grave
with green sod. It is by itself apart, in one corner of the
grounds. Few persons have been near it, and the tall grass
has grown rank about it. I threw myself upon it and dissolved
in weeping. Murmur I could not; an inarticulate,
ungovernable anguish was all I could feel. O my brother!
I knew not I had such a brother; I knew not I loved such
a brother!—We found a dandelion budding on it—when I
was little, he taught me to love dandelions! Rose folded
me in her arms, Isabel prayed for me. I thought of the
blood-sweating agony of Him, the Divine Sufferer; it penetrated
and subdued mine. Mrs. Bowker gave me a lady's
slipper, taken from the plant Chilion sent her. There is a
fancy that flowers die, when those who have tended them
do. Will Chilion's flowers live? There are many of us
who will fulfil his love towards them. I cannot forget you, I live in your approbation, I thrive
VOL. II. 18
under your care. Many obligations for your kind note. I
am externally more calm, my nerves are less susceptable,
I sleep more soundly, and Margaret says there is some
color in my cheeks. If we were composed of four concentric
circles, I can say the three outer ones approximate a
healthy and natural state. But the fourth, the innermost,
the central core, what can I say of that? I dare not look
in there, I dare not reflect upon myself. One thing, I have
no real guilt to harass me; I only call to mind my follies.
My ambition has ever centered upon a solitary acquisition,
and for that alone have the energies of my being been
spent, sympathy; an all-appreciating, tender, great, solemn
sympathy. Beguiled by this desire, I mistook the demonstrations
of a selfish passion for tokens of a noble heart.
Betrayed beyond the bounds of strict propriety, I became
an object of the censure of mankind. Too proud to confess,
or too much confounded to explain my innocence, I
suffered the penalties of positive infamy. It always seemed
ot me that I was placid by nature, and moderate in my sensations.
This opposition created in me a new nature; my
calamities have imparted heat to my temper and acrimony
to my judgment. I became impetuous, vehement, and, as
it were, possessed. A new consciousness was revived, both
of what I was and of what the world was. Up to that time
I had floated on with tolerable serenity, trusting myself and
others, and ever hoping for the best. Then commenced
my contention and despair. I became all at once sensible
of myself in a new way; as one does in whose bosom literal
coals of fire are put. My heart swelled to enormous proportions;
it became diseased, and dreadfully painful. It
spread itself through my system, tyrannized over my
thought, and fed upon the choicest strength of my being.
My intellect was darkened, I became an atheist. Under
these circumstances, which you already know something
about, after having long kept it hidden, I declared myself
to Margaret. She had sufficient penetration to understand
me and magnanimity to love me; she awed me by her
superior, uniform goodness. I availed myself of a moment
when she was in tears to unfold the cause of my own. I
rejoiced in her weakness, because I thought thereby I could
find entrance to her greatness. The melancholy, to me
most melancholy, events of her brother's death, I need not
recapitulate. The end of my being is accomplished! The prophecy
of my life is fulfilled! My dreams have gone out in realities!
The Cross is erected on Mons Christi!
Yesterday, the Anniversary of our National Independence,
was the event consummated. The sacred emblem was made
by Mr. Palmer, from a superb block, of the purest marble,
out of his quarry, and is twenty feet high. We met near
the Brook Kedron, on the Via Salutaris. There were all the
members of Christ Church, the Masonic Corps, and a multitude
of others. I was to lead the procession, supported
by Mr. Evelyn; they had me seated on a milk-white
horse, dressed in white, with a wreath of twin flower vines
on my head. Then followed the Cross, borne on the shoulders
of twenty-four young men; next came the Bishop and
wife, the Deacons and their wives, Christ Church members,
two-and-two, man and woman; these were succeeded by
the Masons, and the line was closed by the people at large.
On the Head was a band of Christ Church musicians, playing
the Triumphs of Jesus, which we got from Germany.
We came over the Brook Kedron, traversed what we have
made the broad and ornamental Via Salutaris, and entered
the Avenue of the Beautiful. At the foot of the hill I dismounted.
By a winding gravel-walk I went up—with a
trembling, joyous step I went—followed by the Cross-bearers.
Reaching the summit, I wound the arms and
head of the Cross about with evergreens; the young men
raised it in its place, a solid granite plinth. Returning, we
assembled under the Butternut, in the Avenue of the
Beautiful, where Edward made a discourse to the people;
some idea of which I would like to convey to you. “Livingston.—We have long kept silence about the
VOL. II. 26
movements in this place; but the matter has become too
public to excuse any further negligence. Over the Red
Dragon of Infidelity they have drawn the skin of the Papal
Beast, and tricked the Monster with the trappings of Harlotry!
On the ruins of one of our Churches they have
erected a Temple to Human Pride and Carnal Reasoning.
The contamination is spreading far and wide; and unless
something be attempted, the Kingdom of God in our midst
must soon be surrendered to the arts of Satan. It is
understood that the Rev. Mr. L—, of B—, has openly and
repeatedly exchanged pulpits with the man who, having
denied his Lord and Master, they have had the hardihood
to invest with the robes of the Christian Office. Brethren,
shall we sleep, while the enemy is sowing tares in our
midst? | | Similar Items: | Find |
254 | Author: | Landon
Melville D.
(Melville De Lancey)
1839-1910 | Add | | Title: | Saratoga in 1901 ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | OFF FOR SARATOGA
628EAF. Page 001. In-line Illustration. Images of a steamship, a train, and a couple on horses.
“My dear Mr. Perkins, Congress Hall—
Many of my aristocratic guests are grieved
at the reports which have gained credence
relative to the young gentlemen holding the
young ladies' hands, evenings, on the hotel
balconies. They also say that it is a very
common thing for them to be seen smiling,
and that dancing is not an unknown amusement
among them. I now invite you to
come and investigate for yourself. I assign
for the use of yourself and wife a suite of cheerful front rooms
overlooking the Catholic church and the graveyard, from the
windows of which you will be able to see everything going on in
our hotel. “I notice the paragraph in the
Commercial. It is to be hoped
you will not use names. I am
an old, gray-haired man. I
have lived a life of usefulness,
and have been long honored as
a member of the open Board of
Brokers in New York. If I have been indiscreet in a thoughtless
moment, I beg of you not to ruin everything by using my name
in connection with any developments which you propose to make.
Come and see me. I will remain in my room all day. “As God is my witness, you have been wrongly informed if you
have heard anything detrimental to my character. I have been
a vestryman of Grace Church for fifteen years. I am incapable
of any such actions; besides, I have a devoted wife, and we are
very fond of each other. I gave $25,000 to the Dudley Observatory
and $50,000 to Cornell University, and have been a
subscriber to the Commercial for seventeen years. I am
incapable of such indiscretion. Whatever other church-members
do, I am as pure as a new-born babe. Come and see me or give
us your company at dinner. I am almost always at church or on
the balcony with my wife. I saw one paragraphe en ze journal, ze Commourshal, about
ze grande scandale of which you have accuse me. I write this as a friend of yours. You have been deceived.
Some of our people came down to Congress Hall, and told these
scandalous things out of spite. Baron Flourins has been a little
exclusive. We have kept him entirely in our clique. The rest
are mad because we have not introduced him. He is a dear duck
of a man, as harmless as he is handsome. My dear Son Eli:—Your St. Alban's High Church letter was
read with a great deal of interest here in our home church, but it
made us all feel very bad. We are sorry that you have gone to
the wicked city, where you so soon forget the simple teaching of
the old Church of your childhood, and go headlong into these
false, new-fangled notions about Ritualism. You ask us to board
up the windows of the old church, bar out the sunlight, and burn
flickering tallow candles. You ask us to tear out the old galleries
of the church, to dismiss the girls from the choir, and dress the farm
boys up in night-gowns, as you do in the city. You ask us to do
away with good old Dr. Watts and sing opera songs selected by
the organist of St. Alban's and arranged for the boy singers by
the middle fiddler of a German band. You ask me to tear up
our charts and maps, and decorate the church with blue and gold
“hallelujahs” and gilded crosses. O my son, we cannot do it!
We prefer to go on in the good old way. If God will not save
us because we do not burn candles—if He will not forgive our
sins because we look straight up to Heaven, and confess them
directly to Him, then I fear we must perish. My dear boy, does
not the Bible say: `I said I would confess my sins unto the
Lord, and so THOU forgavest the wickedness of my sin?' Then
do not, I pray you, my son, depend upon any forgiveness of sin
which men may grant. Eli, if you are bad, do not expect any
man to forgive you, but go right straight to your Maker, the way
your mother taught you in your childhood. Suppose you
confess your sins to a priest? My dear Mother:—Your letter has caused me much anxiety.
After sleeping with it under my pillow, I went up yesterday, as
you requested, to the Church of “St. Mary the Virgin,” on West
Forty-fifth street, near Seventh avenue. Since my conversion to
the High Church Ritualistic faith, my dear mother, I have usually
attended Dr. Ewer's church. I love Dr. Ewer. “This is our new
idea. All the girls have
agreed to it. We call it
the honorable dodge, and
we are bound to put
through every flirting fellow
in New York on it.
The idea is—but I'll tell
you how I practiced it
last night and you'll understand
it better. But
you know it is a secret, and of course you are to be trusted. I wish to ask your sympathy and advice on a subject that has
long been weighing on my mind, and that is—flirting. | | Similar Items: | Find |
255 | Author: | Lanier
Sidney
1842-1881 | Add | | Title: | Tiger-lilies ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | “Would 'st thou an adventure? Follow the bearer. “Inclosed is a letter
handed me to-day by a neighbor. He does not wish to be
mixed up in the business and asks my advice. The writer of
the letter is a connection of his. Of course, as a loyal citizen,
I cannot leave this letter and its information to pass unnoticed,
and therefore send it to you immediately. “To Mister Jeems Horniddy, My deer Cuzzin Jeems: hope
you air well and these few lines will find you enjoinin the saim.
I lef ole Tennessy some munths ago, I was brought from thar
with mi hands tied as you mought say. The Cornscrip brought
me. I was hid whare I thot the Devil hisself couldn find me,
but ole man Sterlin he cum and showed whar I was and they
took me and sent me to the rigiment. He foun out whare I was
hid by a darn ongentlemunly trick, a-peirootin thu the bushes as
he is always a-Dooin. An if I dont root him out for it I hoap
I may go too hell damn him and I have deserted from the rigiment
and cum down hear to smithfield whare thar aint no
cornscrip. Thar is sum scouts down hear and ole Sterlins son
is wun of thum, and so is brother Cain I thot he had moar
sense and I am agwine to fule em to death i am agwine to
make em put me across the river and then see em captivated
every wun of thum brother Cain and all and what did thay
drag me from hoam and fambly for? which I havent been
married to her moar than a year and a rite young babi and
they a starvin and me not thar. | | Similar Items: | Find |
256 | Author: | Locke
David Ross
1833-1888 | Add | | Title: | The Nasby papers ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | There is now 15 niggers, men, wimin and childern, or ruther, mail,
femail and yung, in Wingert's Corners, and yisterday another arrove.
I am bekomin alarmed, fer ef they inkreese at this rate, in suthin
over sixty yeres they'll hev a majority in the town, and may, ef they
git mene enuff, tyrannize over us, even ez we air tyrannizin over
them. The danger is imminent! Alreddy our poor white inhabitans
is out uv employment to make room fer that nigger—even now our
shops and factories is full uv that nigger, to the grate detriment uv a
white inhabitant who hez a family 2 support, and our Poor Hows and
Jail is full uv him. | | Similar Items: | Find |
257 | Author: | Melville
Herman
1819-1891 | Add | | Title: | Moby-Dick, or, The whale ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long
precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing
particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about
a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have
of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever
I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it
is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself
involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up
the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my
hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong
moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into
the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I
account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my
substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish
Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the
ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it,
almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very
nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. | | Similar Items: | Find |
258 | Author: | Melville
Herman
1819-1891 | Add | | Title: | The piazza tales ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | When I removed into the country, it was to
occupy an old-fashioned farm-house, which
had no piazza—a deficiency the more regretted,
because not only did I like piazzas, as
somehow combining the coziness of in-doors
with the freedom of out-doors, and it is so
pleasant to inspect your thermometer there,
but the country round about was such a picture,
that in berry time no boy climbs hill
or crosses vale without coming upon easels
planted in every nook, and sun-burnt painters
painting there. A very paradise of painters.
The circle of the stars cut by the circle of the
mountains. At least, so looks it from the
house; though, once upon the mountains, no
circle of them can you see. Had the site been
chosen five rods off, this charmed ring would
not have been. The same day, and month, and year, His Honor, Doctor
Juan Martinez de Rozas, Councilor of the Royal Audience
of this Kingdom, and learned in the law of this Intendency,
ordered the captain of the ship San Dominick, Don Benito
Cereno, to appear; which he did in his litter, attended by
the monk Infelez; of whom he received the oath, which
he took by God, our Lord, and a sign of the Cross; under
which he promised to tell the truth of whatever he should
know and should be asked;—and being interrogated agreeably
11*
to the tenor of the act commencing the process,
he said, that on the twentieth of May last, he set sail with
his ship from the port of Valparaiso, bound to that of Callao;
loaded with the produce of the country beside thirty
cases of hardware and one hundred and sixty blacks, of both
sexes, mostly belonging to Don Alexandro Aranda, gentleman,
of the city of Mendoza; that the crew of the ship
consisted of thirty-six men, beside the persons who went as
passengers; that the negroes were in part as follows: “Sir: I am the most unfortunate ill-treated
gentleman that lives. I am a patriot, exiled
from my country by the cruel hand of tyranny. | | Similar Items: | Find |
259 | Author: | Moulton
Louise Chandler
1835-1908 | Add | | Title: | My third book ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | “`Mr. Grant,—I have not been a good man. I
feel this now, lying here on my death-bed, and I confess
it to you the more readily because I do not believe
that at heart you are a one whit better one. I must
speak plainly and bluntly, for I have no time for circumlocution.
I have hardly strength enough left to
dictate this to Richard Huntley, my attorney. I have
made a brave effort to forgive every body; but it has
been the hardest of all to forgive you; for your harshness,
your sinful pride, killed my beautiful Margaret.
You never loved as I loved her—I, her lover, her husband.
There! you will start at that word, I foresee;
you will start again at the marriage certificate enfolded
in this letter. We were married secretly, as you will
perceive, while I was in your very neighborhood. I
bound Margaret, when I left her, by a solemn oath,
not to make it known until she had my permission.
She was a gentle crature, as no one knows better than
you, and never thought of disputing the will of any
one she loved. My father was dead. I was dependent
for all my hopes of future fortune and support on
my mother, a very proud, resolute woman. She had
a grand match in contemplation for me at that time.
I knew it would be no easy matter to reconcile her to
its failure, and if she should know just then that I had
married as she would have thought so far below me,
much as she loved me she would have cast me off forever.
This, to a true man, would have been no great
matter compared with causing Margaret one hour of
trouble, one agony of humiliation. But I was not a
true man. I was helpless and imbecile, for I had never
been brought up to depend on myself. But I must
hasten, for my strength is failing me. | | Similar Items: | Find |
260 | Author: | Sedgwick
Catharine Maria
1789-1867 | Add | | Title: | Married or single? ![](https://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/icons/default/i_tei.gif) | | | 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: | Two sisters were sitting, one evening, in their small private
library, adjoining their sleeping apartment, in their step-mother's
house, in a fashionable quarter of New York. It
matters not in what year, for though this their history
makes great pretension to veritableness, it pays no respect
whatever to chronology. The youngest—the youngest of
course takes precedence in our society—was not past eighteen,
and, grown to her full stature, rather above the average
height; Grace Herbert differing in most of the faculties,
qualities, and circumstances of her being from the average
of her sex. To a strictly classical eye she was too thin for
her height, but of such exact proportions, so flexible and
graceful, that the defect was insignificant. Her features
were of the noble cast. Her complexion was neither fair
nor brown, but exquisitely smooth and soft. Ordinarily
she was pale, and her large dark eye lacked lustre; but a
flash from her mind, a gust of passion, or even a gentle
throb of affection, would brighten her cheek, light her eye,
play over her lips, and even seem to radiate from the waving
tresses of her dark hair. In that there was a notable
peculiarity. It was dark, and yet so brilliant in certain
lights, that in her little court of school-girl friends, where
she was queen (by divine right), it was a standing dispute
whether its color were golden, auburn, or brown. But it
was not form or color that so much distinguished Grace
Herbert, as a certain magnanimity in the expression of her
face, figure, and movement. “I should have written you as I promised, if I had
found any thing to write, but the town has been deuced
dull. Now it's waking up; there is a splendid little
actress here—one Mrs. Darley; our set patronize her.
(`Patronize—audacity!' exclaimed Grace.) Fanny Dawson
has come home—a splendid beauty! I and she rode out to
Love Lane before breakfast yesterday; my new horse is fine
under the saddle—Fanny is finer, but I shan't try my harness
there; I am shy of reins; one can't tell who will hold
them, so Miss Fanny will be left for my elder—if not my
better—” “My letter has lain by a month, and now I have news.
Smith, Jones and Co. have gone bankrupt, and poor Bill
is on their paper well-nigh to the amount of his fortune;
Luckily there's something left, and then there's the little
widow's fortune. Well, I go for the children of this world,
that are wise in their generation. Commend me to the
Londoners in general.—Believe me, as ever, your's faithfully, “You may conceive, but I can not describe, how
wretched I feel at our separation. You would hear from
me much oftener if I followed the dictates of my heart, but
my time is so absorbed that it is quite impossible to find
a moment for my truest, darlingest, little friend. I write
now to entreat you to match the feathers I send; aren't
they loves? I have spent two days in attempting to do it
here. New York is a paradise for shops, you know; in this
horrid Quaker city there's no variety; at the same time,
dearest love, will you look for a sash, the shade of the
feathers? You may send me a sample, or you may send
me several, if you feel uncertain about the match. It is
really trying, the difficulty of matching. I sometimes walk
up and down the streets of Philadelphia, hours and hours, to
match a lace or a fringe, and so does my mamma. The
Grays wear pink bonnets this winter. Mrs. Remson has
come out in her old yellow brocade again—the third winter,
mamma says—just think of it! Do they hold on to powder
yet in New York? I dread its going out—'tis so becoming;
It makes me quite wretched that you don't come on this
winter, dear little pearl! My hair was superbly dressed at
Mrs. Lee's ball; I paid dear for it, though, for Pardessus was
engaged ten hours ahead, so I had mine done at three A.M.
Of course I didn't feel over well the next day, and General
Washington observed it, and said he did not like to see
young ladies look pale. As it was the only time he ever
spoke to me, he might have found something more pleasing
to say; pale or not, I found partners for every dance, and
refused nine! But, darling, I must cut short my epistle, and
sign myself, your sincere and ever attached friend, “Having a few leisure moments, I sit down to have a
little pleasant chat with you. I have still to acknowledge
your letter, informing me of the decease of our dear old
friend, Lady Hepsy; strange coincidence! that she should
have been burned to death, so afraid of fire as she was all
her life; but so it is—`Our days a transient period run!' “You will feel for me, dear sister, when I tell you the
measles are all over our street. You may be sure I keep
the children shut up. Two of them were terribly ill last
night, and I sent for Dr. Lee. I was all of a nerve when he
came, expecting he would tell me they had the symptoms,
but to my inexpressible relief he said it was only the cranberry
sauce and mince-pie, and almonds, and raisins, and so
on, they had eaten plentifully of at dinner—poor little
things! how much they have to suffer in this world!” “This day I am seventeen! and this day I am the
happiest creature in the universe. You will guess why,
and how, for you prophesied long ago that what has now
happened would come to pass. Perhaps your prophecy
has led to its fulfillment—certainly hastened it, that I
will allow; for since we were at Madame B.'s school, and
you talked so much of him, he has been the ideal of my
life—every thing that I have imagined of noble and beautiful
has been impersonated in Frank Silborn. O think of my
felicity! He is mine, I am his; as the clock struck twelve
last night we plighted vows, and exchanged rings! O what
a bliss is life before me! And yet now I think I would be
content to die, my spirit is so raised with a sense of joy ineffable.
I can not believe it is but three weeks since Frank's
return; my love for him seems to stretch through my whole
being. “It is my sad duty to write to you the most sorrowful
news—prepare yourself, my child, for it will greatly shock
you. Yesterday afternoon—I can scarcely guide my pen—
Silborn drove up to his door in a curricle, and insisted
on taking the two little boys, who were just dressed for
a walk, to ride. Sarah must have seen he was greatly
excited—in no state to drive—for the nurse says `she refused
decidedly to let the children go;' whereupon he
snatched them both, and ran out of the house with them to
the carriage. He drove furiously up the street, turned the
corner short, ran afoul a loaded wagon, turned over the
carriage—the boys, our dear little boys, were thrown against
a curb-stone and killed, instantly—both Sarah's little boys—
both, Emma—both! “I promised, when we parted, to resume our long-suspended
correspondence. With what varied emotions of
remorse and gratitude I survey this chasm. O! Emma, how
differently life looks, prospectively or retrospectively. After
it pleased God to restore my reason, I wasted years of responsible
life in helpless misery, and profitless repining. “The rumor you heard (and heard before we did, so complete
is our retirement from the world) is confirmed. Walter
announced his engagement, in his own way, last evening.
`Do you know,' he asked my mother, `whom Augustus
Dawson married?' “My filial duty and my unlimited confidence in both
your justice and generosity would have induced long since
the communication I am about to make, but it was deferred
by the griefs my sister's calamities brought upon you. I
could not then add another bitter drop to your full cup. I
must no longer delay. Six months since—” “I am going into court to-morrow to advocate, for the
first time, a cause of importance, and to secure or lose for
my clients real estate in the upper part of the city, likely to
become of great value. I have explored titles a century
back, when this property was a waste rocky field—now, a
noble avenue bounds it. It was originally purchased by two
gentlemen of the names of Herbert and Copley, and, singular
enough, after various sales and transmissions, the controversy
is now between descendants of the original purchasers,
`Copley versus Herbert.' My clients, the Herberts, are an
elderly gentleman, and two young ladies, who, though somewhat
decayed in fortune, are yet of unquestioned aristocracy.
Their progenitors belonged to the colonial gentry—there is
still a remnant of that Israel. Mr. Herbert—Walter Herbert,
Esq.—I have seen repeatedly. He is a fine old
fellow, tall, still erect, and robust, with thick hair of silver
sable, an eye like an eagle, and a heart of gold. The young
ladies are his nieces; one, a bright particular star, I have
seen once only; but, once seen, she is never to be forgotten. “Miss Alice requests me, you say, to describe my friend
Esterly's wedding. Alas! I have no story to tell; business
intervened, and took me out of town, and thus saved all
parties from my blundering performance of the office of
bridegroom.” “Pardon, my dear Mrs. Clifford, my blotted pages. I
have been raining tears over this detail to you of my brief
meeting with my father. God only knows how I loved him
in life—how I honor him in death! Had I known his condition,
I should have come home six months ago. I shall
forever regret a gain to myself, at the expense of a loss to
him. My step-mother, whose valuable qualities I do full
justice to (when I do not come in contact with her), will
maintain her housekeeping, and take three or four boarders,
and so, `by hook or by crook,' they will live comfortably.
I, by means of my own hard work and God's blessing, will
start the boys in life, and thus acknowledge a debt to my
dear father, which I can never fully pay. Letty is a little
jewel, or rather, she is worth all the jewels in a king's
crown, being more for use than decoration. Her cheerfulness
is obscured just now, of course, for she dearly loved
my father; but her pale cheek is, I think, but the livery of
the country, which strikes me in painful contrast with the
Hebe coloring in England. The dirge-like tone of her voice,
too, is but the national note, not so much the voice of sadness
as of `sickness.' `Every village has its song,' says
Carlisle; I wish ours were a livelier one. “When I think that school-girls' friendships are, for the
most part, mere accidents of propinquity, I rejoice that ours,
like all true matches, was fore-ordained. I began with making
you my pet, I believe you are five years my junior, and
now you are my confidante—partly, because you are true as
steel, and will not betray what I tell you, and partly that
you will not advise me, or chide me; and you are unmarried
—kind to kind, is natural. Perhaps you will divine that I
am trying to silence my conscience that tells me my sister
Eleanor should be my confidante; that a sister—and such a
sister!—is the nearest friend, the friend Heaven bestowed;
and truly Eleanor would be my elect friend from all the
world, but that she is married. She has projected herself
into another self, and, though two make one for themselves,
they make two for the rest of us. “Thank you, my dear friend. Yes, I am getting into the
old track famously. Some of my old clients have welcomed
me cordially; and though I was cruelly knocked down from
those `steeps so hard to climb' of my profession, yet I am in
no wise discouraged. True, my competitors shot ahead of
me, but I shall gain upon them. There is nothing like the
whip and spur of necessity; in our land, the poor workingman
is on vantage-ground, the general sympathy is with
him, and if he be capable, and in earnest, he has plenty of
work to do. I have delivered two Lectures, made up of my
foreign observations, which were well received, and filled my
pockets. I have had many requests to repeat them. I shall
not. A man should not be diverted from his profession by
`fancy work.' I have offers from booksellers and editors
that will profitably fill my leisure hours, if I have them.
Thus, you see, I can answer your inquiry satisfactorily. I
do not `regret the obligations' I have assumed for my step-brothers.
I have economical quarters, and by avoiding
hotel-life, and all superfluous indulgence, I shall compass my
great object—their education; and after that, Yankee boys
can take care of themselves. * * * “He's a trump—take my word for it, Dates.
He lectured at the Mercantile last evening. I went early,
and got a seat directly in front of him. It seemed as if he
could not keep his eyes off from me! The house was
choke-full, and all attention. You might have heard a pin fall.
He was posted up about every thing t'other side, and told us
a lot about Greece and Athens, and Egypt and Thebes.
There were a number of literary characters present, distinguished
authors and authoresses that write in the Magazines.
He got, they say, $400 by this Lecture alone! Don't he
know how to coin money out of talents? He looks like a
different individual—so genteel!—you can't think! “All other interests are superseded just now by the
alarming illness of Eleanor's boy—her only boy. His illness
has come suddenly. But yesterday, he seemed to stand on
the hill-top of life, radiant with the rosy tints of morning,
casting down into many hearts the hopes and promises of a
long, bright day. “Thank you, for the list of scholars—fifteen in your
school! These, with the promised five out of it, will supply
the deficiencies in our income the next year; and thus, if
we make a fortunate disposition of our house, my husband
will be enabled to repair his strength by a year's travel in
Europe, and rest from work. Thank you, too, for your assurance
that I do not interfere with your accomplished musical
professor, as my lower terms, according with my inferior
ability, also accord with my pupils' smaller means. And
thank you, more than all, for your gentle warning, lest, in
my eagerness to afford my husband material aid, I lose sight
of my first duty; that to my children and household. They
are providentially cared for. An elderly cousin of my husband,
Effie Lynn, has just lost her home. We are glad to
give her the shelter of our's. She is a delicately strung,
nervous little body, and will, in a way, increase my cares;
but she will also immensely relieve them, as, being most
kind, faithful, and fond of children, I can tranquilly leave
my girls with her during my working hours. | | Similar Items: | Find |
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