| | 221 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Fanny, or, The hunchback and the roué  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The Charles river flows through many a sweet vale in its
inland meanderings; mirrors upon its bosom many a dark hill of
wood and rock; conveys beauty and grace to many a fair scene of
upland and lowland; and flows calmly and brightly past many a
peaceful cot and pleasant village! But the vale of Rose Mead is
the fairest of all its vallies; its banks and wooded heights the
most beautiful, which it mirrors upon its bosom; the fairest of all
others are its scenes of upland and lowland; more peaceful the
cottage-homes which share its grace and beauty; and, lovelier
than all the pleasant villages past which it flows in calmness and
brightness, is that of Hillside. I have at last seen the ideal of all that my most glowing fancy
has pictured, woman! I have within the half hour, beheld the realization
of all the beautiful creations of my imagination, when I
have loved to conceive in my thoughts, the beautiful, the true and
the good in one! Such a face as has ever appeared in my happiest
dreams of boyhood, when forms of love and beauty would float
around me; and when I heard her speak the tones were familiar,
like the voices of the beautiful ones who have spoken to me in my
hours of fancy! But you are full of curiosity to know who I have
seen! That I cannot tell, for her history is a mystery. She is an
orphan. I saw her in the yard of the Inn in this village, as I alighted
from my horse! Her beauty and grace, had an effect upon me
that was irresistible! You well know, dear, good mother, that I am
not susceptible, and that few females have drawn from me expressions
of admiration! you know I am not easily impressable by
mere female loveliness.' She was conveying a burden, all too
weighty for her strength, and I tendered my assistance, which she
thanked me for with a sweet, yet timid, gratitude that went to my
heart. Her mistress, the hostess, observed the act and my sympathy,
and poured upon me a torrent of invectives, saying the cruel task
was imposed upon the maiden by her orders! She was a virago,
and I saw was a tyrant. My heart bled for the young girl; and
of one near by I inquired her history. He told me that her parents
had arrived from England during the cholera season, and had died
in the village; when the landlord of the Inn, now dead, had adopted
her; but that since his decease the widow had made a servant
of her. He said the parents were evidently very genteel people,
but that no one knew their names, and that the child only went by
that of `Fanny.' I have met her—spoken with her, and—but I will not anticipate.
I must forestal your opinion, at the first, that `she could not be a
discreet maiden to meet a stranger.' She got my note, but did not
meet me in consequence of it. So rigidly is she kept at labor that
she had no opportunity to learn its contents till the moon rose,
when she stole out by her mother's grave, to open it by moonlight.
I saw her graceful figure kneeling by the grave-side, for I had been
lingering near, with hope, and approached near enough to hear her
soliloquize upon the contents of my note. I heard her say, `no,
no, I may not meet him—kind, generous as he seems to be. No—
I cannot accede to his request!' I drew nearer, and she recognized
me, and would have fled. But I detained her with gentle
and eloquent appeal. She grew trusting and remained to listen to
me. I urged her to fly her bondage, and offered her, dear mother,
your protection. But she was firm—but finally promised, if some
evil which she did not name, but which she dreaded would come
upon her, should befal her, she would then avail herself of my
proffer of your roof, if you came for her; and this you must do.—
What propriety in all her conduct! But if I was charmed with her
sweet, maidenly modesty, I was enchanted with the character of
her lovely and natural mind. I wish you could have heard her
speak her thoughts. Her language is pure and singularly expressive
of every shade of feeling. She is an extraordinary character,
and I wish you to see and know her. The study—a brief but sweet
lesson it was—of her mind to-night, has opened to me a new world
of beauty. She is as pure and guileless as a child of seven—yet
she is seventeen or eighteen. She soon grew more confiding, and
opened her soul's treasures to me. What a mine of unworked
gold lay in the foundation of her being. She is a very gentle and
single spirit. She talked in a strange, sweet, low voice, like one
musing aloud, and I listened breathless, as to pure and spiritual
communication. Her words recalled the thoughts and hopes of
my early years, and such as I love to indulge when in my better
hours. I thought then, as I listened, 'tis for such thoughts as
these, alone, we exist. How wide the contrast of their singleness
with the double-minded wordiness of the cautious and courteous
world. She is a wild, beautiful, gentle creature; for these opposite
terms just suit her. She is heart-aspiring, and loves to soar
into the new and the unrealized. She is full of fanciful memories,
and discourses sweetly and gravely of what she calls her `Fanciful
Life.' You should listen to her to know her. Blessings on her
generous and confiding heart; blessings on her delightful fancy,
which creates only to love. Let her trust in them to the end, and
without end, whilst they are so pure and hallowing. I have heard
that gigantic thinker, R. Waldo Emerson, say, `nothing is so natural
as the supernatural.' The body stands in the soul's light, and
casts a shadow upon it, and the world of minds is in twilight kept
out of its best powers and possessions. This pure, artless girl has
it always sunshine at her heart. One pure spirit broods over all
her thoughts. Her existence seems divine in human. She lives
in an ideal world of ever changing beauty, and every word she utters
enriches the soul of the listener. But most I value her for is
the loveliness of her piety. There is a holy and perpetual Sabbath
at her heart which is the house of peace. You will say, my dear
mother, that such a person may be a shrine fit, perhaps, to receive
the votaries of worshippers of the ideal and the beautiful, but not
a suitable friend and companion for common life. But this peace
and heart-spirituality is consistent with the most useful activity.—
Here is the piety of character, not of habit. I love the seclusion
of her spirit—the gentle fancies of her inner life—the fresh upspringings
of her untaught thoughts which come from unfathomed
fountains in her soul. teryble materss iss hapendd sinss you wass heer vitch iss wot
korses me phor too tak mi penn inn han witch iss a badd wunn
andd so i hop youle xkus thee spelinn andd itts thiss wot's hapendd
Phany hass loped andd I cutt Gon Hamersmith chin andd he nokt
Snipp our tayllur ovr inntu mi slopp tubb but ile tel you thee pertiklars
ov wots hapendd Snipp tels itt furs tu mee andd i cuts Gon
the smyth andd hee noks himm ovurr phannys run awa andd noe
mystak cozz thee roape wos foun she hangd hurselff with oute ov
thee widers 2 stora windur and itt wos foun ther andd shee wosnt
foun andd thatts wots hapendd andd itts inn ev boddis mouth
andd noe bodi noes wots beekum ov hur, norr i Snipp sedd a
koche tuk hurr off, butt thatts wun ov Snippes lise andd hes a
grat lierr andd dyrnks vich i donte, nott nevur taikin butt wun
tum'lar ov agg-popp—no twass jinger popp, wich gutt inter mi
hedd wich iss troo forr i sorr hur traks undur thee windurr andd
thee bedd kordd twass 12 larste nite wen shee runn awa andd itss
nou 01 inn the phoarnun i maik no dela butt rite rite orf hopin
yool com rite doune orr rite orr heare phrom phahny phor thars
no mistaik shes sloapt. After the most persevering efforts I have at last got on the scent of the
hare. A person answering her description came in town the morning after
the night you said she escaped in a stage, and got out at the tavern in Brattle
street. She was seen to go into a negro's in Ethiopian Row, and then
to go out with him up the street. I have been in the black's, whose name
is Pompey Slack; but he is as mysterious as a fortune-teller, and gravely
shakes his woolly head, and wants to know my business `wid her.' Your
money will get it out of him. I send, as you instructed me to do, a carriage
for you; call for me, and I will accompany you there. I am sure we
are on the track. I reply to your letters in one. I cannot yet visit you. My mind is made
up to prosecute this search. Since I wrote you of her escape I have been
to Hillside, but could glean no intelligence of her. I, however, saw there
a person whom I suspect has had something to do with her flight. If so, I
despair! I have been seeking him at his house, and every where, to accuse
him, and demand her at his hands, and to punish him if she be lost to me,
which God forbid. I hope every thing, yet I fear every thing. He is in
town but keeps himself close. I am more and more persuaded that he has
something to do with her flight, and that she has been deceived. I rode
hard after him the night he left Hillside, but could not overtake him before
he reached town. If I had have done so, I should have known all; for I
would have drawn the truth from him with his life. He is one of those despicable
wretches, who, aided by wealth and leisure, and being destitute of
principle, pass all their time in seeking the indulgence of the lowest vices,
and directing all their skill and talent to ensnaring the young and beautiful
of your sex. I go out again to pursue my inquiries, though with little hope
of success. That she is in Boston I know, for such a person was seen at
the inn to get out of one of the stages; and while I write she is probably
in the snares of this heartless scoundrel. But hope of the best buoys me
up. She is too lovely and pure for me to harbor the idea of her ruin. I
will write you again; but do not ask me to visit you or study till I have pursued
this matter to the end. I am once more going to the tavern in Brattle
street, to seek a clue. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 222 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Howard, or, The mysterious disappearance | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was on a bright, breezy morning early in June, 1801, that the
signal for getting underweigh was fired from a flag ship of a fleet
of vessels of war riding at anchor in Hampton Roads. The fleet
consisted of three frigates and a small gun-brig of twelve guns.
The frigates were unequal in size and weight of metal. The largest
was the `President' 44; the next the `Philadelphia' 38; and the
smallest one the `Essex,' 32. They had the day before dropped
down to their anchorage ready for sea. Their destination was the
Mediterranean. `When you return, dear Duncan, we shall have much more of
each other's society than before; for Isabel Sumpter has taught
me to love in-door pursuits. Would you believe it! I can sit in a
room with her a whole morning, without any wish to go out, shine
the sun never so brightly. The other day when I was walking
with her, `Belt' started a hare and instead of joining him in the
chase, I called the dog away, because Isabel was talking, and I
had rather listen to her. I think she has grown much more beautiful.
Her step is just like a deer's! and every motion is as graceful
as a fawn's! I think when you see her you will fall in love
with her. I am sure I love her she is so very lively and entertaining
always. I dont know what I should do without her, she is such
clever company. She can shoot a rifle nearly as well as I can, and
is a most accomplished fisherman, or fisherwoman, perhaps I ought
to say. I am glad you are to take your degree and come home so
soon. We shall have fine times! Father, says something about
sending you to England; but I think you have got learning enough
for one head! There are a great many things I dont know, that I
find Isabel knows, but I get along very well; though sometimes,
she condescends to enlighten my ignorance, at which times I am,
she says, a very apt scholar. It is so pleasant to be taught by a
pretty girl! You had better come home and be her pupil, than go
any where else. Five words from her give me more insight into a
thing than a whole book would do! You didn't have an opportunity
in the little time you were here, of knowing her so well as I do,
and I want you to see how she has improved in the year you have
been absent. But I am engaged to ride with her to the cliff-head
at five o'clock, and it is now half past four. So good bye.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 223 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The gipsy of the Highlands, or, The Jew and the heir | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | About half an hour after the sun had set on a clear, starry evening
in September, 182—, a small boat, pulled by a single oarsman,
shot out from a deep cove, just above the Highlands, and rowed
along the shore in the direction of a gray stone villa, situated on the
river's bank, half a mile above. The oarsman was a young man of
fair complexion and slight in person; but there was an expression
in his clear blue eye of mingled pride and resolution. He was
dressed in a plain dark frock, without pretension to style; and
beside him, for he rowed bareheaded, was laid a sort of foraging
cap, rudely made of the skins of squirrels, trophies of his own skill
at the rifle. The expression of his countenance was cheerful and
animated; and, as he pulled the light skiff over the glassy surface,
he bummed the air of `Bonny Boat' in a low and musical voice,
to the measure of which the regular `clack' and dip of his slender
oars, chimed in not unmusical accompaniment. I herewith order you to return forthwith to Kirkwood. I have
learned, that you have been pursuing a course of extravagance in
the city, that can only be kept up by debt—as I have been careful
never to allow you the means of dissipation. When I forgave you,
for resigning without my leave from West Point, it was on the condition
that you remained quietly at home, to look after the place.
Till you are twenty-one, which is yet six months off, I at least have
the control over you, and mean to exercise it; and if you expect
any thing of me, after you are of age, you will now comply with my
wishes. My health is poorly, and your ungrateful conduct by no
means improves it. Your note for the pair of bays sold you, comes due tomorrow. Your account, up to the first of the month, has been due some
days. You will oblige by adjusting this morning, Thankful for your past custom we have the honor of enclosing
your account for the last quarter, which it would be quite a convenience
to us to have adjusted today. The note for the Stanhope and harness, bought of me in June, is
due today. You will confer a favor by calling and settling it. Your three notes, of $500, 1000, and 2000 are due 5-9 Inst. `There is the order on him — “Dear Father: By paying Jacob
Goldschnapp, or order, six thousand dollars, thirty days from date,
you will oblige your dutiful son, `My dear Jacor,—I am confoundedly surprised this morning
by the `old gentleman' dropping in upon me before I was up. He
has come down to the city to look after me, so he says. We have
made matters up and I am to go home with him or lose Kirkwood.
If you can possibly do anything for me with him, come and dine
with me, at 2 o'clock. I choose this early hour on account of his
habits. I have some curiosity, I confess, to see how you are to do
about that draft. If you are successful, I shall have to call on you
again for a larger amount, for I am in a scrape again! Don't disappoint
me—at 2—remember! My respects to pretty Ruth. `You are desired to call, without delay, to see a gentleman at the
City Hotel, who wishes to make his will. Every moment is important.
The servant will conduct you.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 224 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Biddy Woodhull, or, The pretty haymaker | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | There was a rude but pleasant farm-house
situated on the green banks of one of the
pleasant inlets that go meandering from the
Sound far into the verdant bosom of West-chester
County. It was one story high, with
a broad, steep, moss-covered roof, over which
an old oak spreads its wide branches, shielding
it the whole day from the summer sun.
An old `stoope' protected the door, and its
rude columns were thickly clad with the entwiaing
honey-suckle. Each end of the old
black farm-house was also nearly covered,
save where openings had been cut for the
windows, with woodbine and other creeping
plants. There was a neat vegetable garden
at one end of the dwelling and a small orchard
at the other, with the thatched roof of a
long, low barn, seen in the distance. Before
the door was a sort of lawn, on which the
sheep, geese, turkies, and an old domestic
cow, fed all day. This lawn was between the
house and the pleasant creek, where stood a
gate sheltered by a sycamore tree, through
which the cattle were driven to water. All
around was a scene of pleasant vale and wood-land,
with elms and oaks bending low over
the clear deep stream. On the opposite side
were seen several farm-houses with shady
walks along the banks between them, and a
little ways below, on an eminence, was visible
the white columns of a handsome country-seat,
the summer residence of a wealthy New
York merchant, who spent his winters only
in the city, which was twenty miles distant. What a demnition time you are staying out
South. What you can find to keep you there
this dem hot weather one hour after your
aunt's business is done for, unless some pretty
pearl, I'm dem'd if I can tell! Every thing
goes on just as ever. I had a glorious drive
last Friday on the avenue with Bob-tailed
Brown, harnessed single in my green buggy.
Tom Weston had a new team out, a dem'd
handsome thing altogether, and came behind
me like a streak of lightning. But I touched
Bob and left Tom half a mile in the rear as I
drew rein at the Harlem tavern. Dem'd good
that, wasn't it! I run over a sow and a litter
of nine pigs. Did'nt the young 'uns scamper
a few. I took off a goose's neck with my
off wheel as neat as you could cut it with a
knife. Tom swore Bob was the best bit o'
horse flesh in New York. Saw a pretty gearl
on the side-walk—looked like a rural—but I
was too anxious to beat Tom Weston's mare
to stop and ask her where she lived. Sunday
went over to Hoboken and saw lots o'
second quality class beauties, but couldn't do
any thing in my way, as they always have
some of those chaps with a bob coat, round
slick hat with a narrow crape round it, their
hair plaited down on each cheek, aad their
bosoms open, and cuffs and shirt-wristbands
turned back as if they were ready at any moment
for a fight. I can't endure such vulgar
people! though I don't mind a set-to, for I
have the true science you know, Ned. Havn't
been out of town yet, but I believe I shall go
to Saratoga next month. Saratogo is getting
to be low now that every shop-keeper that
can command three dollars can go there.—
These steamboats and railroads are getting to
be great levellers, Ned. I think I must go
to the White Sulphurs, they are the most exclusive.
Low people can't afford to get there
I saw your uncle last week in Broadway. He
would have passed me without seeing me, but
I stopped to ask him the name of the farmer
on the farm next to his above on the creek
where the rural lives. He told me it was
Woodhull. If you don't come on soon I
shall go down there and get up a little flirtation
with her. I think she's too pretty to be
suffered to grow there unnoticed like a sweet
flower under a hedge. Well, I have no more
to write. By the by, my friend M—ks has
let his beard grow all over his chin and it
looks dem'd fine. I think I shall follow his
example. He is going to be confirmed at St.
Thomas'. Religion is a nice thing for sick
and old people, but it spoils life for your true
blood! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 225 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Black Ralph, or, The helmsman of Hurlgate | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | In contemplating the interesting scenes
and events of the American Revolution, we
are accustomed to view them as only affecting
ourselves as Americans, and as occurring
only within the boundaries of our own land;
so that a story of the `Revolution' to be laid
in England or France would at first view startle
and appear an incongruity of history. Yet
the one being our foe and the other our ally,
closely involve their interests as individuals
with ours and throw as profound a degree of
sympathy over the progress and issue of
events on the common theatre of war, as if
their own fields had been the scenes of contest.
The war of the Revolution produced
in the vales and homes of England and the
vine-clad hills of France, many a scene of
domestic trial and woe as touching as
was daily witnessed among the rude forest
homes of our own land. Brave warriors
parted from wives and sweethearts in
sunny France to join the issue with us for liberty;
many a gallant soldier bade last adieus
to a weeping maiden. ere, obedient to his
king, he buckled on his sword to sail the seas
to do battle against the rebels of the crown;
and many a hardy patriot of our fathers shouldered
his rifle, amid prayers and tears, to
take the field to oppose the invader. Yet, beneath
their armed breasts they wore human
hearts all—the foe, the ally, and the rebel!
The tears of the one fell as sweetly in the
eye of Pity as the other! The roar of every
battle-field shook France and England as
well as our own land, penetrating the remotest
hamlet, and making many an expecting
heart shrink. the pulses of the three great
nations were for the time bound together and
throbbed as one. The interest of each was
equally deep, where wives, mothers, and
maidens were the judges of that interest.
The war was one—the issue one to theme!
And many is the tale still heard beneath the
vintnor's porch in la belle France, whose theme
is the war of our Revolution, and many is the
sad memory of that contest yet preserved on
the gossip bench of many a village ale-house
in merry England. How many were the
lives at that day, began in Europe that terminated
in America. If every man's life,
fairly written, be a romance out-doing fiction,
how many thousands of truthful stories in
that war opened in England or France to
close their scenes here—perhaps in blood. Sir—You are commanded by the Minister
of War, to give passage to America, to M. St
Clair Lorraine, a Colonel, and bearer of private
despatches to the Marquis de la Fayette. Dearest Madeline—I find the scheme I
suggested when I was fastening on you your
bracelet this afternoon, wholly impracticable
for many reasons. I have determided to take
passage in the same ship with you as M. St.
Clair Lorraine, bearer of despatches, and
meet my ship in America, where it is to join
lord Howe. I have written for, and shall obtain
leave, and in the mean time anticipate it.
Betray no surprise or recognition on meeting
me in the morning at table. I look forward
to a happy passage across the Atlantic in your
sweet society. You will think I am an audaucious
intriguer; but what will not love undertake
for its object? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 226 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Ellen Hart | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The bell in the tower of the `Old South'
church was tolling heavily and loud the strokes
for nine o'clock, as a Watchman came upon
his `beat on the corner of W — Place. It
was a cold, cloudy night, late in November,
and his large box-coat was closely buttoned
up to his throat and his winter cap drawn low
over his ears and forehead. With his rattle
hanging upon his wrist and a short club in
his grasp he began to pace his round into
Summer street. The wind came howling
through the cross avenues of the town westward,
causing the passengers on the walks to
bend low to it and with the cape of the cloak
shield their faces from its piercing effects.—
The street lamps burned more brightly than
usual in the clear atmosphere, but at intervals,
agitated by the wind which found its way
through the frame of the lantern, would flicker
and cast dancing shadows across the streets
and along the side-walks. Ashy-hued clouds
were driving along the gloomy sky, opening
now and then to let a star shine through
for an instaut and then disappear. Few persons
were in the streets and the hacks and
cabs that passed, went at a furious rate over
the icy ground, as if the drivers were willing
to exchange as soon as possible their bleak
elevation for a seat in the warm bar-room adjoining
their `stand.' $12,000. `Henry Hart having this day taken into copartnership
of business, Crockett Creech, the
Firm will henceforth bear the designation of
`Hart and Creech.' Your endorsement upon the enclosed note
for — at — days will oblige, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 227 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Steel belt, or The three masted goleta | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The waters of Boston Bay slept without a
ripple. The round green isles that swell here
and there from its bosom were reflected in
dark blue masses and bold outlines beneath
the surface. It was near sunset. The skies
were suffused and glowing with molten gold,
and the waters were no less gorgeous than the
sky. `As face answers to face in a glass,' so
the mirror-like bay gave back the green islands,
the golden firmament and the empurpled
clouds that magnificently curtained the
West. By inclining the head a little one
could see another world beneath the wave.
A soft haze, such as is peculiar to a September
sunset blended sky and sea, and communicated
a dreamy, pleasing indistinctness to
the horizon. The domes and towers of the
distant city enthroned upon her Three Hills;
the stately edifices on the wide sweeping
shores of the Bay; the fortresses upon its islands,
all, were tinted with the richest light,
reflected from the sunset sky and clouds; and
the hundred vessels of every size and class
that lay beclamed amid the scene, seemed to
have exchanged their snow-white canvass for
sails of purple and of gold. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 229 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The midshipman, or, The corvette and brigantine | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The sun had just set behind a terrace of purple clouds, edged with silver
and lined with ermine, and gently the shadows of a mellow twilight were
stealing over the bright blue waters of the harbor of Portsmouth. Not a
zephyr stirred the pendulous leaf of the feathery elm, or mottled the placid
surface of the waters of the small but beautiful bay, with its islands like emeralds
in a setting of turquoise, rivalling the sunny green of its pleasant
shores. The sun had been down some minutes, yet the skies were as rich
with the beautiful dyes as the inner surface of an Indian pearl shell. The
waters, like a mirror of steel, caught the rosy colors, and blending and softening
them, reflected them back more beautiful still. The roofs and turrets
and spires of the old town were yet glowing and rich from the lavish treasures
of painted light, which the sun scattered behind him as he departed,
and the cot of the poor man was for awhile more gorgeously decorated with
mingled orange and crimson, than an eastern palace of pearls and rubies.
But the glories of twilight gradually faded as the gray shadows of evening
rose up from the sea, and crept upon the land, and covered the green hill
tops, till a quiet, sober hue rested upon water and land, and veiling the sky
let the stars be seen. Yet it was not night, but twilight lingering between
sunset and night; for the outlines of the roofs, the spires, the distant villas,
the remote hills, were all clear and defined. It was day arrayed in a quaker
garb. The tradesmen in the town closed their shutters and locked their
doors to go homeward, yet stopping awhile to chat with their neighbors opposite,
or ask the news of the day of some townsmen they meet, look up at
the sky and prophecy about the weather tomorrow, and wonder if the wind'll
be likely to be fair to bring the craft into port! The cows were all in from
pasture and snugly yoked to their stalls, the milk-maid having done her
snowy task; the tap-room groups gather about the stoops to smoke their
evening pipe and talk politics till it shall grow dark enough to go home;
the cart-horse and his master, the stout drayman, both have rest; and the
poor sewing girl relinquishes her hated needle, meekly receives her daily
pittance, puts on her cheap straw hat and cheaper shawl, and hurries thro'
the gathering darkness to her lodging room. The calm repose of evening
had settled upon land and water! Suddenly a flash reddened the atmosphere,
and a heavy gun fired from a corvette of twenty guns at anchor in
the stream, broke upon the sober quiet of the hour with startling distinctness.
The blue volumes of smoke had rolled sluggishly away from her
bows on the breezeless air and settled upon the water, ere a second gun was
discharged, which, like the other, reverberated through the close streets of
the town. A third report followed; and slowly and heavily the compact
mass of smoke moved towards the quay and covered the streets, tainting
the air breathed by the peaceful citizens with the warlike smell of powder. Dear Madam:—Since I have learned your son's resignation of a midshipman's
berth on account of a duel, I deem it my duty to advise you of certain matters,
touching finances, which I have withheld. I am led to this step from the
contents of a letter, received this morning by him, dated at Marseilles on the 1st
ult. What I wish to state is this. Besides your draft for five hundred dollars,
paid to supply him with funds to take away, he drew on me from Vera Cruz for
five hundred more, which draft I paid, having your instructions to supply him
with money whenever he wrote to this effect. From Havana, three weeks afterwards,
I received another draft at sight for three hundred dollars, which I also
paid. Subsequently I paid a draft from Smyrna for eight hundred dollars,
one from Constantinople for five hundred, and more recently two from Mahon,
one for six and the other for four hundred and fifty dollars; and this morning I
have received a brief letter from him, dated at Marseilles, desiring me to transmit
to him, without delay, two thousand dollars! As this amount will considerably
exceed what I hold at interest, I have concluded to advise you before remitting,
though having full confidence in your ability and willingness to refund
any advances I might make I trust, madam, that your son has not fallen into
evil habits; but the large sams he has drawn, and which could not be expended
on board ship, lead me to suspect he has not been pursuing a course altogether
upright. My dear Mother:—You will probably have learned by the time you get
this, that I have thrown up my birth in the navy, fought a duel, and wounded
my opponent. I am sorry to have to say to you that this is all true; though I do
not regret the transaction. I was insulted, not once only, but through a continued
series of petty insults, which no young man of spirit could put up with,
whether from a superior office or not. I recognise no rank above that which is
established in the bosom of every gentleman and man of honor. Accepting a
junior rank in the navy, does not make me less a gentleman, nor enjoin upon
me a slavish submission. I did but assert and maintain my right to courteous
treatment, and I was laughed at. I called out the officer who most provoked
me, and who took a pleasure in using his power to annoy me. He got behind
his privilege as my superior and refused to meet me. I promptly tendered my
resignation to the commander, and as a `gentleman,' as I was now acknowledged
to be, he was willing to meet me. We fought and he was wounded, but not so
severely as to endanger his life. I do not say a word to exculpate myself, for I
do not attach to my conduct any blame. My course would be approved by every
man of spirit; and since I was not compelled to remain in the navy to subsist,
you will not, dear mother, think I have done wrong in resenting insult and petty
tyranny. I remained a few days in Mahon, and came over here in a French
brig last week. Now I am in Europe, I shall avail myself of the opportunity
afforded me of travelling, and shall visit Paris and London. You may see me
home in about six months. I shall then remain with you, in your society and
that of Grace, to whom I enclose a line. I shall, I trust, perfectly enjoy myself. Dearest Grace:—With the vivid recollection of your parting words, reiterated
in your sweet letters to me, warning me firmly, but gently against my giving
way to what you termed my `peculiar notions of honor,' I scarcely know
how to address you. Before you receive this, the corvette will have reached
Boston, and the papers will probably have bruited the intelligence of a duel between
me and Lieutenant — .Now I am not about to defend myself. If you knew
the circumstances you would exculpate me, I am confident. I had borne with a
patience and forbearance which would have commanded your respect and approval;
injuries to my feelings, till patience was no longer a virtue, and forbear
ance became cowardice. Let me recount a few instances as a specimen of the
whole. I had been but three days out, and then ignorant of the peculiar exclusiveness
of the quarter deck, I was walking on the weather side, when the first
lieutenant seeing me, approached me and said in a peremptory tone— Dear Francis:—Your letter to me I have received and read with great care.
That you have done wrong in resigning and fighting a duel, there is no question.
By the one act you have sinned against God; by the other deprived yourself of
distinction in an honorable profession. But while I censure you I cannot but
feel that you have had provocation; but not enough to lead to such results. If
you had properly reflected upon the necessity of degrees of rank in the service,
and the necessity of discipline, you might have better borne the evils of a system
which originated in necessity. To obey is not degrading. To obey, one by no
means parts from one jot of his self-respect. Have you not heard the remark
that one must learn to obey before one can command! This, it strikes me, is
truth. William the Fourth was, when a prince, a midshipman, and obeyed like
others. Did he lose any of his real dignity of character? But it is past now,
Frank! I only wish you could have borne it with more forbearance still. But
to resign was enough. To resign at once freed you from your situation. It cured
at once the evil. What need was there to fight a duel afterwards? The evil of
which you complained no longer remained, why should you fight? Alas, I fear it
was a feeling of revenge that as ill became a gentleman as submission to authority,
Frank! After you had quit the navy you should have let the act thrown a veil
of oblivion over the past. You should have resigned to be free, not to take the
life of a foe. Your motive, therefore, in resigning was a bad one! When the
resignation in itself would free you from your condition, what was the use in
trying to blow out the lieutenant's brains afterwards? Your favor of August 1st, drawing on me at sight for two thousand dollars,
was duly received, and contents duly made known to your respected mother,
there not being funds in my hands sufficient to meet it. Your other drafts having
exhausted all but six hundred dollars, by a mortgage on Meadow Farm, and
forward it to you. I effected the mortgage, and was about to enclose you a bill
on Paris for two thousand dollars, when intelligence reached me that your
house had been destroyed the day before yesterday by fire. I shall therefore
wait further instructions from your mother before I remit; as doubtless she
may be put to straits for means under this calamity. Trusting, when you have
got through your wandering abroad, you will return to her who protected your
infancy, I am sir, `PIRACY!—ROBBERY OF THE BARQUE SELMA OF THIS PLACE,
OFF EASTPORT, THREE DAYS AGO! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 230 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The silver bottle, or, The adventures of "Little Marlboro" in search of his father | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I am `Little Marlboro'.' That is my name, I may as well say at once. I
dare say there are better names, and I dare say there are much worse names;
but good or bad my name is Little Marlboro', and neither more nor less than
Little Marlboro'! But let me begin at the beginning! for as I intend to write
a true and veracious history of my life, I wish to start fair with my reader,
giving and taking no advantage in the outset. I am stranger to you! You may never behold me again, yet I am
about to cast myself upon your heart! I am about to entrust to you what is
dearer to me than life—my infant child! Circumstances of the most painful
character, which I cannot at present control and which may bind me till death
releases me from this sad world, compel me to deny myself longer the blessed
privilege of a mother. I must separate from my child, perhaps never more to
clasp it to my bleeding bosom. I have been three days seeking somewhere to
leave it,—alas, to leave it among strangers—unknowing and unknown. But
no where could I desert it hitherto. The hour of delay cannot be extended.
Providence I feel has brought me to your roof. Your heart is kind—for your
voice and face are kindly and benevolent. I have had repeated to me your
language at the table, and my heart has confidence in you. To you, then,
dear madam, I entrust my little boy—my babe! my heart's idol. God forgive
me, if I am committing a crime. But it is not mine to choose. I must part
with my babe. I shall leave it in the bed. With it you will also find a package
of its clothing. Take my child, cherish it tenderly for the poor mother's
sake who is denied the trust, she now makes over to you with a broken heart.' Sir,—I have seen an advertisement this morning in one of the papers offering
a reward of one hundred dollars for any information touching a device of an
eagle treading upon a serpent. Although I do not covet the reward, I desire to
serve you, if I can do so. Your advertisement brought to my recollection, a
carriage which I painted twenty years ago (for I am by occupation a painter)
on which I painted this very device, as I find on referring to my book where I
keep patterns of every thing I have ever done in that way. The carriage was a
double barouche, light yellow, and highly burnished. Trusting this little information
I can give you may be of some service, I remain, I DEPARTED from Boston in the Acadia Steamship the Monday following the
close of the First Series of my narration, and arrived here in safety three days
ago. I have already stated that by the generosity of my kind foster-mother,
Dame Darwell, I was amply provided with means to prosecute my search. According
to my promise the reader shall now hear of my progress in a series of
letters which I shall transmit to them in recompense for their indulgence in following
me thus far in my narrative*
*We have thought best to give the letters as they are, instead of bringing them into a
narrative form.
. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 231 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Alice May, and Bruising Bill | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I write to avail myself of my privilege and duty as your betrothed
wife, to throw myself, at a crisis which has just occured in my life,
upon your love! A certain Count Bondier is persecuting me with
his attentions, and althogh I have in every way, not absolutely to
insult him, shown him my repugnance to his suit, and also distinctly
and firmly declined his addresses, yet he pursues them encouraged by
my father, who is warmly in favor of an alliance with his powerful
family through me. My father has just left me with the menace that
unless I will consent to marry him at the end of three months, that
he will immure me in a convent, which God knows is to be prefered.
I have asked and obtained six weeks to decide. This letter will reach
you in two. It will take three for you to reach here. I need not ask
you to fly—for my love tells me you will soon be here to claim your
own lover's bride. I have just heard something that has frozen my blood! I write, I
know not what! Do not come! I am lost to you forever! `I know not how to address you. `Dear Edward,' was flowing
from my pen—but I am unworthy to give you any endearing title. In
my last letter—it was a wild—strange one—but I was nearly mad
when I wrote it—I told you that events had transpired that rendered
it necessary for your honor and happiness that you should forget me!
I left all in mystery. But reflection has come to my aid—reason has
returned, and after hours of terrible insanity I can think and write
calmly. I did intend, Edward, to keep the dreadful secret forever
locked up in my own bosom. But this is pride; and with pride I
have no more to do. It would be cruel to you, whom my soul loves!
Oh, if I could forget—but no! I must live and remember. How
shall I relate my shame. I have sat down to do it that I might relieve
your mind from suspense, and show you I have not lightly trifled with
your love for me; for too well I know how fondly you love me. Alas,
that your noble heart had not been bestowed upon a worthier object.
But I will no longer avoid the painful subject. In three hours—tonight
at midnight I fly from my home, leaving no trace of my flight.
Before I take this step I wish you, Edward, to do me justice. Therefore
do I now write to you. You saw me first at the boarding schools
and knew me as the daughter of an opulent southern planter. You
offered me your noble love, and in return I gave you my heart. Oh,
the happiness of that hour when I first learned that you regarded me
with favor—that you loved me! But I cannot dwell upon these days
of happiness fled forever. Alas, why has heaven made me to be accursed!
Let me speak of more recent events. Let me explain to
you the meaning of the dark language of my last letter. I told you
that the only alternative of my union with the Count was to be immured
in a convent for life. I entreated you to fly to my rescue, ere
the time given me by my father for deciding between the two, elapsed.
This letter was followed in two days by another recalling my request,
and telling you that an event had occurred which rendered it necessary
that we should meet no more, that I was going to fly and hide
from the world, for I was unworthy your love or slightest regard. It
is this letter which now I am on the eve of flight I feel it my duty to
explain; then farewell forever, and forget that I have ever lived. Oh,
how can I relate my shame to him whose approbation and love I regard
next to Heaven's? But I must to my painful duty. I learn from your mother that you are out of employnent,
and from your late employer that you are an excellent printer.
I have a relative who is the editor and publisher of a literary
paper in New York who wants a partner who is a practical printer.
But little capital is required, with which if you would like the situation
(which is a profitable one and for which I think you are calculated)
I herewith make the offer of it. Pray let me hear from you tonight
that I may write to my relative. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 232 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Charles Blackford, or, The adventures of a student in search of a profession | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | `If this Republic shall escape the catastrophe that terminated the career of
every one of its predecessors in ancient and modern days, it must be by the
prevalence of more just and liberal views in regard to the distinctions assigned
to BIRTH, MONEY, and OCCUPATION. The people must be made to see and to
feel that the LAW OF REPUTATION, as now observed, has a false basis—that there
can be no such thing as personal merit without virtue and usefulness—and
that no branch of industry which contributes to the general comfort is intrinsically
degrading. We have, even among the working classes a scale of merit
graduated by occupation, and that fixes, to some extent, the merit of individuals.
It is a relic of the absurd prejudices of Europe, by which Aristocracy and
Monarchy are upheld, and shows that, although we are as a nation free, the
marks of the old servitude are not yet obliterated.'—Walter Forward. Dear Blackford:—I have been thinking of you and your request and unpleasant
situation, every turn of the coach-wheel to this place. Your case has
undergone my thorough mental survey, and I am convinced I treated your
confidence and trust in me very unhandsomely. I have no wish to excuse myself,
though I might do so. The truth is I have been very often applied to by
students to lend money and seldom refusing, I have been sometimes trifled with
and imposed upon, not that I could suspect any such thing of you! Twice before
your application this morning I had two fellows ask me for money, which
for certain reasons I declined lending; your request was, therefore, unhappily
timed and in the hurry of departure I did not give it that consideration,
which your own character and my respect for you, should have challenged
for it. Pardon me, if I gave you offence, or by my refusal added to your mortifying
position. I would now, in some degree, atone for my indifference to
your request, and beg leave to enclose you a bank note for $50, assuring you I
shall not need it; and I pray you will oblige me by never bringing it to my recollection
again. Wishing you a happy deliverance from all your difficulties, I
beg leave hastily to subscribe myself, `My Dear Sir,—I write to lessen the weight of my obligation to you, by offering
you any service that is in my power. If, in your outset in life, I can do
any thing for you, you will confer upon me an infinite kindness, by naming it
with the same frankness with which I propose to serve you. The ladies join
me, in an invitation for you to dine with us this afternoon, at Hare Hall, where
you will see none but those whom you have already met with. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 233 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Fleming Field, or, The young artisan | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | THE soft, roseate haze of an autumnal sunset was just deepening
into the obscurity of twilight, as a young man came forth from
the door of a humble dwelling that stood in a narrow court not
far from Cornhill. The air was mild, and not a breath moved the
scarlet leaves of the maple that overshadowed the lowly roof of the
house. There was a little yard in front between the step and the
court, which was ornamented by a few shrubs and plants, and by
each side of the door stoop were three or four pots of geraniums and
rose-trees. These were green and fragrant, and the former were in
flower, thus betraying careful nurture, while all else in the yard was
feeling the first touch of autumn. The two round plats of closely
shaven grass, not larger than a chaise wheel, with the circular paths
around them, were strewn and filled with dead leaves, which rustled
to the tread of the youth, as he passed with a quick step from the
door to the latticed gate. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 234 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Forrestal, or, The light of the reef | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The loftier turrets of the Moro Castle were still
sheathed with gold, from the reflection of the setting
sun, while its embrasures and bastions lower down —
its walls, still lower — and the harbor and town, far
beneath, lay in the soft shadows of the first tremulous
twilight. A moment more, and the last sunbeam disappeared,
like a blaze suddenly extinguished, from the
topmost pinnacle of the cloud-capped fortress; and the
simultaneous roar of a heavy piece of ordnance, from
the platform of the Castle, told the world of Havana
that the sun had set. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 235 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Harry Harefoot | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Our story opens on one of those singularly beautiful
mornings which the coast of New-England
presents in the month of August, when the fogs,
having for some time resisted the unclouded splendor
of the sun's rays, begin to lift and break, and
roll seaward in majestic volumes, ascending as
they move, until they rest in the calm blue bosom
of heaven. My Dear Son Harry,—Your last letter gave
us all at home a great deal of joy. I was gratified
at your affectionate remembrance of me in
sending the pretty cap, and I gave your love to
little Emma Cutter, as you desired. She is knitting
for you a purse she wants me to send you
with our first package. I am happy to find you
are so well pleased with your place, my son, and
that Mr. Cushing is so well satisfied with you.
You have only now, my dear boy, to do your duty
to be respected. Never consider any thing beneath
you which you are required by Mr. Cushing
or the upper clerks to perform. Pride has
ruined many young men who set out in life as
prosperously as you have. Try and cultivate a
kind demeanor, pleasing manners, and a frank and
unsuspicious bearing; but as true politeness proceeds
from grace in the heart, you must first cultivate
that. Do not omit reading in the little
Bible I wrote your name in, once a day, nor never
neglect committing yourself in prayer to your
heavenly Father when you go to bed nor thanking
Him in grateful adoration when you rise up.
Seek humbly his guidance through the day, and
you will have it. There is no real good or true
happiness that does not first originate in duty to
our Maker. Avoid profane speech, impure language,
and telling impure anecdotes, for they
corrupt the heart. Spend your evenings at home
in reading or writing, and your Sabbaths in the
fear of God, going twice to church. Never
break the Sabbath on any pretence! Let it be a
holy day to you through life. Avoid the society
of all young men whose character you do not
know to be good; but it is best to have few companions
and but one or two friends. Have no
desire to go to the play, to parties, to frolies, and
other scenes of temptation, and never without
permission from Mr. Cushing, who is now to be
in our place to you. Above all, my son, never
touch a drop of wine. O that I could impress,
as with a seal, this caution upon your heart—engraft
it upon your mind. The sword has slain
its thousands, but wine its tens of thousands.
You must bear with me, Henry, for giving you
such a grave letter of advice, but I have your
welfare closely united to my heart, and I know
that you are surrounded with temptations, and
that you need not only a mother's love, but God's
arm to guard and detend you. One thing more,
Henry. You have, I know, a fondness for the society
and admiration of young ladies. This at
home in our quiet village was, perhaps well
enough, as it improves the manners of youths to
associate early in life with respectable young females.
But in Boston there are, I blush to say,
classes of females here unknown, who, with lovely
countenances, and wearing alluring smiles, are
dangerous for young men to know. `Their
house,' saith the seventh of Proverbs. where she
is described, `is the way to hell, going down to
the chamber of death. Let not thine heart incline
to her ways, go not astray in her paths. For
she hath cast down many wounded; yea, many
strong men have been slain by her.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 237 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Marie, or, The fugitive | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The autumnal moon had already been risen a full hour, as a horseman
drew rein upon the summit of a hill which commanded a prospect of the domes
and towers of the city towards which he was journeying. He paused a moment
as he attained the brow of the eminence over which his road wound, to survey
the scene spread out before him. I have decided on my course. Flight is my only safety.—
Farewell forever! Do not attempt to seek out my retreat! It will be in vain.
I fly to bury my woe in the grave—my infamy from the eyes of the world—to
save the honor and spare the sacrifice of a noble heart and love devoted as it is
pure! For my sake spare him and be kind, I do not ask your forgiveness for
I feel that I am the only one wronged!—wronged, alas—how deeply wronged!
Blame not her! She but did a duty sacred and imperative! Censure not—
curse not as I have heard thee curse the insensible dead! Deep is the injury
that thou hast done, irreparable and which naught but death can heal. To this
I fly, not seeking it by my own hand, oh, no! my poor breaking heart will
soon bring it me! Farewell. I address you at New York as you desired me in your
letter from Mahon. For that kind letter I send you my warmest thanks. It is
like yourself and breathes that noble affection which has made you the idol of
my heart. The days, weeks and months seem very long for I count them by
the throbbings of my heart, which is my only measure of time while you are
absent from me I think my father is now reconciled to our union, and I heard
him speak with great commendation and a sort of pride, that gratified me very
much, of your courage and noble forgetfulness of self, in saving the lives of the
three English officers and that of those of the Prince and Princess di Luzzi,
in the squall which struck their boat after it left the frigate for the shore.—
The papers are full of it, though you make no mention of it yourself. This,
too, is so like you. I cannot be too grateful to Heaven for your preservation
at such a time of imminent peril and confusion, and also for placing it in your
power to do so noble an act; for your fame and praises are mine, dear Bertrand! `Madness! This is unendurable! I have no patience to complete this letter!
I feel as if I could fly to him this moment. Poor Marie! Noble and true Marie!
If that de Rosselau does not answer for all this—but, patience. I must
read more and know all before I can stir a step! Oh, that I could embrace the
contents of the remainder of the letter at a glance of thought.' —`I did not leave my room till the next morning, nothwithstanding my
father came repeatedly at the door to summon me; but pleading illness I refused
to admit him or obey his commands. He threatened me; but I would gladly
have been locked up in the darkest and loneliest room of the villa than have
met de Rosselau. But believing in the morning that he had gone, for I had
been told so by my maid, I went out to breakfast. I found him standing with
my father in the breakfast-room. My first impulse was to fly. My next and
best was to remain and chill him by my manner. I had before found this most
successful, and I now assumed this bearing; and during breakfast I neither
saw nor heard him speak. His chair might as well have been empty, for I
took no notice that any one occupied it. My father was very angry and the
breakfast passed off gloomily; but I felt that I was the victorious one. `I beg you will not refuse to read with your beautiful
eyes (Bertrand. The devil confound him!) the few profound sentiments of
my heart, I have the honor to give expression to in consideration of the deep
passion I entertain for you. Be assured, Madamoisille, that it has never been
my felicitous fate to meet with one of your divine sex who has succeded in
imprisoning my heart so completely as you have done! Yes, admirable Marie!
(the foul fiend take him!) I have had but one thought since I beheld you, and
that is to make myself agreeable to you, that I may win that cruel heart which
already has captivated mine. I assure you I have taken no offence at your
proud and cold indifference, but on the contrary, your coldness has increased
the flame of my devotion! May I hope that my sincerity may meet at least
with some degree of grace from you, for you are too beautiful to be a tyrant!
(I'll make him eat this letter!) It is my highest ambition to make you the
Countess de Rosselau, a rank to which some of the haughtiest beauties I say
it without vanity, of dear enchanting Paris have aspired to in vain! At your
feet, where I have already laid my heart, I am desirous of laying the honors of
my name and rank. Your father's consent I have been so fortunate as to obtain,
and I only await your condescension to my suit, trusting that I shall not
have sued in vain. Your devoted and humble lover, who kisses your hand with
the profoundest adoration, `I took no notice of this note, Bertrand, and indeed should have sent it back
unopened, but I wished to know what it was he had to say, and to ascertain, if
possible, how far this persecution was to be carried; for I had made up my
mind to escape from it by flight, I knew not whither, if he should continue it. `What I am now to add, my dear Edward,' said the maiden in her letter, will
show you how fully matured was the conspiracy against my happiness and
peace, planned between my misguided father and this unfeeling Baron de Rosselau.
After he had entered my room, and locked the door as I have already
said in the beginning of my letter, he sat for a few moments in silence as if not
knowing in what way to open the subject upon his mind. At length he raised
his eyes and said, `After half an hour's weeping for you as well as for me, dear Bertrand, I
resolved I would write to you the whole that had transpired, knowing that you
were soon to be back from the Mediterranean, and hoping that my letter may
find you in New York in time for you to fly to rescue from a two fold danger
her who lives only for you. I have, therefore, been sitting up half the night
writing the foregoing, while my father believes that I sleep. Two days more
remain. Vague ideas of flight enter my mind—but I ask myself whither shall
I fly? How should I escape from my father's careful watch, or the no less
watchful scrutiny of de Rosselau' I shall soon decide upon something. I will
close my long letter now, for the morning dawns, and my father will soon be
here to unlock my door and ask me if I have changed my mind and am ready
for the sacrifice. I shall secretly despatch this letter to the office by my faithful
servant Moses. I will not seal it till I can send it away, and will add a
postscript telling you what I decide upon. `P. S.—Four o'clock, P. M. I shall make no apology for this communication. I address you
upon a subject of the deepest interest to me. I am not ignorant of your aspirations
to the hand and fortune of my daughter; nor am I ignorant that you have
been successful in inspiring in her bosom a temporary regard for you. Whatever
may have been my former forbearance in suffering this attachment to go
on unchecked, circumstances, not at all affecting your character, sir, render it
necessary that I request you to terminate all further views in relation to a union
with her. This is her desire as well as my own; and it is not therefore necessary
to inform you that all letters which you may have the imprudence to address
to her will be returned, and that my doors will be closed to any visits
that have Marie for their object. `What can this mean?' he exclaimed in astonishment. `Marie to address me
thus. This is certainly her hand-writing, and at the end of it' (and here he
rapidly ran over the pages of the letter to the close) and here is her signature
`Marie.' What can this mean? It is signed simply `Marie' without one
word of affection. Nay. It is `your unfortunate and lost, Marie.' What fearful
news have I now to hear. She can be lost to me only by being the wife of
this baron Can it——Oh, can it be possible that she has——but I
will not drive myself mad by anticipation. I will hasten to learn the worst.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 238 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Norman, or, The privateersman's bride | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The readers of the nautical romance entitled `Freemantle, or the
Privateersman,' to which the present story is a sequel, will remember
that the narrative closed with the landing of Freemantle and the passengers
of the Indiaman at the villa of Colonel Hood, while the Indiaman
stood on towards the port of Boston. The disabled and defeated
corvette at the same time, it will be remembered, was making the best
of her way towards Halifax, closely followed off soundings by the Privateer,
which then had orders to put back into port. I heard of your illness at Macao. I could not remain there while
you where perhaps dying among strangers. I am here without your
door—protected by an unperceptible disguise. I have come to nurse
you. Do not be alarmed for my safety. I am disguised as a Ceylonese
clerk. I pray you send for me to come in that I may be with you.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 239 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Rafael | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was towards the close of a summery afternoon in October, 1840, that the
U. S. schooner of war, Dolphin, was riding at anchor in the port of Key-West.
Around her were several ships, brigs and schooners which a gale of the preceding
night had driven in for shelter. One of them was the packet ship on
which I had taken passage sixteen days before at New York for New Orleans;
and as she had lost her fore-topmast and received some other injuries which it
would take some days to repair, I accepted the invitation of the lieutenant
commanding the armed schooner to take a three days cruise with him across
the channel to Cuba. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 240 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Scarlet Feather, or, The young chief of the Abenaquies | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The young chieftain Natanis stood in front of his hunting-lodge leaning
upon his bow. Tall and noble in person, and in his attitude commanding,
yet graceful, he looked like a young Apollo just returned from the chase.
At his feet lay a doe with a freshly oozing wound in her soft white breast,
and upon the ground by his side crouched, panting, a huge black wolf-dog. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
|
