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21Author:  Brown Charles Brockden 1771-1810Requires cookie*
 Title:  Arthur Mervyn, Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I was resident in this city during the year 1793. Many motives contributed to detain me, though departure was easy and commodious, and my friends were generally solicitous for me to go. It is not my purpose to enumerate these motives, or to dwell on my present concerns and transactions, but merely to compose a narrative of some incidents with which my situation made me acquainted.
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22Author:  Brown William Hill 1765-1793Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Power of Sympathy, Or, the Triumph of Nature  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: You may now felicitate me— I have had an interview with the charmer I informed you of. Alas! where were the thoughtfulness and circumspection of my friend Worthy? I did not possess them, and am graceless enough to acknowledge it. He would have considered the consequences, before he had resolved upon the project. But you call me, with some degree of truth, a strange medley of contradiction— the moralist and the amoroso—the sentiment and the sensibility—are interwoven in my constitution, so that nature and grace are at continual fisticuffs.—To the point:—
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23Author:  Child Lydia Maria Francis 1802-1880Requires cookie*
 Title:  Fact and Fiction  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: In very ancient times there dwelt, among the Phrygian hills, an old shepherd and shepherdess, named Mygdomus and Arisba. From youth they had tended flocks and herds on the Idean mountains. Their only child, a blooming boy of six years, had been killed by falling from a precipice. Arisba's heart overflowed with maternal instinct, which she yearned inexpressibly to lavish on some object; but though they laid many offerings on the altars of the gods, with fervent supplications, there came to them no other child. —Black and hevy is my hart for the news I have to tell you. James is in prison, concarnin a bit of paper, that he passed for money. Sorra a one of the nabors but will be lettin down the tears, when they hear o' the same. I don't know the rights of the case; but I will never believe he was a boy to disgrace an honest family. Perhaps some other man's sin is upon him. It may be some comfort to you to know that his time will be out in a year and a half, any how. I have not seen James sense I come to Ameriky; but I heern tell of what I have writ. The blessed Mother of Heaven keep your harts from sinkin down with this hevy sorrow. Your frind and nabor,
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24Author:  Irving Washington 1783-1859Requires cookie*
 Title:  Tales of a Traveller  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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25Author:  Paulding James Kirke 1778-1860Requires cookie*
 Title:  A Sketch of Old England  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I am now comfortably and quietly settled in lodgings, with an elderly lady, who has good blood in her veins; that is to say, if blood be an hereditary commodity, which some people doubt, but which I do not, for there are diseases bodily and mental in most of the old families here that have descended through half-a-score of wealthy generations. She claims descent from Tudors and Plantagenets to boot, and combines the conflicting claims of both York and Lancaster. Though too well bred to boast, she sometimes used to mention these matters, until one day I advised her, in jest, to procure a champion to tilt against young parson Dymoke for the broom at the ensuing coronation. The good old soul took the joke ill, and I was sorry for it. What right had I to ridicule that which, to her, was an innocent source of happiness? I despise the cant of sentiment, but I promise never to do so again.
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26Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Just out of the little village of Essex, in New England, and just at the entrance of a rustic bridge, there is a favourite resting-place for loiterers of all ages. One of a line of logs that have been laid down to enable passengers at high water to reach the bridge dry-shod, affords an inviting seat under the drooping limbs of some tall sycamores. There the old sit down to rest their weary limbs, and read with pensive eye the fond histories that memory has written over the haunts of their secluded lives. There, too, the young pause in their sports, and hardly know why their eyes follow with such delight the silvery little stream that steals away from them, kissing the jutting points of the green meadows, and winding and doubling its course as if, like a pleased child, it would, by any pretext, lengthen its stay;—nor, certainly, why no island that water bounds will ever look so beautiful to them as that little speck of one above the bridge, with its burden of willows, elders, and clematis; of a summer evening, their every leaf lit with the firefly's lamp;—nor why their eye glances from the white houses of the village street, glimmering through the trees, and far away over the orchards and waving grain of the uplands, and past the wavy line of hills that bound the horizon on one side, to fix on the bald gray peaks of that mountain wall whose Indian story the poet has consecrated. Time will solve to them this why. “Honoured Sir—As father and I have concluded to leave to-morrow, will be much obliged if you will send in your bill this afternoon, if convenient. As, from all that's passed, sir, you may conclude that I ain't in circumstances to pay down, I would make bold to say that you need not scruple, as I have a large sum of money by me, given to me by my best friend, father and Susan excepted. Father sends his respectful duty to you, sir, and I mine, with many thanks; but neither money nor thanks can pay your kindness; and daily, respected sir, shall I ease my heart by remembering you in my prayers at the throne of grace, where we must all appear alike poor and needy, but where may you ever come with a sure foundation of hope, through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. “My good friend Charlotte—I shall preface my answer to your note with letting you a little into my professional affairs. I do not make it a rule to attend the poor gratuitously, for many reasons; but principally because I have observed that what is got for nothing is seldom valued. I only take care to charge them according to their ability to pay. You, my child, are an exception to most of my patients—you have given me a lesson of meek and cheerful submission that is inestimable—I am your debtor, not you mine. Besides, strictly, I have no doctor's account against you. I have prescribed no medicine, and given you no advice that any man of sense and experience might not have given; therefore, my good girl, I have no claim on that `large sum of money,' which, God bless your `best friend' for having given you. But forget not, my friend, your promise to remember me in your prayers; I have much faith in the `prayers of saints.' My parting regards to your good father, and please deliver the accompanying parcels as directed. They are from my son and daughter, who hastily join me in esteem for you and yours. God bless you, my dear child. “My dear Susan—It is a long time since I have written to you; but I have been in much perplexity and anxiety, and have been waiting to see daylight. We have failed, Finley and I, as might have been expected; neither of us having any experience in the business we undertook. As soon as I found we could not meet our notes, I made a thorough examination into our affairs, and found we could just pay our debts and no more. So to-morrow we close the concern. I have many times regretted I did not take Charlotte's advice, and not enter into a business for which I was not qualified. I would now gladly return to my trade, but confinement to business, and anxiety, have had an unfavourable effect on my health, and I am more than ever troubled with that old pain in my breast. I sometimes think, Susan, a sight of your sunny face would cure me; that and all good things I trust will come; in the meantime, patience. In prosperity and adversity, my heart ever turns towards my dear Essex friends, who must believe me their friend and brother, “Dear Susan—My prospects, since the breakup last spring, are much improved; but particulars in my next. All I want to know is, whether you will share my lot with me? Pray write by return of post, and believe me now, as you well know I have ever been, though I never put it into words before, your friend and true lover, “P. S.—Dear Harry—I wrote this letter last evening, and shall send it; for why should I, if I could, conceal my real feelings from you? Since we were playfellows at school, I have loved you best, and you only, Harry; for the time to come, I must love you only as a brother. Oh, how strange it is, that the black and the white threads are always twisted together in human life. Last evening I was so happy writing this letter; but, when I went into the bedroom, Lottie's face was covered with tears; and she spoke of our separation, and all flashed upon me at once. What could she and father do without me? They do now their full part towards keeping the family together, but they can neither of them bring in any thing, and they would be obliged to look to the town for support. Is not that awful to think of? So you see, dear Harry, I cannot leave them—our path is plain, and, as dear Lottie would say, may we have grace to walk therein. It is very dark now, Harry; but, if we only try to do right, the day will soon break, and grow brighter and brighter. Please don't say one word to persuade me off my resolution, for we are weak creatures at best, and we should stand together, and strengthen and uphold one another. Above all, don't say a word about my reasons to father and Lottie; and believe me, dear Harry, not a bit less your affectionate friend because I can't forsake them. “Dearest Susan—Forsake `father and Lottie!' that you never shall. When I wrote my last, it was only to get that blessed little word yes from you, for I must make sure of my title before I laid out the future. One thing only I am a little hurt at. Could you think I could leave out Charlotte in my plans?—a dear sister, counsellor, and friend she has ever been to me—and your good father, who so much needs some one to care for him? Ah, Susan, I have had my reflections too; and I think our path is plain before us, and, with good resolution on our part, and Charlotte's prayers to help us, we shall have grace to walk therein. But I must tell you all, and then look for your final answer. “My Dear Father: — On the bed of death, and with my little girl, who will soon be an orphan, beside me, I write this. My hand is stiff, and a racking cough interrupts me. I can write but a few lines at a time. Till last week I hoped to get well, consumption is so flattering.
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27Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Tales of City Life  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It is about the middle of November— a bright, soft day, when the genial spirit of the year looks back with one of his farewell smiles. His warm breath has spread a silver haze over the rugged hill sides. The mountain tops are shining —the dried leaves bitten off by the frost, turn round and round, and drop without a sound. A rather narrow, brisk stream runs rapidly, descending as it goes, till it reaches the rear of a one story house, where, being set back by a dam below, it seems like a plate of burnished steel from which a soft vapor is rising. Around its edges is a thin coating of ice, indicating the cold of the preceding night. The house stands on the declivity of a hill that slopes gradually from the road, (a hundred yards from it,) with one end to the river, the other to the road, and fronting south. Behind it is a little garden patch, which, in its winter adversity, shows signs of being cared for and loved; some plants being carefully tied up, and a few covered with old boxes and barrels. There are some other signs of refinement, not too common about the humble dwellings of our country parts; vines trained about the low door, and rose bushes so nicely fitted around the old windows, that they seem to have come to stay there of their own accord. Neatness, that good angel of an humble home, keeping all right with her ever-rustling wings, hover round this pretty dwelling. A small woodpile is laid up as if by mathematical rule. No litter of any kind is any where to be seen, and one wonders what the splendid cock, with his pedestrian harem, can find to make them pick so busily around the sunny doorway. “Dear mother, and father,—Don't feel too bad. I shall be on my way to New York when you get this. Miss Emma Gardner has lent me ten dollars, and what clothes I shall want. Father can't go; and you can't leave father, mother; and I—I can't stay. Father, you will keep up mother's spirits, won't you? I know it will all come right. “Dear father, and mother, and Ruth,— I have got into some trouble. I ask of you all not to feel anxious or distressed. I expect (expect was erased, and hope substituted,) “to get out well, but if I don't, I shall still keep `right side up,' as father would say. Now be calm, mother, dear. Just before we locked up last night, I observed a stranger come into the shop; the doors were closed, and all the clerks called into the middle of the shop, away from the counters. Otis Jackson was standing close to me at the time we were spoken to. I heard him mutter, `d—n it,' but I had not the least thought of what was coming. Mr. Brown stood one side of the stranger, Mr. Wilson the other. Mr. Brown spoke: `We have been missing,' says he, `fine goods for the last month; a shawl was taken last week; two yards of costly lace, and one of the five dollar pocket handkerchiefs are gone to-day. We have a police man here, and you must all be searched. One of you must be guilty. I am sorry for the innocent, but no disgrace will rest upon them — do your duty, Rushton.' The policeman began the search. Some of our young men laughed and joked; I could not, I was afraid it would prove to be Otis. He was the fourth searched, nothing was found on him. My turn came next; the things were found in my coat pocket, atop of my handkerchief and every thing, just as if they had been put there. How the truth is to be found out, I don't know, but I feel as if it would. All I ask is, that father will keep up mother's spirits, and dear Ruth, only think how you would all feel if I had taken the things. I shall write daily, so don't be anxious.
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28Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Richard Hurdis, Or, the Avenger of Blood : a Tale of Alabama  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Of the hardihood of the American character there can be no doubts, however many there may exist on the subject of our good manners. We ourselves seem to be sufficiently conscious of our security on the former head, as we forbear insisting upon it; about the latter, however, we are sore and touchy enough. We never trouble ourselves to prove that we are sufficiently able and willing, when occasion serves, to do battle, tooth and nail, for our liberties and possessions; our very existence, as a people, proves this ability and readiness. But let John Bull prate of our manners, and how we fume and fret; and what fierce action, and wasteful indignation we expend upon him! We are sure to have the last word in all such controversies. Our hardihood comes from our necessities, and prompts our enterprise; and the American is bold in adventure to a proverb. Where the silken shodden and sleek citizen of the European world would pause and deliberate to explore our wilds, we plunge incontinently forward, and the forest falls before our axe, and the desert blooms under the providence of our cultivator, as if the wand of an enchanter had waved over them with the rising of a sudden moonlight. Yankee necessities, and southern and western curiosity will probe to the very core of the dusky woods, and palsy, by the exhibition of superior powers, the very souls of their old possessors.
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29Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Richard Hurdis, Or, the Avenger of Blood : a Tale of Alabama  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Matthew Webber was no trifler. Though represented by his comrades, as we have seen in a previous dialogue, as unwilling to shed blood, it may be added that his unwillingness did not arise from any scruples of humanity which are always unnecessary to the profession of the outlaw. He was governed entirely by a selfish policy, which calmly deliberated upon its work of evil, and chose that course which seemed to promise the greatest return of profit with the greatest security. To avoid bloodshed was simply to avoid one great agent of detection. Hence his forbearance. To the moral of the matter none could have been more thoroughly indifferent. We beheld him giving instructions to an associate the moment that William Carrington fell by an unknown hand, to pursue the murderer, not with a view to his punishment, but with a desire to secure a prompt associate. It was not the wish of the fraternity of robbers, herding on the Choctaw frontier, that any body should take up the trade in that region, of which they desired the monopoly. When the fellow, thus instructed, had gone, Webber with his remaining associates at once proceeded to examine the body, which was lifeless when they reached it. They wasted no time in idle wonder, and gave but a single glance at the wound, which they saw was inflicted by a rifle bullet; then lifting the inanimate form into the wood, they rifled it of the large sum of money which Carrington had concealed in his bosom, and taking it into a little crevice in the hill-side which could not hide it, they threw it down indifferently, trusting to the wolves, of which that neighbourhood had numerous herds, to remove it in due season. Poor youth! with such a heart—so noble, so brave—with affections so warm, and hopes so full of promise, to be shot down in the sun-light—in the bloom of manhood—by an obscure ruffian, and be denied a grave!
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30Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Wigwam and the Cabin  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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