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241Author:  Rowson Mrs. 1762-1824Requires cookie*
 Title:  Charlotte's daughter  
 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: “What are you doing there Lucy?” said Mrs. Cavendish to a lovely girl, about fifteen years old. She was kneeling at the feet of an old man sitting just within the door of a small thatched cottage situated about five miles from Southampton on the coast of Hampshire. “What are you doing there child?” said she, in rather a sharp tone, repeating her question. I am sensible you will blame the step I am about to take, but I cannot be happy unless as the wife of Sir Stephen Haynes. Before you will receive this, I shall be considerably advanced on the road to Scotland, not that, being my own mistress, any one has a right to control me, but I dreaded expostulation, shuddered at the idea of published banns, or a formal wedding by license, with settlements, lawyers, and parchments. These things have, I believe, little to do with love.—” You cannot be surprised, Theresa, after the explanation which took place between Lady Mary and myself yesterday, that I should declare my utter inability to make those settlements which I talked of before our excursion to the north. I must beg you to make my acknowledgments to the dear generous girl for all marks of favour and kindness bestowed by her on her unworthy, humble servant, but my finances are in such a state, that it is totally impossible for me to take a journey to Wilts, as proposed, or to solicit her company to France, whither I must repair as speedily as possible, to rusticate; whilst my affairs in England are put in train to restore me to some comparative degree of affluence. My friend, Richard Craftly, Esq. has offered the cottage to you and your lovely friend as long as you may please to occupy it. He is, Miss Brenton, a man of good abilities, amiable disposition, and possessed of a small but genteel and unincumbered estate, which upon the death of his mother will be augmented. He will call on you this afternoon, I recommend him to your notice. My best wishes attend you and your fair associate Lady Mary. “From the hour when I closed the eyes of your beloved, ill fated mother, you, my dear Lucy, have been the delight and solace of your grandmother and myself. And your amiable disposition has led us to hope, that you may in future be the happy inheritress of the estate and property on which we have lived above thirty-five years: happy, my child, in bestowing 11* comfort on others, and doubly happy in the enjoyment of reflected joy from grateful hearts. “I have sat down, my dear sir, to fulfil a most unpleasant task in communicating to you by the desire of our lovely and esteemed friend, Miss Blakeney, a copy of her grandfather's letter, which I inclose, thinking it best to keep the original in my possession.
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242Author:  Royall Anne Newport 1769-1854Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Tennessean  
 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: MY ancestors came from England. They were part of the persecuted dissenters, who sought an asylum in the wilds of America—of those enterprising few, who landed at Plymouth, in sixteen hundred and twenty. Dear Friend—You complain, in your last, of the violent proceedings of your town on the old subject; but it is trifling, compared to the zeal of our minister.— Though my health is little improved, since I wrote you last, yet I went to hear Mr. Williams, last Sabbath. I was shocked at the discourse; but, dear Thomas, it would cost me my life, if this were known. He raged, he stamped, he foamed at the mouth, and all this for a mere phantom—a shadow. Strange, that our teachers should set such examples of wrath. I am sure, Christ enjoins it upon us, to be meek and lowly. But I will try to give you a plain account of some of the sermon. He said that “the cross of St. George, in the English colours, was a downright popish relict; that it was Idolatry, and popish whoredom, to retain this ensign of hellish superstition.” But his language would be too tiresome to you, and withal, not edifying. So much did his discourse affect the congregation, that they held a meeting, that same evening, and passed a decree, that it should be publicly cut out of the colours, and should never be seen amongst God's people.” I am very doubtful that this is not the right way—moreover, our minister and another one, by the name of Roberts, had some very uncivil talk that same evening. This cannot be the right way—we have lost it, somehow. We are, in truth, without teachers; for I would put no more faith in this madman, Williams, than I would in Satan. It puts me in mind of a saying of Luther's friend, Mclancthon, of Wittemberg. He said “that he longed to be dissolved, and that for two reasons—first, that he might enjoy the much desired presence of Christ, and the heavenly church—secondly, that he might be freed from the cruel and implacable discords of divines.”— But I shall not, I trust, be long in this turbulent world. I am heart-sick of it. What a monster is man! Better had we remained in England:—I could laugh, there; here I dare not smile. Adieu, dear friend, &c. &c. Dear Charles—So soon as thee receives this letter, thee will proceed home without delay.—I am ruined!— All my effects were seized yesterday, to satisfy Clark & Co. of Liverpool, vs. Burlington & Co. I do not understand this; I am bewildered; something is wrong in this business. I did not know that I owed that house aught, except part of the last importation; but I know nothing, nor can I do any thing. Haste thee home with all speed. I am very much indisposed—thy mother is distracted; we need thy presence and assistance. The family send their greeting to thy young friend. Very Dear Friend—Your situation is one that admits of little relief—nothing but time can heal the wounds of the heart. But permit me to mingle my tears with yours—permit me to say that I feel for your sufferings, and that on a double account; but this is too tender a subject, and yet I cannot forbear. Dear Charles, forgive me, for in your breast alone I would repose the secret of my heart; but I dare not name it—cannot you guess, oh, dearest Charles? Write to me, quickly, and let me know. But I am raving—I sat down to console you, whilst I need consolation myself. I shall see you, at the end of the term, at all hazards—in the mean time, 2* let me know whether I may dare to hope—you understand me. Say to your sister, that her sorrows are mine. You say she weeps incessantly.—Oh, God! tell her it wounds me to the heart—never again write to me thus. Dear Charles, you have pierced my soul. Say something to relieve me.—Accept the trifle I send you, until you can make it convenient to return it. Do not let this mark of my eternal regard for you, wound your delicacy—you know my heart—you know if I were in your situation, and you in mine, that I would be proud to give you this proof of our friendship. Know, from henceforth, that what is mine is yours. Your very distressed friend, Sir—Agreeable to your request I waited on Mr. Hunter and demanded a settlement: he said he was ready, and forthwith we proceeded to the place where his books were kept. Upon examining the accounts between him and your father I am sorry to inform you that he brings your father in debt. Upon presenting the account you sent me, he denied the whole; and made use of language that is useless to repeat to you. I do think myself that your account is just; but you can get nothing of Hunter. The property you spoke of was sold a few days since for the benefit of “Clark & Co.:” therefore Hunter is insolvent. It is thought, pretty generally, that the goods were purchased by his friends and with his own money. You ask of Hunters reputation—he has hitherto been esteemed an honest man and a fair dealer; but since your affair, he has fallen very much in the esteem of the public. It is hinted here that he laid this plan of treachery when last in Liverpool; the agent for that house says he failed for the sum for which the seizure was made. I am very sorry for your situation, and have no comfort for you but the very poor ones of patience and resignation. Should you have any farther commands in this city I will attend to them with pleasure.—Yours, respectfully, &c. “Dear Henry.—You will receive this by Captain T., who has undertaken to visit you and learn your true situation. Your captivity has afflicted us with the deepest sorrow; your mother is unconsolable and refuses to be comforted. Our Government is negociating your ransom, which is attended with much difficulty; but I expect it will soon be brought about: if them Spanish dogs don't cut your throat or something worse, you will receive one thousand dollars. If that will set you at liberty I shall think it well laid out. I am in too much trouble to say more. “You will recollect, said she, that my father promised to see the Vice Roy and ask his permission for your friend to deliver the letter; he promised you he would go that evening and accordingly he went, but was unable to get an audiance that evening. After his return he came into my parlour, as he always does when he concludes the business of the day. Whilst he was talking in a careless manner, and growing sleepy he yawned and observed, “Your friend is still here, he has been with me often. He is disguised in the habit of an Indian, and has two fleet horses ready, and now the nights being dark, you may expect him. Heaven grant you may get safe to your country, where you will sometimes deign to think of I received your kind letter of November last, in which you congratulated me on my happy asylum—alas, my dear brother! this proves how little you know of the world—much better, had it pleased Divine Providence, that I had followed my parents to the grave! Much better for me, had I been destitute of those advantages, to which alone, perhaps, I owe my present distress. But I will try and compose myself, if it be possible, for the purpose of acquainting you with the principal incidents which have happened to me of late. What has become of you? Have you forgot your Mary? Are you alive? Oh, for heaven's sake send me but one line, but one word—I ask no more. But it is in vain—you cannot be living—what has become of Wilson? has he too forgot me? Alas then, I have no friend! ye cannot both be dead!—but I will cease to complain— Oh that God would take me to himself! There was but two—but no matter—and yet I cannot think that if living, you would forget me. My last letter you never answered—I heeded that not, as I expected to see yourself. I looked not for a letter, but I looked in vain for either. This is the last I shall trouble you with; I shall ask no more for help, where no help is to be found. I received your favour this day: I am truly glad to hear that you have returned, and that Mary is at length happy. I have never heard of Dupon since Mrs. Cary left here—old Mr. Simpson is dead. His oldest daughter, Clarissa, ran away with Hunter, it is supposed, as she was missing the night he escaped from prison, and has never been heard of since. I hasten to reply to both yours of this instant. Hunter owns the property mentioned in your letter. You refer to me for information respecting its value: this I would wish to decline.—In the first place I am not a judge; and in the second place the price of property is so fluctuating that it is not easy to say. It might sell to day six per cent higher than it would to-morrow. “Dear Sir.—Agreeably to my promise, I communicate the following particulars relative to Miss Simpson.
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243Author:  Sargent Epes 1813-1880Requires cookie*
 Title:  What's to be done?  
 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: On a dark and chilly evening in the last month of the year, a young portrait-painter named Stanford was sitting alone in the room where he practised his art. An easel was before him, and on it was a painting, although so dim was the light shed by a solitary candle from an adjoining table, that it was difficult to distinguish the figures on the canvass. There was a fireplace in the apartment, but it no longer emitted a cheerful warmth, for the last spark upon the hearth-stone had expired, and the air was growing colder and colder.
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244Author:  Sigourney L. H. (Lydia Howard) 1791-1865Requires cookie*
 Title:  Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since  
 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: Not far from where the southern limits of Connecticut meet the waters of the sea, the town of N— is situated. As you approach from the west, it exhibits a rural aspect, of meadows intersected by streams, and houses overshadowed with trees. Viewed from the eastern acclivity, it seems like a citadel guarded by parapets of rock, and embosomed in an ampitheatre of hills, whose summits mark the horizon with a waving line of dark forest green. Entering at this avenue, you perceive that its habitations bear few marks of splendour, but many of them, retiring behind the shelter of lofty elms, exhibit the appearance of comfort and respectability. Travelling southward about two miles, through the principal road, the rural features of the landscape are lost, in the throng of houses, and bustle of men. The junction of two considerable streams here forms a beautiful river, which, receiving the tides of the sea, rushes with a short course into its bosom. “With the circumstances of my escape you were undoubtedly made acquainted, at the return of my pursuers. The bearer will inform you that my reception on board the gallies, and at this place, has been favourable to our wishes. I am able confidently to assure you, that the suspicions excited by Arnold are false as himself. Not one of our officers is supposed by the British to be otherwise than inimical to their cause. Only one has fallen, one son of perdition. To have the pleasure of doing this justice to fidelity, balances the evils of my situation. I was yesterday compelled to a most afflicting step, but one indispensable to the completion of our plan. It was necessary for me to accept a commission in the traitor's legion, that I might have uninterrupted access to his house. Thither he usually returns at midnight, and previously to retiring, walks a short time in his garden. There I am to seize, and gag him, and with the assistance of this trusty spy, bear him to a boat, which will be in readiness. In case of interrogation, we shall say, that we are carrying an intoxicated soldier to the guard-house. Some of the pales from the garden fence are to be previously removed, that our silent passage to the alley may be facilitated. On the night, which the bearer is commissioned to appoint, meet me at Hoboken, with twenty of the Virginia cavalry, those brothers of my soul, and there, God willing, I will deliver to your hand, the troubler of Israel.
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245Author:  Sigourney L. H. (Lydia Howard) 1791-1865Requires cookie*
 Title:  Sketches  
 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 was in the full tide of a laborious and absorbing profession,—of one which imposes on intellect an unsparing discipline, but ultimately opens the avenues to wealth and fame. I pursued it, as one determined on distinction,—as one convinced that mind may assume a degree of omnipotence over matter and circumstance, and popular opinion. Ambition's promptings were strong within me, nor was its career unprosperous.—I had no reason to complain that its promises were deceptive, or its harvest tardy.
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246Author:  Sigourney L. H. (Lydia Howard) 1791-1865Requires cookie*
 Title:  Water-drops  
 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 the environs of one of the large towns of New-England, a pleasant dwelling attracted the eye of the traveller. It was a kind of Gothic cottage, whose face of brown stucco, and pointed windows, were adorned with clustering vines. Its lawn of green turf was smoothly shaven, while occasional borders, and circles of dark, weedless mould, gave nutriment to a multitude of flowers. Louisa is worthy of you.—Return.
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247Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The book of my lady  
 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: Were these days of fiction, rather than of fact, and could the popular sense be persuaded to regard that period of exciting circumstance in past history, called the era of romance, in any other light than that of a pleasant dream about to be forgotten, your charms might once again bring into exercise, not merely the lay of the minstrel, but the valour of the knight. Instead of the goosequill, spear and sword might, with sufficient reason, be lifted in your service. Alas! however, for the time—it brings forth no such offering. As an especial rebuke to such glorious errantries as made the middle ages the prime period of romantic adventure; state prisons and penitentiaries frown upon us from every quarter—instead of the warlike and stirring blasts of the bugle, calling the watchful warder to the turret, and arousing the sleeping porter to the approach of the visiter, the tintinnabulary house-bell presents itself conveniently at the portals, and the liveried servitor opens the door at the first friendly summons. Romance knows none of these comforts, and well may adventure sigh after a period which left something for achievement to do, in scaling walls and mounting windows. Had we, my lady, been born in such a period, doubt not that I should have done something worthy to be named along with the daring doings of the time. Doubt not that lance had been lifted, and bugle wound, and battle done gallantly, in your behalf and for your love. As the times are, however, this may not be the case; and all that chivalry may now proffer to his ladylove, is some little tribute of romance like this,—its relic and remembrance—comprised in a tiny volume, quite unworthy of your genius, but all that I can yield from mine. Pardon me, then, dear lady, that these pages—many of which have been already uttered in your ears—have received a name, which, though not fairly identified with yourself or yours, must nevertheless, and necessarily, refer to you for that countenance and favour, which is more than popular applause to me. May they not prove altogether unworthy your acceptance, nor seem to be altogether ungracious in your sight.
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248Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Guy Rivers  
 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 the upper part of the State of Georgia, extending into the country of the Cherokee Indians— a region, at this period, fruitful of dispute—lying at nearly equal distances between the parallel waters of the Chatahoochie river, and that branch of it which bears the name of the Chestatee, from a now almost forgotten but once formidable tribe— will be found a long reach of comparatively barren lands, interspersed with hills, which occasionally aspire to a more elevated title, and garnished only here and there with a dull, half-withered shrubbery, relieved at intervals, though even then but imperfectly, by small clumps of slender pines that fling out their few and skeleton branches ruggedly and abruptly against the sky. The entire face of the scene, if not absolutely desolate, has, at least, a dreary and melancholy expression, which can not fail to elicit, in the bosom of the most indifferent spectator, a feeling of gravity and even gloom. The sparse clusters of ragged woods, and thin undergrowth of shrivelled herbage, gave token of the generally steril character of that destiny, which seemed to have taken up its abode immediately within, while presiding over, the place. All around, as far as the eye could reach, a continual recurrence of the same objects and outline arrested and fatigued the gaze; which finally sickened of long levels of sand, broken with rude hills of a dull species of rock, and a low shrubbery from which all living things had taken their departure. Though thus barren to the eye, this region was not, however, utterly deficient in resources; and its possessions were those of a description not a little attractive to the great majority of mankind. It was the immediate outpost—the very threshold of the gold country, now so famous for the prolific promise of the precious metal; far exceeding, in the contemplation of the knowing, the lavish abundance of Mexico and of Peru, in the days of their palmiest and most prosperous condition. Nor, though only the frontier and threshold as it were to these swollen treasures, was the portion of country now under our survey, though bleak, steril and to the eye uninviting, wanting in attractions of its own; it contained the signs and indications which denoted the fertile regions, nor was it entirely deficient in the precious mineral itself. Much gold had been gathered already, with little labour, and almost upon its surface; and it was perhaps only because of the little knowledge then had of its wealth, and of its close proximity to a more productive territory, that it had been suffered to remain unexamined and unexplored. Nature, thus, we may remark, in a section of the world seemingly unblessed with her bounty, and all ungarnished with her fruits and flowers, appeared desirous, however, of redeeming it from the curse of barrenness, by storing its bosom with a product, which, only of use to the world in its conventional necessities, has become, in accordance with the self-creating wants of society, a necessity itself; and however the bloom and beauty of her summer decorations may refresh the eye of the enthusiast, it would here seem, that, with an extended policy, she had created another, and perhaps a larger class, which, in the attainment of those spoils which are of less obvious and easy acquisition, would even set at nought those which have at all times been the peculiar delight and felicity of the former. Nothing is entirely barren in her dominions; and, to some spirits, her very solitude and sterility seem as inviting and grateful, as to others may appear her rich landscapes and voluptuous flowers. “I guess I am pretty safe now from the regulators, and saving my trouble of mind, well enough, and nothing to complain about. Your animal goes as slick as grease, and carried me in no time out of reach of rifle shot—so you see it's only right to thank God, and you, lawyer; for if God hadn't touched you, and you hadn't lent me the nag, I guess it would have been a sore chance for my bones, in the hands of them savages and beasts of prey.
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249Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Guy Rivers  
 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 night began to wane, and still did Lucy Munro keep lonely vigil in her chamber. How could she sleep? Threatened herself with a connexion so dreadful as to her mind was that proposed with Guy Rivers—deeply interested as she now felt herself in the fortunes of the young stranger, for whose fate and safety, knowing the unfavourable position in which he stood with the outlaws, she had every thing to apprehend—it can cause no wonder when we say sleep grew a stranger to her eyes, and without retiring to her couch, though extinguishing her light, she sat musing by the window of her chamber upon the thousand conflicting and sad thoughts that were at strife in her spirit. She had not been long in this position when the sound of approaching horsemen reached her ears, and after a brief interval, during which she could perceive that they had alighted, she heard the door of the hall gently unclosed, and footsteps, as if set down with a nice caution, passing through the passage. A light danced for a moment fitfully along the chamber, as if borne from the sleeping apartment of Munro to that adjoining the hall in which the family were accustomed to pursue their domestic avocations. Then came an occasional murmur of speech to her ears, and then silence. Perplexed with these circumstances, and wondering at the return of Munro at an hour something unusual—prompted too by a presentiment of something wrong, and apprehensive on the score of Ralph's safety—a curiosity, not surely under these circumstances discreditable, to know what was going on, determined her to ascertain something more of the character of the nocturnal visitation. She felt assured from the strangeness of the occurrence that evil was afoot, and solicitous for its prevention, she was persuaded to the measure solely with the view to good. Hastily, yet cautiously, but with trembling hands, undoing the door of her apartment, she made her way into the long and dark gallery, with which she was perfectly familiar, and soon gained the apartment already referred to. The door fortunately stood nearly closed, and she was therefore enabled to pass it by and gain the hall, which immediately adjoined, and lay in perfect darkness; without herself being seen, she was enabled, through a crevice in the partition dividing the two rooms, to survey its inmates, and to hear distinctly at the same time every thing that was uttered. As she expected, there were the two conspirators, Rivers and Munro, earnestly engaged in discourse; to which, as it concerns materially our progress, we may well be permitted to lend our attention. They spoke on a variety of topics entirely foreign to the understanding of the half-affrighted and nervously-susceptible, but still resolute young girl who heard them; and nothing but her deep anxieties for one, whose own importance in her eyes at that moment she did not conjecture, could have sustained her while listening to a dialogue full of atrocious intention and development, and larded throughout with a familiar and sometimes foul phraseology that certainly was not altogether unseemly in such association.
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250Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The partisan  
 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 narrative begins in South Carolina, during the summer of 1780. The arms of the British were at that time triumphant throughout the colony. Their armies overran it. Charlestown, the chief city, had stood a siege, and had fallen, after a protracted and honourable defence. One-half of the military strength of the lower country, then the most populous region, had become prisoners of war by this disaster; and, for the present, were thus incapacitated from giving any assistance to their brethren in arms. Scattered, crushed, and disheartened by repeated failures, the whigs, in numerous instances, hopeless of any better fortune, had given in their adhesion to the enemy, and had received a pledge of British protection. This protection secured them, as it was thought, in their property and persons, and its conditions simply called for their neutrality. Many of the more firm and honourably tenacious, scorning all compromise with invasion, fled for shelter to the swamps and mountains; and, through the former, all Europe could not have traced their footsteps. In the whole state, at this period, the cause of American liberty had no head, and almost as little hope: all was gloomy and unpromising. Marion, afterward styled the “Swamp Fox,” and Sumter, the “Game Cock”—epithets aptly descriptive of their several military attributes—had not yet properly risen in arms, though both of them had been engaged already in active and successful service. Their places of retreat were at this time unknown; and, certainly, they were not then looked to, as at an after period, with that anxious reliance which their valour subsequently taught their countrymen to entertain. Nothing, indeed, could be more deplorably prostrate than were the energies of the colony. Here and there, only, did some little partisan squad make a stand, or offer a show of resistance to the incursive British or the marauding and malignant tory—disbanding, if not defeated, most usually after the temporary object had been obtained, and retreating for security into shelter and inaction. There was no sort of concert, save in feeling, among the many who were still not unwilling for the fight: they doubted or they dreaded one another; they knew not whom to trust. The next-door neighbour of the stanch whig was not unfrequently a furious loyalist—as devoted to George the Third as the other could have been to the intrinsic beauty of human liberty. The contest of the Revolution, so far as it had gone, had confirmed and made tenacious this spirit of hostility and opposition, until, in the end, patriot and loyalist had drawn the sword against one another, and rebel and tory were the degrading epithets by which they severally distinguished the individual whose throat they strove to cut. When the metropolis fell into the hands of the British, and their arms extended through the state, the tories alone were active and formidable. They now took satisfaction for their own previous trials; and crime was never so dreadful a monster as when they ministered to its appetites. Mingled in with the regular troops of the British, or forming separate bodies of their own, and officered from among themselves, they penetrated the well-known recesses which gave shelter to the fugitives. If the rebel resisted, they slew him without quarter; if he submitted, they hung him without benefit of clergy: they spoiled his children of their possessions, and not unfrequently slew them also. But few sections of the low and middle country escaped their search. It was only in the bald regions of North Carolina that the fugitives could find repose; only where the most miserable poverty took from crime all temptation, that the beaten and maltreated patriots dared to give themselves a breathing-space from flight. In the same manner the frontier-colony of Georgia had already been overrun and ravaged by the conquerors; and there, as it was less capable of resistance, all show of opposition had been long since at an end. The invader, deceived by these appearances, declared in swelling language to his monarch, that the two colonies were properly subjugated, and would now return to their obedience. He knew not that,
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251Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The partisan  
 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 clouds were gathering fast—the waters were troubled—and the approaching tumult and disquiet of all things in Carolina, clearly indicated the coming of that strife, so soon to overcast the scene—so long to keep it darkened—so deeply to impurple it with blood. The continentals were approaching rapidly, and the effect was that of magic upon the long prostrated energies of the South. The people were aroused, awakened, stimulated, and emboldened. They gathered in little squads throughout the country. The news was generally abroad that Gates was to command the expected army—Gates, the conqueror at Saratoga, whose very name, at that time, was a host. The successes of Sumter in the up-country, of Marion on the Peedee, of Pickens with a troop of mounted riflemen—a new species of force projected by himself—of Butler, of Horry, James, and others, were generally whispered about among the hitherto desponding whigs. These encouraging prospects were not a little strengthened in the parishes by rumours of small successes nearer at hand. The swamps were now believed to be full of enemies to royal power, only wanting imbodiment and arms; and truly did Tarleton, dilating upon the condition of things at this period in the colony, give a melancholy summary of those influences which were crowding together, as it was fondly thought by the patriots, for the overwhelming of foreign domination.
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252Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Yemassee  
 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 is a small section of country now comprised within the limits of Beaufort District, in the State of South Carolina, which, to this day, goes by the name of Indian Land. The authorities are numerous which show this district, running along, as it does, and on its southern side bounded by, the Atlantic Ocean, to have been the very first in North America, distinguished by an European settlement. The design is attributed to the celebrated Coligni, Admiral of France,[1] [1]Dr. Melligan, one of the historians of South Carolina, says farther, that a French settlement, under the same auspices, was actually made at Charleston, and that the country received the name of La Caroline, in honour of Charles IX. This is not so plausible, however, for as the settlement was made by Huguenots, and under the auspices of Coligni, it savours of extravagant courtesy to suppose that they would pay so high a compliment to one of the most bitter enemies of that religious toleration, in pursuit of which they deserted their country. Charleston took its name from Charles IL, the reigning English monarch at the time. Its earliest designation was Oyster Point town, from the marine formation of its soil. Dr. Hewatt— another of the early historians of Carolina, who possessed many advantages in his work not common to other writers, having been a careful gatherer of local and miscellaneous history—places the first settlement of Jasper de Coligni, under the conduct of Jean Ribaud, at the mouth of a river called Albemarle, which, strangely enough, the narration finds in Florida. Here Ribaud is said to have built a fort, and by him the country was called Carolina. May river, another alleged place of original location for this colony, has been sometimes identified with the St. John's and other waters of Florida or Virginia; but opinion in Carolina settles down in favour of a stream still bearing that name, and in Beaufort District, not far from the subsequent permanent settlement. Old ruins, evidently French in their origin, still exist in the neighbourhood. who, in the reign of Charles IX., conceived the project with the ulterior view of securing a sanctuary for the Huguenots, when they should be compelled, as he foresaw they soon would, by the anti-religious persecutions of the time, to fly from their native into foreign regions. This settlement, however, proved unsuccessful; and the events which history records of the subsequent efforts of the French to establish colonies in the same neighbourhood, while of unquestionable authority, have all the air and appearance of the most delightful romance.
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253Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Yemassee  
 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: Some men only live for great occasions. They sleep in the calm—but awake to double life, and unlooked-for activity, in the tempest. They are the zephyr in peace, the storm in war. They smile until you think it impossible they should ever do otherwise, and you are paralyzed when you behold the change which an hour brings about in them. Their whole life in public would seem a splendid deception; and as their minds and feelings are generally beyond those of the great mass which gathers about, and in the end depends upon them, so they continually dazzle the vision and distract the judgment of those who passingly observe them. Such men become the tyrants of all the rest, and, as there are two kinds of tyranny in the world, they either enslave to cherish or to destroy.
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254Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mellichampe  
 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 battle of Dorchester was over; the victorious Partisans, successful in their object, and bearing away with them the prisoner whom they had rescued from the felon's death, were already beyond the reach of their enemies, when Colonel Proctor, the commander of the British post, sallied forth from his station in the hope to retrieve, if possible, the fortunes of the day. A feeling of delicacy, and a genuine sense of pain, had prompted him to depute to a subordinate officer the duty of attending Colonel Walton to the place of execution. The rescue of the prisoner had the effect of inducing in his mind a feeling of bitter self-reproach. The mortified pride of the soldier, tenacious of his honour, and scrupulous on the subject of his trust, succeeded to every feeling of mere human forbearance; and, burning with shame and indignation, the moment he heard a vague account of the defeat of the guard and the rescue of Walton, he led forth the entire force at his command, resolute to recover the fugitive or redeem his forfeited credit by his blood. He had not been prepared for such an event as that which has been already narrated in the last pages of “The Partisan,” and was scarcely less surprised, though more resolute and ready, than the astounded soldiers under his command. How should he have looked for the presence of any force of the rebels at such a moment, when the defeat and destruction of Gates's army, so complete as it had been, had paralyzed, in the minds of all, the last hope of the Americans? With an audacity that seemed little less than madness, and was desperation, a feeble but sleepless enemy had darted in between the fowler and his prey—had wrested the victim of the conqueror from his talons, even in the moment of his fierce repast; and, with a wild courage and planned impetuosity, had rushed into the very jaws of danger, without shrinking, and with the most complete impunity. “`Dare Gin'ral—There's a power of red-coats jist guine down by the back lane into your parts, and they do tell that it's arter you they're guine. They're dressed mighty fine, and has a heap of guns and horses, and as much provisions as the wagons can tote. I makes bold to tell you this, gin'ral, that you may smite them, hip and thigh, even as the Israelites smote the bloody Philistians in the blessed book. And so, no more, dare gin'ral, from your sarvant to command,
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255Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mellichampe  
 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: Let us retrace our steps—let us go back in our narrative, and review the feelings and the fortunes of other parties to our story, not less important to its details, and quite as dear in our regards. Let us seek the temporary dwelling of the Berkeley family, and contemplate the condition and the employment of its inmates during the progress of the severe strife of which we have given a partial history. Its terrors were not less imposing to them than they were to those who had been actors in the conflict. To the young maidens, indeed, it certainly was far more terrible than to the brave men, warmed with the provocation and reckless from the impulses of strife. And yet, how differently did the events of the day affect the two maidens—how forcibly did they bring out and illustrate their very different characters. To the casual observer there was very little change in the demeanour of Janet Berkeley. She seemed the same subdued, sad, yet enduring and uncomplaining creature, looking for affliction because she had been so often subjected to its pressure; yet, from that very cause, looking for it without apprehension, and in all the strength of religious resignation. “You must convey the prisoner, Mellichampe,” so ran that portion of it which concerned the maiden, “so soon as his wounds will permit, under a strong guard, to the city, where a court of officers will be designated for his trial as a spy upon your encampment. You will spare no effort to secure all the evidence necessary to his conviction, and will yourself attend to the preferment of the charges.” And there, after the details of other matters and duties to be attended to and executed, was the signature of the bloody dragoon, which she more than once had seen before—
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256Author:  Leslie Eliza 1787-1858Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge  
 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 
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257Author:  Whittier John Greenleaf 1807-1892Requires cookie*
 Title:  Legends of New-England  
 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: One hundred years ago!—How has New-England changed with the passing by of a single century! At first view, it would seem like the mysterious transformations of a dream, or like the strange mutations of sunset-clouds upon the face of the Summer Heavens. One hundred years ago!—The Oak struck its roots deeply in the Earth, and tossed its branches loftily in the sunshine, where now the voice of industry and enterprise rises in one perpetual murmur. The shadows of the forest lay brown and heavily, where now the village church-spire overtops the dwellings clustered about it. Instead of the poor, dependent and feeble colonists of Britain, we are now a nation of ourselves—a people, great and prosperous and happy.
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258Author:  Kirkland Caroline M. (Caroline Matilda) 1801-1864Requires cookie*
 Title:  Western clearings  
 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 | Wiley and Putnam's library of American books | wiley and putnams library of american books 
 Description: The wild new country, with all its coarseness and all its disadvantages of various kinds, has yet a fascination for the settler, in consequence of a certain free, hearty tone, which has long since disappeared, if indeed it ever existed, in parts of the country where civilization has made greater progress. The really fastidious, and those who only pretend to be such, may hold this as poor compensation for the many things lacking of another kind; but those to whose apprehension sympathy and sincerity have a pre-eminent and independent charm, prefer the kindly warmth of the untaught, to the icy chill of the half-taught; and would rather be welcomed by the woodsman to his log-cabin, with its rough hearth, than make one of a crowd who feed the ostentation of a millionaire, or gaze with sated eyes upon costly feasts which it would be a mockery to dignify with the name of hospitality. The infrequency of inns in a newly settled country leads naturally to the practice of keeping “open house” for strangers; and it is rare indeed that the settler, however poor his accommodations, hesitates to offer the best he has to the tired wayfarer. Where payment is accepted, it is usually very inconsiderable; and it is seldom accepted at all, unless the guest is manifestly better off than his entertainer. But whether a compensation be taken or refused, the heartiness of manner with which every thing that the house affords is offered, cannot but be acceptable to the visitor. Even the ever rampant pride, which comes up so disagreeably at the West, where the outward appearance of the stranger betokens any advantage of condition, slumbers when that stranger claims hospitality. His horse is cared for with more solicitude than the host ever bestows on his own; the table is covered with the best provisions the house affords, set forth in the holiday dishes; the bed is endued with the brightest patchwork quilt—the pride of the housewife's heart; and if there be any fat fowls—any white honey—any good tea—about the premises, the guest will be sure to have it, even though it may have been reserved for “Independence” or “Thanksgiving.”
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