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141Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  The last of the foresters, or, Humors on the border  
 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: On a bright October morning, when the last century was rapidly going down hill, and all old things began to give way to the new, the sun was shining in upon the breakfast room at Apple Orchard with a joyous splendor, which, perhaps, he had never before displayed in tarrying at that domain, or any other. “Since seeing thee, on yester eve, my feelings have greatly changed in intensity, and I fluctuate beneath an emotion of oblivious delight. Alas! we young, weak women, try in vain to obstruct the gurgling of the bosom; for I perceive that even I am not proof against the arrows of the god Diana. My heart has thrilled, my dearest friend, ever since you departed, yester eve, with a devious and intrinsic sensation of voluminous delight. The feelings cannot be concealed, but must be impressed in words; or, as the great Milton says, in his Bucoliks, the o'er-fraught heart would break! Love, my dear Mr. Verty, is contiguons— you cannot be near the beloved object without catching the contagion, and to this fact I distribute that flame which now flickers with intense conflagration in my bosom. Why, cruel member of the other sex! did you evade the privacy of our innocent and nocturnal retreat, turning the salubrious and maiden emotions of my bosom into agonizing delight and repressible tribulation! Could you not practice upon others the wiles of your intrinsic charms, and spare the weak Sallianna, whose only desire was to contemplate the beauties of nature in her calm retreat, where a small property sufficed for all her mundane necessities? Alas! but yester morn I was cheerful and invigorating— with a large criterion of animal spirits, and a bosom which had never sighed responsible to the flattering vows of beaux. But now!—ask me not how I feel, in thinking of the person who has touched my indurate heart. Need I say that the individual in question has only to demand that heart, to have it detailed to him in all its infantile simplicity and diurnal self-reliance? Do not— do not—diffuse it! “Reclining in my apartment this evening, and reflecting upon the pleasing scenes through which we have passed together— alas! never to be renewed, since you are not going to return— those beautiful words of the Swan of Avon occurred to me: `To be or not to be—that is the question; Whether 'tis better in this world to bear The slings and arrows of—' I don't remember the rest; but the whole of this handsome soliloquy expresses my sentiments, and the sincerity with which, “I need not say how sorry I am to part with you. We have seen a great deal of each other, and I trust that our friendship will continue through after life. The next session will be dull without you—I do not mean to flatter—as you go away. You carry with you the sincere friendship and kindest regards of, “You are destined for great things—it is yours to scale the heights of song, and snatch the crown from Ossa's lofty brow. Fulfil your destiny, and make your country happy!” “May your course in life be serene and happy; and may your friends be as numerous and devoted as the flies and mosquitos in the Eastern Range. “You ask me, my dear Ashley, to give you some advice, and write down my good wishes, if I have any in your direction. Of course I have, my dear fellow, and here goes. My advice first, then, is, never to drink more than three bottles of wine at one sitting—this is enough; and six bottles is, therefore, according to the most reliable rules of logic—which I hate—too much. You might do it if you had my head; but you havn't, and there's an end of it. Next, if you want to bet at races, ascertain which horse is the general `favorite,' and as our friend, the ostler, at the Raleigh says—go agin him. Human nature invariably goes wrong; and this a wise man will never forget. Next, if you have the playing mania, never play with anybody but gentlemen. You will thus have the consolation of reflecting that you have been ruined in good company, and, in addition, had your pleasure;—blacklegs ruin a man with a vulgar rapidity which is positively shocking. Next, my dear boy—though this I need'nt tell you—never look at Greek after leaving college, or Moral Philosophy, or Mathematics proper. It interferes with a man's education, which commences when he has recovered from the disadvantages of college. Lastly, my dear fellow, never fall in love with any woman—if you do, you will inevitably repent it. This world would get on quietly without them—as long as it lasted—and I need'nt tell you that the Trojan War, and other interesting events, never would have happened, but for bright, eyes, and sighs, and that sort of thing. If you are obliged to marry, because you have an establishment, write the names of your lady acquaintances on scraps of paper, put them in your hat, and draw one forth at random. This admirable plan saves a great deal of trouble, and you will inevitably get a wife who, in all things, will make you miserable.
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142Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Leather stocking and silk, or, Hunter John Myers and his times  
 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: “You are very foolish Max. Why did you take all the trouble to write that note? Besides, I disapprove of such things. You must not write to my scholars. I know it was a jest, but it was wrong. I saw you in the mirror over the harpsichord, and Josephine gave me the note. I send my boots, as you call them. Why did you not ask for them? Always ask me for what you want. If it is in my power I will refuse you nothing that I can properly grant. You are very welcome to the shoes. “I must leave you, uncle; I ask your pardon for this act, because you have always been most kind to me, much kinder and more affectionate than I deserved, I know. Just now I was angry, my blood was hot and I uttered words which I should not have uttered. Pardon this, too—for my brain is still heated, and my hand trembles with agitation. I am going away, because I feel that I can not remain; not on account of your harsh words which irritated me at the moment; I no longer feel any irritation. It is not on account of those words, but because I should be miserable, a mere walking automaton, if I were to remain longer in the place where my heart has been so cruelly torn—not by any one's fault—no!— by my destiny. “Sir—I write to say that I shall be unavoidably absent from Virginia for a week or more. This explanation of my sudden departure I am called upon to make after what passed yesterday. There was no possibility of mistaking your meaning on that occasion—and I now make you as ample amends for my departure as I am able to do, by accepting your challenge in advance. Permit me to add that I disapprove of mortal combat on trifling grounds, and do not on this occasion consent to the meeting because any person—whether a lady or not—would ridicule me in the event of my refusal. I believe I should have enough of independence to meet the eyes of the whole world and return them their scornful laugh, did I choose to refuse an encounter of this description. No, sir; believe me, young as I am, I should never be moved by such opinion, whether it were the scorn of men, or that more dreadful thing the contemptuous pity of women. I meet you willingly because you have placed yourself in my way, and because I hate you. There is an honest word—if it is not very Christian.
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143Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Out of the foam  
 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 
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144Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Pretty Mrs. Gaston, and other stories  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Sir—I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your communication of to-day on the subject of the late Mr. Cleave's testamentary disposition of his estate, and to express my regret that the discovery of the wishes of the deceased in connection with Miss Bell should have taken place after so long a period of time. As the friend of the late Mr. Cleave, and if you will permit me to add, as the friend of yourself, I would suggest, as your most advisable course under all the circumstances, a prompt compliance with the terms of the instrument referred to. Miss Bell is, I am informed, a young lady of amiable disposition and great personal attractions, and I have no doubt would readily be brought to see the propriety of the arrangement in question. “Amiable Mr. Allan Gartrell: Your unappreciated friend, Mr. John Brown, presents his compliments, and begs to state that not finding a longer stay at your hospitable mansion agreeable to his feelings, he has reluctantly concluded to tear himself away.
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145Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Surry of Eagle's-nest, or, The memoirs of a staff-officer serving in Virginia  
 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: Having returned to “Eagle's-Nest,” and hung up a dingy gray uniform and batered old sabre for the inspection of my descendants, I propose to employ some leisure hours in recording my recollections, and describing, while they are fresh in my memory, a few incidents of the late Revolution. “General:—Hold your ground only ten minutes longer, and the enemy will fall back. I have captured a courier from General Shields. His line is ordered to retire. “General:—The bearer, Major Surry, of my staff, is sent to superintend the burial of my dead in the action yesterday, and look after the wounded. I have the honor to request that he may be permitted to pass your lines for that purpose. He will give any parole you require. “Will you lend me Colonel Surry for three or four days? “Certainly. “For the sake of one who fell at Kelly's Ford, March 17th, '63, an unknown Georgian sends you a simple cluster of young spring flowers. You loved the `gallant Pelham,' and your words of love and sympathy are `immortelles' in the hearts that loved him. I have never met you, I may never meet you, but you have a true friend in me. I know that sad hearts mourn him in Virginia, and a darkened home in Alabama tells the sorrow there. My friendship for him was pure as a sister's love, or a spirit's. I had never heard his voice. “For some time now it has been plain to me that our engagement is distasteful to you, and that you wish to be released from it. Considering the fact that you gave me ample encouragement, and never, until you met with a person whom I need not name, showed any dissatisfaction at the prospect of becoming Mrs. Baskerville, I might be justified in demanding the fulfilment of your engagement. But I do not wish to coerce the action of any young lady, however my feelings may be involved, and I scorn to take advantage of a compact made in good faith by my late father and myself. I therefore release you from your engagement. “I received your note. Thank you, sir! If I could have induced you to write that letter by kneeling before you, I should have knelt to you. “An unknown friend, who takes an interest in you, writes these lines, to put you in possession of facts which it is proper you should be acquainted with. “I have just had a visit from Mrs. Parkins, and she has made some astonishing disclosures, of the deepest importance to you. She declares that you have a son now living, and, before she left me, I succeeded in discovering that you will be able to learn all about him by visiting a Mrs. Bates, near Frederick City, Maryland, who is in some way connected with this mysterious affair. I think that Mrs. Parkins went to Maryland to inquire into this, with the design of obtaining a reward from you—but she has now left Elm Cottage, and I do not know where you will find her.
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146Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  The youth of Jefferson, or, A chronicle of college scrapes at Williamsburg, in Virginia, A.D. 1764  
 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: ON a fine May morning in the year 1764,—that is to say, between the peace at Fontainebleau and the stamp act agitation, which great events have fortunately no connection with the present narrative,—a young man mounted on an elegant horse, and covered from head to foot with lace, velvet, and embroidery, stopped before a small house in the town or city of Williamsburg, the capital of Virginia. “You insulted a lady in my presence yesterday evening, and I demand from you a retraction of all that you uttered. I am not skilled in writing, but you will understand me. The friend who bears this will bring your answer. “For you know you begin `Mr. Hoffland!' as if you said, `Stand and deliver!'—I have read your note, and I am sure I shan't be able to write half as well. I am so young that, unfortunately, I have never had an affair, which is a great pity, for I would then know how to write beautiful long sentences that no one could possibly fail to understand. “Your note is not satisfactory at all. I did not quarrel with your opinion of yourself, and you know it. I was not foolish enough to be angry at your declaring that you wer engaged to some lady already. You spoke of a lady who is my friend, and what you said was insulting. “Stop!—I didn't say I was engaged to any lady: no misunderstanding. “I do not understand your note. You evade my request for an explanation. I think, therefore, that the shortest way will be to end the matter at once. “Oh, Mr. Denis, to shoot me in cold blood! Well, never mind! Of course it's a challenge. But who in the world will be my `friend'? Please advise me. You know Ernest ought not to—decidedly. He likes you, and you seemed to like Miss Lucy, who must be a very sweet girl as she is Ernest's sister. Therefore, as I have no other friend but Ernest, I should think we might arrange the whole affair without troubling him. I have been talking with some people, and they say I have `the choice of weapons'—because you challenged me, you know. I would rather fight with a sword, I think, than be shot, but I think we had better have pistols. I therefore suggest pistols, and I have been reading all about fighting, and can lay down the rules. “Your note is very strange. You ask me to advise you whom to take as your second; and then you lay down rules which I never heard of before. I suppose a gentleman can right his grievances without having to fight first and marry afterwards. What you write is so much like joking, that I do n't know what to make of it. You seem to be very young and inexperienced, sir, and you say you have no friend but Mowbray. “Joking, my dear fellow? Of course I was joking! Did you think I really was in earnest when I said that I was so handsome, and was engaged already, et cetera, and so forth, as one of my friends used to say? I was jesting! For on my sacred word of honor, I am not engaged to any one—and yet I could not marry Lucy. I am wedded already—to my own ideas! I am not my own master—and yet I have no mistress! “I am very glad you were joking, and I am glad you have said so with manly courtesy—though I am at a loss to understand why you wished to `tease' me. But I do n't take offence, and am sure the whole matter was a jest. I hope you will not jest with me any more upon such a subject—I am very hasty; and my experience has told me that most men that fall in duels, are killed for this very jesting. “Your apology is perfectly satisfactory.—But I forgot! I made the apology myself! Well, it's all the same, and I am glad we have n't killed each other—for then, you know, we would have been dead now.
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147Author:  Harte Bret 1836-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  Condensed Novels and Other 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: “My Dear Boy:—I regret to inform you that in all probability you are not my son. Your mother, I am grieved to say, was a highly improper person. Who your father may be, I really cannot say, but perhaps the Honorable Henry Boltrope, Captain R. N., may be able to inform you. Circumstances over which I have no control, have deferred this important disclosure.
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148Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 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.
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149Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 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:
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150Author:  Ferguson Samuel Sir 1810-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Father Tom and the pope, or, A night in the Vatican  
 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: 526EAF. [Page 015]. Head-piece that depicts a royal hunt for the white stag. There are groups of hunting dogs gathered around the cornered stag, with the lead hunter pressing his sword to its neck. There are other hunters gathered in the periphery.
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151Author:  Cozzens Frederic S. (Frederic Swartwout) 1818-1869Requires cookie*
 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.
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152Author:  Cozzens Frederic S. (Frederic Swartwout) 1818-1869Requires cookie*
 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.
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153Author:  Cummins Maria S. (Maria Susanna) 1827-1866Requires cookie*
 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.
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154Author:  Curtis George William 1824-1892Requires cookie*
 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.
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155Author:  Eggleston Edward 1837-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Circuit Rider  
 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: SUBTRACTION is the hardest “ciphering” in the book. Fifty or sixty years off the date at the head of your letter is easy enough to the “organ of number,” but a severe strain on the imagination. It is hard to go back to the good old days your grandmother talks about—that golden age when people were not roasted alive in a sleeping coach, but gently tipped over a toppling cliff by a drunken stage-driver. “Dear Sir—The engagement between us is broken off. It is my fault and not yours.
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156Author:  EDITED BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE.Requires cookie*
 Title:  Liberia ; or, Mr. Peyton's experiments  
 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 Peytons were among the earliest settlers and largest landholders in Virginia. Their plantation stretched along one of the southern branches of James River, called Rock Creek, although, but for the overshadowing of its grander neighbor, it might well have been dignified with the name of river, for there are many celebrated streams that are neither so deep nor broad as that known simply as Rock Creek. “My dear Sir,—A week or two since I wrote you, giving a somewhat detailed statement of my proceedings here and in Paris up to that time; and now I have nothing very special to communicate, except that there is a decidedly increasing interest in England and France in favor of Liberia. By the government and people of both these countries I have been received in the most kind and flattering manner. I mentioned to you that, in consequence of the departure of the prince president for a tour in the south of France just about the time I reached Paris, I had promised to make another visit in the course of a month. Accordingly, I returned on the 15th instant, to be present and witness the entry of the president on the 16th. A brief statement of things passing under my observation, at the request of Rev. R. R. Gurley. Very dear Sir,—Your favor of July 18th came safe to hand; also the file of the “Colonization Herald,” and the religious newspapers, by Judge Benson's hand. I sincerely thank you for all. I am happy, indeed, that the coffee I sent as a token of my good wishes for you, and the good cause, reached you, and found acceptance. I hope soon to be able to send some for your market, but at present it brings us a better price on the coast; however, you did not say what price might be relied upon. I also received the letter and books from Dr. Malcom, and can say that they will prove a blessing to my Sabbath-school, particularly the class on whose account I wrote for them. In it are many men and women of families, some native youths. His books prove to be the very thing. I introduced them last Sabbath, to take up the morning lesson only; read Testaments in the evening. Our new settlement (Cresson) is going ahead; I still think it destined to be the greatest sea-port town on the coast. Dear Sir,—I write to inform you that we are all well, hoping you and family are the same. I never will forget you for the great good in telling me and my father about the land of Liberia. I have got a good home. I would not change it for any under heaven I have tried it twenty-one years. I have borne the heat and burden of the day, and it gets better and better. I was eighteen years old when I came here. I have grown to be a man; in America I never could have been a man—never would get large enough. Would my colored brethren believe this? They keep writing to me to tell them all about the country. Let me tell them a little: Liberia has raised up her bowed-down head, and has taken a stand with some of the greatest nations of the earth. She has struck off the stone that bowed us down in America. I have grown so large that I have had the honor and the pleasure of being a member of the Legislature five or six years. Did you ever hear of such a thing in America? No, no—nor never will. I was in America a few years ago; it was all the time, boy, where are you going? old man, which way? I was really tired; I wanted to be a man again; but never found it until I hit the coast of Africa. I even saw the change in the captain; he talked so familiar to you: “What is the matter, Harris? Harris is going to be a man again.” Sweet Liberia! the love of liberty keeps me here. Dear Sir,—I write you a few lines by the packet, to let you know that I have not forgotten the kindness I received from you and the Colonization Society in preparing me for this land of liberty. I never shall forget the heartfelt thankfulness due to the society for helping me and my family here. We had one of the finest passages any one could have. Plenty to eat; a good captain, and one that was kind to all in sickness and health. All hands were good to us. I have not wanted to return once since I left the United States. I was twelve days at Monrovia. It is a fine town; the people are kind, and doing well. I think this is a much better place for new beginners. I had the African fever; myself and wife both took it on the same day. We had it about fourteen days. The doctor says we are over it, though we are weak; but it is not so had as I expected. Mr. Benson is preparing a house at Cresson for me. It is a fine location for a town —the best one I have seen. I shall be the first one there. I look for more by the September vessel. I shall feel lonely for some time until more arrive. Truly I am better and better pleased with Liberia each morning when I awake and find myself in it. I could not be prevailed on by any earthly consideration to leave Liberia, or exchange it for any other country. Here I am in the land of my forefathers; here I can enjoy all those rights which a benevolent God hath so liberally vouchsafed to man; here I can exercise and improve my gifts and graces in enlightening, instructing, and exhorting the benighted sons of the forest in the truths of the Christian religion; here I can bow down in the sanctuary of the Most High, or at home, and unmolestedly worship the God of my fathers under my own vine and fig-tree, while none dareth to molest or make me afraid, here my children to their latest generation can enjoy the privileges of freemen in storing their minds with education and useful knowledge, and participating in the duties, &c., of civil government; and here I have as many political, social, and religious rights as any man any where beneath Heaven's widespread canopy. And should not these considerations endear this my own country to me? I say, from the bottom of my soul, with gratitude to my good God for what I enjoy—yes. With respect to this country, my expectations are more than realized. I have found that the opinion I formed of Liberia while in America was very nearly correct. This country is certainly a most beautiful one, and the climate delightful. I have often thought, since my arrival here, how the better class of colored people, or at least a portion of them, would flock to Liberia if they knew the real condition of the country and people. I always thought that it was their ignorance of the country that caused their opposition to it, but now I am convinced of that fact. With regard to the United States having claims on Liberia, I would ask if England, France, Prussia, and Brazil would acknowledge her independence if the United States had any rights to or claim on the country? England has made this government a present of an armed schooner, and has a consul residing here. Brazil has also a minister residing here, but of a higher grade than consul; he is chargé d'affaires. The facts are, I think, sufficient to convince any reasonable person that Liberia is really an independent republic, and that the United States has no claim to this country. There is a kind of blind prejudice which keeps most colored people from coming to this country, and for the life of me it is difficult to conceive why this prejudice exists; for in the United States we are exposed to all kinds of insults from the whites, which, in nearly every case, we dare not resent; whereas, in this country we are all equal, and can enjoy the shade of our own vine and fig-tree, without even the fear of molestation. In the United States we are considered the lowest of the low, for the most contemptible white man is better in the eyes of the law, and in the opinion of the majority of the whites, than the best colored man; whereas, on the other hand, in this country there are no distinctions of color; no man's complexion is ever mentioned as a reproach to him; and furthermore, every one has an equal chance and right of filling any office in the government that they may be qualified to fill. Liberia ought to be the most interesting country (to the colored people of the United States) in the world, from the fact that it is the only republic entirely composed of and governed by the colored people, and it is the only country where a colored man can enjoy liberty, equality, and fraternity, without having to encounter the prejudice of the whites, which exists more or less, in some degree, in every country in which the whites predominate. If this prejudice ever dies away, I believe that many generations yet unborn will have passed away before it. Although this country offers many inducements to colored people, yet it is not a paradise; it has a few unpleasant features, owing principally to its being a new country. The most unpleasant feature that I know is the acclimating fever, and that is far from being as bad as most people in the United States think it is. On account of the improvements made, such as clearing, &c., it is much more healthy here than formerly; and also, the kind of treatment best adapted to the acclimating fever is better known. The acclimating fever is nothing more than a simple chill and fever, and persons are affected with it according to the degree of care they take of themselves, and also much depends on the constitution of the person. Some persons have told me that they were sick only one day, and that slightly; while others (I speak of old settlers) had it one week, and some have had it from six months to a year or more. A person is seldom sick more than from one day to three weeks at one time. I have been in the country a little more than three months; and have had several attacks of the fever. The longest time I was confined to bed was one day and a half. The symptoms in my case were a slight chill, followed by a very high fever. I felt no pain whatever during the continuance of the fever, but always after it I would have a slight pain in the back, which soon wore off. I would sometimes be sick in the morning and well in the afternoon. I once had the fever in the forenoon, and was well enough by night to attend a tea party. I am told that all children born here, even the natives not excepted, have the fever while very young. This I have been told by mothers, and I have seen children with the fever who were born here. The general health of the place seems to be very good. A person coming here will not find large cities with splendid buildings, and large bustling populations; but we have only small villages with corresponding populations; you will not hear the sound of numerous carts, drays, &c., but all the carrying is done by native laborers, for the people have not yet begun to use horses and oxen for such purposes. Both may be had from the interior. Bullocks are brought down from the interior, but only to kill. There are at present only three horses in Monrovia; they are used only for riding. I have ridden several times myself. The buildings are generally quite plain, built of wood, stone, or brick. There are, however, some very neat brick buildings in Monrovia, and along the banks of the St. Paul's River. I made an excursion up this river a few weeks ago, and never did I enjoy a trip more than I did this one. The waters of the St. Paul's are delicious to the taste. The river is about half a mile wide; its banks are from about ten to about fifteen feet high, and lined with fine large trees with a thick undergrowth. Among the other trees may be seen the bamboo, and that most graceful of all trees, the palm. This is the most useful tree in Liberia. I have drank the wine made from this tree, and have swung on hammocks manufactured from it, and I have seen very good fishing-lines made from it; besides, numerous other uses are made of this tree. There are four villages on this river: Virginia, Caldwell, Kentucky, and Millsburgh. I saw in many places people making bricks, and busily engaged on their farms of coffee, sugar-cane, &c. I must now come to a close, as I have but little more space to write. I will remark that I advise no man to come here unless he has a little money to begin with. A single man should have at least one or two hundred dollars; although many come here without a cent, and yet do well; but it is generally difficult to get a start in this country without a little means. For my own part, you may infer from what I have said that I like my new home. Dear Sir,—I embrace this opportunity to address you a line. I am still doing what I can to demonstrate that Liberia is a rich and productive country. My crops of cane in 1850 produced 8000 lbs. of good sugar, and 500 gallons of sirup. My crop last year (1851) was not so large—only about 3500 lbs. of sugar, and 250 gallons of sirup. This falling off was in consequence of having to neglect my sugar-cane farm to give attention to J. R. Straw's cotton farm. I sell my sugar at 8 and 10 cents a pounds, which is quite a saving to the people of Liberia This year I am giving my whole attention to cane-raising, and I have a crop now in the ground which will produce a much larger quantity of sugar and sirup, and beat, possibly, both my preceding crops together. A few days ago, I, with one or two others, noticed, in many hills of cane on my farm, from forty-nine to sixty stalks. This can not easily be surpassed, I am persuaded, in any country. I am certainly fully convinced that by industry a man may have all the necessaries of life, and a surfeit of the luxuries, in this very prolific and God-blessed country. I have the privilege, doubtless, of saying what no other person can say in Liberia—certainly before any other could say it, if there is any other who can say it now —that is, I use at my table coffee, sugar, sirup, and molasses of my own raising. I have now about twenty-five hundred coffee-trees, which will very soon enable me to export a small quantity to America. Dear Mr. Rambo, I wish very much to see you. How glad and happy I should be when I meet you, and Doctor May, and Mr. Hoffman; and then—then my heart will talk to my mouth, and my tongue will speak all what I have done or seen. Reverend and Dear Sir,—In the following lines, which I have taken on myself to address you, I hope to find you in the enjoyment of good health, the same as we are at present. Our mission still continues, with its different operations, in which we are severally engaged, endeavoring daily to instruct the poor, benighted heathen. Not long ago we received a letter of instruction from our Board, that the lead of the mission affairs is now considered to be under the superintendence of my native brother and cousin, Lewis K. Crocker, at Little Bassa, and myself; which serious charge to keep we humbly depend on God to help us. Our schools are still kept daily, this, and that of Little Bassa, where brother Crocker resides. Our children are improving well in their acquisitions of the different branches of knowledge, such as spelling hard words, reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, natural philosophy, &c. I am glad to state that the grown people of this country, though they have not the privilege of improving themselves by daily instruction, like the children, yet many of them are getting civilized, getting acquainted with the law, political economy, and secular improvement; forgetting their old habits, and adopting those of their civilized fellow-creatures. Brethren and Fellow-countrymen,—You are aware that I was appointed traveling agent to Africa on the 23d of last December, 1851, by the New York and Liberia Agricultural Association. I returned to New York on the 12th November, 1852, and it now becomes my duty to give you some account of Africa, and of the benefits to be obtained by emigration to that country, and whether there are any benefits to be obtained by so doing, or not. I will endeavor to give you as true a statement as my humble ability will admit. In truth and soberness, it would be needless for me to tell you that Africa flows with milk and honey, or that corn grows without planting. Liberia truly is a garden-spot; her lands are beautiful, her soil is most fertile, her prairies and her forests are blooming and gay, her rivers and streams abound with fish, and her forests with game. Her Constitution is a republican government, and a most excellent code of laws are strictly observed. There are several churches and schools in Monrovia, and they are well filled with people and scholars. The Monrovians are the most strictly moral, if not the most strictly religious people, I ever saw. Dear Sir,—I am well, and hope you are the same. I arrived safe after a passage of thirty-seven days from the Capes. I am happy to inform you that instead of being received in Baltimore in chains, as I was told I would be, I was received very hospitably. I am certainly grateful to the society for sending me to Africa. I am perfectly satisfied with the change, only that I had not started in 1842 instead of 1852. Here I stand erect and free, upon the soil of my ancestors, and can truly say to all of my race, you that would be free, Africa is your home, and the only home where he that is tinctured with African blood can enjoy liberty. This alone of him that loves liberty, for it is liberty alone that makes life dear. He does not live at all who lives to fear. Please say to any that may come to your office, that I say, come to Africa and assist us in raising a light that may never go out. Enterprise is what we want to make this country and people equal with any on the face of the globe. Should any of the people of Camden county, New Jersey, come to you for information, show them this letter—tell them that I say there is land enough and provision enough, by industry, for every enterprising colored man in the United States. I find in Edina a fine soil, that will raise any thing that a tropical country will produce. A fine, healthy-looking people, that are kind and benevolent—who receive the emigrants with the greatest kindness, and welcome them to the land of liberty. Most respected Sir,—Liberia is destined to be the glory, the home, and the resting-place for all the dark race. Then let them come home, and rove abroad no longer, and that the chains of all who will or could come and will not may be made tenfold faster, because here they can come and be free. I mean my brethren of color. There has been no disturbance with the republic by the natives. Dear Friend,—Through a kind Providence we landed here on the 6th instant, in forty days from Baltimore. All well. I went ashore and met for the first time in my life on the same platform with all men, and the finest people in the world. I never met with more kindness in my life, and every attention is paid to visitors. On Sabbath day there were seven flags flying in the harbor. I attended the Methodist Sabbath-school, and found it interesting; was invited to address it, and made some remarks. There were seventy-five scholars in the school. I have been up the St. Paul's River. It is the finest country in the world. Mr. Blackledge's sugar farm is splendid. Dined with Mr. Russel, Senator of New Virginia, and think his land somewhat better than some of the rest. The river is sixty feet deep. Every thing is getting along well, and all that is wanted are industrious men and good mechanics. I would say to my friends, that every thing that I have seen surpasses my expectations. Should I be spared to return, you shall see some articles that I intend bringing with me. I wish you would try to make some arrangement with the society to let me off with a free passage home, as I want to labor for the cause, and my means will be far run by the time I get to Philadelphia. Brother Williams intends doing all he can for the cause. We intend to go into the coffee business. Our object is to get five hundred acres of land in one plot, and have it settled by none but respectable people from Pennsylvania; and I think that if you could send some from Philadelphia it would have a good effect. Dear Sir,—I avail myself of the present opportunity to address you a line or two, hoping they may find you as well as they leave me. I had laid off to write to you before this, but I have not done so; however, I hope you will take the will for the deed. I have now been a resident of Liberia for upward of two years, and I think I can now safely express my opinion as regards the advantages to be gained by locating here. Unquestionably this is the place, and these are the shores which are to contain the multitudes which have for ages been laboring under the greatest disadvantages, and who have been allured into the belief that they will not be placed under the inconvenience of removing; but the time has come which proves to a demonstration, more and more, that this is a forlorn hope. Doubtless there are many who a few years ago spurned the thought of leaving, who now turn their eyes in solicitude to various parts for relief, but there is no quarter which presents equal attractions with that presented by Liberia, and they know it; and although they may be men of penetration, who foresee that something must be done, and these may be men of influence, who will exert this influence in a contrary direction, yet I believe the masses will speak for themselves, and such a mighty flood will be poured upon these shores as has not been witnessed since the world began. I have not written any on this subject, but I watched with increasing interest the “signs of the times,” as exhibited in the United States, and I am convinced that my impressions are not erroneous. There are many false representations made to deter persons who are anywise inclined to emigrate to this country, but I feel confident that those who use this means to oppose us had better begin to think of some other method, for they will ultimately be exposed in the midst of their base attempts. Truth will eventually triumph over falsehood. Gentlemen,—I promised to let you hear from me when in Liberia, Africa, but although I have been here two months, I can not at this time give you much account of the place. This little republic is so far ahead of what I expected to find it, that your good people of the United States would scarcely think I were narrating truth were I to describe all that I have seen. Liberia is a fine, fertile country. Things of every kind grow here. The people are more comfortable in every respect, and enjoy themselves much better than I have ever known them to do elsewhere. The houses are very large, and are built mostly of brick and stone; they are two stories and two stories and a half high; from 30 to 50 feet front, and from 25 to 40 feet deep. The steps to these houses are composed of iron ore—a substance on which the city is built. Iron ore is as plentiful in Monrovia as common stone is in Williamsburgh. Very dear Sir,—Fishtown was reoccupied on the 11th of October, and the settlement is progressing rapidly—far in advance of what it was before the massacre. The immigrants by the Zeno, Morgan Dix, Liberia Packet, and Ralph Cross, enjoy much better health down there than they did up at this place, and even the old settlers moving there have derived much benefit. It has already commenced attracting settlers from other settlements in this county, and I am sanguine that in one or two years it will be in advance of the other settlements of this county. Physicians pronounce it a good place for emigrants to pass through their acclimation, and I know it to be an excellent place for them to to do well after acclimation. Sharp, Till, and Taylor, by the Ralph Cross, from New Jersey, are doing pretty well for beginners. They seem to be fine, industrious people, especially the two former. They occupy three of the houses I built on the banks of the St. John's River, opposite Factory Island, by direction of your Board, and their produce is growing around them finely. They would have settled at Fishtown had it been occupied sooner. My dear Sir,—In your letter you expressed a desire to know my first impressions of Liberia and Liberian society. On my arrival at Monrovia, Mr. James very kindly invited us to spend the day at his house, which invitation we accepted. While on shore, I became acquainted with quite a number of intelligent ladies and gentlemen. The society at Monrovia I think similar to that of Philadelphia, while that at Bassa Cove and Edina I think less favorably of. I am now living at Mount Vaughan, about two and a half miles from Cape Palmas, at which place I am employed as an assistant teacher in the high school belonging to the Protestant Episcopal Mission, for which I receive three hundred dollars. The society at Palmas, when we compare the number, is equal to that of Monrovia in point of intelligence. This colony is in quite a flourishing condition. There are in Palmas seven yoke of oxen, well broken, and work quite steadily. We get the bullocks from the natives, at eight dollars a piece. I have drawn my farm land, and planted five hundred coffee-trees, twelve pounds of ginger, and a thousand cassada sticks, besides arrow-root, pea-nuts, and fruit trees. We have an abundance of fresh vegetables, egg-plants, tomatoes, and fine large cabbage. Plenty of venison, fresh fish, and oysters. We are on the eve of declaring our independence. The spirit with which the people take hold of the subject would do credit to 1776. There will be a Convention held next week, to prepare a Constitution for our new state. Dear Sir,—I received your letter in answer to mine, and was very glad to hear from you; also to receive those papers you sent me. My health and that of my family is tolerable. At present we are perfectly satisfied, and glad we came here. The society did a good part by us. I have a house and ten acres of good land; all but three acres in cultivation. I do not find it so warm here as I had been told or as I expected. I have tried both seasons. Tell the colored people they need not be afraid to come, but they must be industrious, or they had better stay where they are. I would not change homes now if they would give me five hundred dollars and free toleration. Every man can vote. I visited the courts, where I saw colored men judges, grand and petit jurymen, squires, constables, &c. Business is carried on as correctly as in the United States. Dear Sir,—You wish that I would give some statement of things in general, and in particular of the growth of cotton, rice, &c. Our answer is this: this is emphatically a tropical region, as all geographers will tell you. You have only to put your seed into the ground, and with half the labor you have to perform in the states you here may make a comfortable living. Cotton and rice grow here as well as in your Southern States. It is true, a fair trial was never made for the culture of that valuable staple (cotton), enough to prove that it can be raised in great quantity. Rice is indigenous to this country: it will grow almost any where you may plant it, on high or low land. We have coffee, potatoes, ginger, arrow-root, and pepper. There has not been much pains taken with the planting of corn; enough has been done, however, to satisfy one that it can be made, for I have eaten as much as I wanted in proof of it. Gentlemen,—Since I have been here I have done very well, better than I expected. I have bought five hundred dollars worth of goods and paid for them. I have bought ten bullocks. I have on hand one hundred bushels of rice. I paid in trade about forty cents. If I keep which I shall do three months longer, I can get $1 50 per bushel for it. I also have on hand six tons of cam-wood. I want to increase it to ten tons by next month, and shall ship it to England by the steamer on the 7th, and remit the money to New York by a bill of exchange, so as to have more funds here in the vessel which I understood will sail from New York with our emigrants in the spring. I had only eight hundred dollars worth of goods when I started from New York. I have on my shelves one thousand dollars worth now. Notwithstanding, I shall send one thousand dollars to New York after more goods. I also have fifty pounds of ivory, worth here one dollar per pound. I write this to show you what can be done here with a very little money. If a man has half what I had he would soon get rich, if he conducted himself aright; if a man has nothing, and came out under our Association, having a house and lands cleared, he would soon rise, if he has any spirit; therefore, come one, come all to the sunny climes of Africa. Sir,—As I look upon you as being an old friend of mine, I take pleasure in addressing you a few lines to let you know something about how we are getting along in Liberia, believing you to be a true friend to Liberia, and to the colored race. Mr. Williams, a free colored man of Pennsylvania, intelligent, respectable, and rich for one of his class, was sent about a year since to Liberia, by an association of his people in this state, who desired to learn the prospects that country held out for the emigrants. The following is an extract from his report:
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157Author:  Hale Sarah Josepha Buell 1788-1879Requires cookie*
 Title:  Northwood; or, Life north and south  
 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: Sidney Romilly, the eldest of a numerous family, was a native of New Hampshire. The local situation of the little village in which he was born, offered few temptations to the speculator, and the soil promised no indulgence to the idle; but it abundantly repaid the industrious cultivator. It was therefore inhabited, almost exclusively, by husbandmen, who tilled their own farms with their own hands, laboring actively six days in the week, and on the seventh, offering, to that Being who alone could crown their labors with success, the unfeigned homage of contented minds and grateful hearts. My Dearest Mother,—I now take my pen to inform you I am well, and hope this letter will find you enjoying the same blessing. We had a very uncomfortable journey, jolting along over the rough roads, up hill and down; but we reached the end of it in safety, which I take to be a special interposition of Providence, considering the great length of the way, and my being totally unused to traveling. Mr. Brainard has a fine house, the prettiest I have seen in Charleston; and I like the house well, and I should like the place very well if it were not for the black people—niggers they call 'em here. Oh! dear mother, you know how frightened I always was at a negro—how I used to run behind your chair when old Sampson came to the door, and always screamed when he offered to step in. But, mercy! here the negroes are as thick as bees; the streets are full of 'em. I am sure I did not imagine there were so many in the universe. When our carriage drove up to the gate, out bolted a great black fellow, and Mr. Brainard shook hands with him, and was as glad to see him as could be; but I trembled all over, for I began to remember the stories I had read of slaves murdering their masters and mistresses, and many such bloody things. I guess Mr. Brainard saw I was pale, for he told me not to be frightened at Tom, who was one of the best creatures living. But when we entered the hall, there stood a row of blacks, laughing till their mouths were stretched from ear to ear, to welcome us. They all crowded round my husband, and I was so frightened, thinking some of them might have knives in their hands to kill us, that I could not help shrieking as loud as I could; and the slaves ran away, and Mr. Brainard looked angry, and I hardly know what happened next, for I believe I fainted. I am sure if I had only known this was a negro country, I never would have come here. They have a great many parties and balls here. I don't go to the balls, for I never learned to dance, and I think they are sinful; but I go to all the parties, and dress just as rich and fine as I please. I have a new head-dress, the prettiest thing my eyes ever beheld; I wish you could see it. My husband buys me every thing I ask for, and if I did not eternally see them black people about me, I should be quite happy. Every single day I am urging Mr. Brainard to send them off. 2 He always tells me it is impossible, and would be cruelty to them, as they are contented and happy, and have no other home or country where they could be received. But I intend to tease him till he does. I don't care where the creatures go to, nor much what becomes of them, if they can only be out of my sight. Pray give my love to Betty Baily, and tell her I wish she would come and live with me, and then I should want no other help. I often tell my husband I could do my work alone, but he laughs, and says, “What a ridiculous thing it would be to see you in the kitchen.” And besides, he says, no white person will live long if they attempt to labor in this warm climate. What to do, I know not, but I am determined to get the black creatures away. My Dearest Mother—I received your kind letter of February first, and I should have answered it immediately, but I have had a world of trouble of late. I do not know how to tell you what I have discovered; but yet I must, that you may pray for me, that my faith may be strengthened, and that I may be kept from temptation. I have often heard you say, the children of professors were especially protected by divine grace; and I am sure I need such protection—for, don't you think Mr. Brainard is a pope, or a papist, I forget which they call 'em, and he goes to a chapel and calls it a meeting, when it is no more like our meetings than it is like a ball. I have been twice, but I am determined to go no more, and I say everything I can against it, for it is so different from our christian worship I am sure it must be wrong. I am sure you will be very much shocked to hear of this, and I was when I discovered it; and I have a thousand times wished myself in New England. But don't say a word about it—you know who I would not have hear of it for all the world. Your letter was the first consolation I have received since we parted. You have not then forgotten me; you will not then forget me, though my father has treated you so angrily. But he is my father, and has always been so kind, I must bear with his severity now without murmuring. He says I am too young and inexperienced to know what will most conduce to my own happiness; but I know my own heart, and feel that my affections can never be altered or divided. By your letter I perceive you judge it best to accept the proposal of Mr. Lee, and perhaps it is so. O! these cruel prejudices of my father, that make such a sacrifice necessary. Why should riches be thought so indispensable to happiness? I would rather live in poverty all my life, than have you exposed to the dangers of the seas to acquire wealth. Yet, if you think it best to accept your friend's offer, I will not urge your stay; only do not let time or distance blot Zemira from your memory or your heart. You need not bid me be faithful: I cannot be otherwise, for the idea of you is blended with every thought, every sentiment, and lesson you have taught me. And when I read over those passages in my books your pencil marked, I almost fancy I can hear your voice. I shall read them constantly during your absence; but what will remind you of My Dear Romilly,—When I tell you we reached home in safety, and are now enjoying excellent health, you will know that I, at least, am happy. But it is that kind of happiness which makes no figure in description. It is the quiet consciousness of peace, the calm security of reciprocated affection, in short, the `sober certainty of waking bliss.' And for much of this felicity we must thank you; certainly for the final reconciliation, without which Zemira's mind never would have been at rest. And how shall we requite your disinterestedness?—your heroism? We pray daily that God would bless you, and assuredly He will, if to obey His command and do as you would be done by is holy in His sight. Property you do not want; yet, I will acknowledge my selfishness, I have sometimes wished you did, that we might show how highly we rate the favors you have conferred. But gold cannot gain friendship, nor can it requite the sacrifices you made for me. I will tell you how I propose to reward you—even by furnishing you with wise precepts for the better guidance of your sublunary course. You, I presume, will allow that those who have done us the most essential and generous services, are always most willing to pardon our officiousness. The inference is obvious. I feel secure of your favor although I should harass you with my old saws by way of advice. My Dear Stuart—I have made a new acquaintance, and one from which I promise myself much pleasure; yet for fear you should call me romantic, I will describe the man and relate the accident which introduced him, and then I think you will allow there is a necessity—I hope not a fatal one—for the present intercourse. “Friend Stuart,—Frankford certainly has, as you intimated, his prejudices against America; still he is a reasonable man, and although admitting conviction slowly and only on the most irrefragable proofs, yet I think he is becoming not only tolerant but liberal in his estimation of our character and customs. Neither is it strange that the aristocratical spirit of the old world should be alarmed and revolt at the democratical influence which the new is so rapidly obtaining. We cannot expect those who pride themselves on an ancestry, whose pure blood has flowed through proud veins for many hundred years, will forget at once this fancied superiority, and look on what they call our plebeian origin, without feelings of contempt. “My ever Dear Nephew:—The sickness that oppresses me, and which is hurrying me to the grave, is on my heart. I am sick of the follies and vices of the world; I am miserable when reflecting on my own. I have longed and pined to write and confide to you all my troubles and griefs; but I could not persuade myself to damp the pleasures I hoped you were enjoying with your friends. My Dear Mr. Romilly:—Your uncle is no more; and his earnest request, must be my apology for addressing you, and detailing some of the unfortunate circumstances which have occurred to him since you left the city. It is an unpleasant office, and one I would gladly have been excused from performing; but I could not refuse Mr. Brainard, and I trust your good sense will not confound the narrator of evil tidings with the unpleasant intelligence he must communicate. My ever Dear Friend,—It is but a short time since I despatched you a packet so voluminous that it might undoubtedly claim the respectable name of folio, and I then promised I would not again intrude under, at least, a quarter; but I must write, for there are feelings impossible to be restrained when we are blessed with a friend to whom they may be communicated. “My dear Miss Redington,—I hardly dare write what necessity compels me; and yet I know, in my situation, sincerity is the most atoning virtue I can practice. Let me then spare all circumlocution, and briefly state that our connexion must, from this time be at an end. Circumstances which I cannot explain make it impossible I should ever visit New England again, or not till a distant period. I lament I ever saw you; I lament our engagement. But these reflections are now too late. Write not—forget me—or think me unworthy your affection. May heaven bless you. Farewell! My Dear Romilly,—This is the third letter I have written you since the misfortunes and decease of Mr. Brainard, your excellent uncle. To the two others I have received no answer: had they reached your hand you could not have neglected me, so I flatter myself; and I must believe they miscarried. To obviate all possibility of a like fate befalling this, I have engaged Mr. Tracy, who is on a tour to Boston, a friend of mine, and one well entitled to your confidence, to take a trip to New Hampshire and deliver it into your hands. Mr. Romilly,—Sir, we have traced Cox to New Orleans, and recovered the money. It is all safe in my hands, waiting the disposal you shall order. I hope it will be convenient for you to come here immediately; indeed, it is absolutely necessary if you intend to redeem the estate of your late uncle. Dunbar was a good man, but he has transferred the property to another; subject, however, to the articles of redemption he entered into with your uncle. “Sir—I have received your letter, and am glad of your good fortune; but I think it my duty to inform you our correspondence must be at an end. I know you will want me to reside at the South; but to go there and be a partaker in the sin of slavery is what I will not do. You can doubtless find, in Charleston, some fair lady more worthy your love, and more congenial to your manner of life than my education and principles would permit me to be. You need not write, for my resolution is taken.
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158Author:  Halpine Charles G. (Charles Graham) 1829-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  Baked meats of the funeral  
 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: [January 1st, 1860.] My Dear Brady—Yours of the 16th, covering an invitation of the New York National Club, to pay honor to Generals Sherman and Thomas, has come to hand; but I cannot be with you, though the movement has all my sympathies. We had great difficulty in finding the right kind of tools at first; but they are now being discovered by experience: and in Sherman and Thomas, as you say, we have two of the keenest edge and finest mettle. Even had I time, why should I attend your festival? Things are all going well to-day; and it is only when disaster happens that the Secretary of War is asked after or remembered by an indignant public. THE SECESH THINK IF GRANT REMAINS IN POWER THEY ARE GONE. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of a communication from the Adjutant-General of the Army, dated June 13, 1862, requesting me to furnish you with the information necessary to answer certain Resolutions introduced in the House of Representatives, June 9, 1862, on motion of the Hon. Mr. Wickliffe of Kentucky— their substance being to inquire: “Sir:—While recently in command of the Department of the South, in accordance with the laws of war and the dictates of common sense, I organized and caused to be drilled, armed, and equipped a regiment of enfranchised bondmen, known as the 1st South Carolina Volunteers. “BIG THINGS AROUND—HUSH! HUSH!” “I am sorry to see such a disposition to condemn a brave old soldier, as General Hunter is known to be, without a hearing.
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159Author:  Harris George Washington 1814-1869Requires cookie*
 Title:  Sut Lovingood  
 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: “Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath.” “He's a fixin fur the heavings.” “He's a spreadin his tail feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready tu go up'ards.” “Wo, Shavetail.” “Git a fiddil; he's tryin a jig.” “Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove co'm didn't yu?” “Taint co'n, hits redpepper.” I mayn't git the chance tu talk eny tu yu, so when Wat gits home, an' axes enything 'bout the comb an' calliker, yu tell him yer mam foun the bundil in the road. She'll back yu up in that ar statemint, ontil thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu kill snap-beans.
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160Author:  Harte Bret 1836-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mliss  
 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: Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentler undulations, and the river grows less rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red mountain stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from the red road at sunset, in the red light and the red dust its white houses look like the outcroppings of quartz on the mountain-side. The red stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent, turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, and vanishing altogether within a hundred yards of the town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist in the road that the advent of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from the vehicle at the stage office the too-confident traveler is apt to walk straight out of town under the impression that it lies in quite another direction. It is related that one of the tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of these self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag, umbrella, New York Mercury, and other evidences of civilization and refinement, plodding along over the road he had just ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's Pocket. “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 tocacco-box) to Sally Flanders. But don't you give anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dair to. Do you know what my oppinion of her, it is this, she is perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present from yours respectfully, “Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county seat. Our case is won. We leave here next week. “Dear Papa:—Please tell Mr. Gray that his protege is safe. Mr. Gray:—If you care a damn for Mliss, come and take care of her. The devil has got her, and his name is Wade. Dear Lissy:—Trust the hearer of this as you would the writer. We long for your return. Your suit is won. I would write more, but I do not know whose hands this letter may fall into. Regina sends her love. Your waiting friend, Dear Sister:—Just got a letter from Mr. Gray, telling me that I am wanted at home. Been wanting to come home for two months, but don't see just how to get away. Truth is, little Clytie is the prettest girl in Smith's Pocket, and I got a little sweet on her. Couldn't help it. That's the kind of fellow I am. Now, if you'll write to Clytie, and invite her to spend a few months with you, it'll be all right. Big brother'll go along to make sure it's all right. If you don't I'm afraid there'll be a row, and the boys up here are all crack shots Your erring brother,
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