| | 3 | Author: | Huxley, Aldous, 1894-1963 | Add | | | Title: | Crome yellow  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | Along this particular stretch of line no express had ever passed.
All the trains--the few that there were--stopped at all the
stations. Denis knew the names of those stations by heart.
Bole, Tritton, Spavin Delawarr, Knipswich for Timpany, West
Bowlby, and, finally, Camlet-on-the-Water. Camlet was where he
always got out, leaving the train to creep indolently onward,
goodness only knew whither, into the green heart of England. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 4 | Author: | London, Jack, 1876-1916. | Add | | | Title: | The people of the abyss | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THE EXPERIENCES RELATED in this volume fell to me in the summer of
1902. I went down into the under-world of London with an attitude of
mind which I may best liken to that of the explorer. I was open to
be convinced by the evidence of my eyes, rather than by the
teachings of those who had not seen, or by the words of those who
had seen and gone before. Further, I took with me certain simple
criteria with which to measure the life of the under-world. That which
made for more life, for physical and spiritual health, was good;
that which made for less life, which hurt, and dwarfed, and
distorted life, was bad. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 6 | Author: | Mill, John Stuart, 1806-1873 | Add | | | Title: | Essay on Liberty / John Stuart Mill | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THE subject of this Essay is not the so-called Liberty
of the Will, so unfortunately opposed to the misnamed doctrine of Philosophical Necessity; but Civil,
or Social Liberty: the nature and limits of the power which
can be legitimately exercised by society over the individual.
A question seldom stated, and hardly ever discussed, in general terms, but which profoundly influences the practical
controversies of the age by its latent presence, and is likely
soon to make itself recognized as the vital question of the
future. It is so far from being new, that, in a certain sense,
it has divided mankind, almost from the remotest ages, but
in the stage of progress into which the more civilized portions of the species have now entered, it presents itself
under new conditions, and requires a different and more fundamental treatment. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 8 | Author: | Hadden, Jeffrey | Add | | | Title: | The Electronic Churches | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | In recent years the
electronic church has become a source of great controversy.
The initial critics, largely mainline Protestant leaders,
charged that the electronic church constitutes a threat to
local congregations. The television preachers, critics
argued, make it too easy for people to get their religion in
the comfort of their living rooms. [1]
The perceived threat of
losing communicants from the pews and dollars from the
offering plate has resulted in a barrage of wide-ranging
attacks on the televangelists. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 14 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | Roughing it | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | My brother had just been appointed Secretary of Nevada
Territory — an office of such majesty that it concentrated
in itself the duties and dignities of Treasurer,
Comptroller, Secretary of State, and Acting Governor in the
Governor's absence. A salary of eighteen hundred dollars a
year and the title of “Mr. Secretary,” gave to the great position
an air of wild and imposing grandeur. I was young and
ignorant, and I envied my brother. I coveted his distinction
and his financial splendor, but particularly and especially the
long, strange journey he was going to make, and the curious
new world he was going to explore. He was going to travel!
I never had been away from home, and that word “travel” had
a seductive charm for me. Pretty soon he would be hundreds
and hundreds of miles away on the great plains and deserts,
and among the mountains of the Far West, and would see buffaloes
and Indians, and prairie dogs, and antelopes, and have
all kinds of adventures, and may be get hanged or scalped, and
have ever such a fine time, and write home and tell us all
about it, and be a hero. And he would see the gold mines
and the silver mines, and maybe go about of an afternoon
when his work was done, and pick up two or three pailfuls of
shining slugs, and nuggets of gold and silver on the hillside.
And by and by he would become very rich, and return home by
sea, and be able to talk as calmly about San Francisco and the
ocean, and “the isthmus” as if it was nothing of any consequence
to have seen those marvels face to face. What I
suffered in contemplating his happiness, pen cannot describe.
And so, when he offered me, in cold blood, the sublime position
of private secretary under him, it appeared to me that
ENVIOUS CONTEMPLATIONS.
504EAF. Page 020. In-line image of a man standing in plaid pants and talking
to a man sitting at a desk reading a news paper.
the heavens and the earth passed away, and the firmament
was rolled together as a scroll! I had nothing more to desire.
My contentment was complete. At the end of an hour or
two I was ready for the journey. Not much packing up was
necessary, because we were going in the overland stage from
the Missouri frontier to Nevada, and passengers were only
allowed a small quantity of baggage apiece. There was no
Pacific railroad in those fine times of ten or twelve years ago—
not a single rail of it. “Dear Sir: I fear I do not entirely comprehend your kind note. It cannot
be possible, Sir, that `turnips restrain passion'—at least the study or contemplation
of turnips cannot—for it is this very employment that has scorched our poor
friend's mind and sapped his bodily strength.—But if they do restrain it, will you
bear with us a little further and explain how they should be prepared? I observe
that you say `causes necessary to state,' but you have omitted to state them. `Potatoes do sometimes make vines; turnips remain passive: cause unnecessary
to state. Inform the poor widow her lad's efforts will be vain. But diet, bathing,
etc. etc., followed uniformly, will wean him from his folly—so fear not. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 15 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Mohun, or, The last days of Lee and his paladins | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Tell, you know who, that I have just seen the honorable
Mr. —” (here the writer gave the real name and official position
of Mr. X—), “and have had a long conversation with him.
He is fully convinced that I am a good Confederate, and spoke
without reserve of matters the most private. He is in high spirits,
and looks on the rebel cause as certain to succeed. I never
saw one more blinded to the real state of things. Richmond is
full of misery, and the people seem in despair, but this high official,
who represents the whole government, is evidently certain
of Lee's success. I found him in a garrulous mood, and he did
not conceal his views. The government has just received heavy
supplies from the south, by the Danville railroad—others are
coming—the whole country in rear of Sherman is rising—and
Lee, he stated, would soon be re-enforced by between fifty and seventy-five
thousand men. What was more important still, was a dispatch,
which he read me, from England. This startled me. There
seems no doubt that England is about to recognize the Confederacy.
When he had finished reading this dispatch, on the back
of which I could see the English postmark, he said to me—these
are his words:—`You see, things were never brighter; it is only
a question of time; and by holding out a little longer, we shall
compel the enemy to retire and give up the contest. With the
re-enforcements coming, Lee will have about one hundred thousand
men. With that force, he will be able to repulse all General
Grant's assaults. Things look dark at this moment, but the cause
was never more hopeful.' “I send this note to await your appearance at the Oaks. Come
and see me. Some old friends will give you a cordial greeting,
in addition to | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 16 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Wearing of the gray | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | These “Personal Portraits” were undertaken with the design
of making better known and understood the great actors in the
recent struggle who are the subjects of them. “Dear Sir: My telegram will have informed you that I deem
a change of commanders in your department necessary, but it is
due to your zealous and patriotic services that I should explain
the reasons that prompted my action. The situation of affairs
is such that we can neglect no means calculated to develop the
resources we possess to the greatest extent, and make them as
efficient as possible. To this end it is essential that we should
have the cheerful and hearty support of the people and the full
confidence of the soldiers, without which our efforts would be
embarrassed, and our means of resistance weakened. I have
reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that you cannot command
the united and willing co-operation which is so essential to success.
Your reverses in the Valley, of which the public and the
army judge chiefly by the results, have, I fear, impaired your
influence both with the people and the soldiers, and would add
greatly to the difficulties which will, under any circumstances,
attend our military operations in S. W. Va. While my own
confidence in your ability, zeal, and devotion to the cause, is unimpaired,
I have nevertheless felt that I could not oppose what
seems to be the current of opinion, without injustice to your
reputation and injury to the service. I therefore felt constrained
to endeavour to find a commander who would be more likely to
develop the strength and resources of the country and inspire
the soldiers with confidence, and to accomplish this purpose,
thought it proper to yield my own opinion, and defer to that of
those to whom alone we can look for support. I am sure that
you will understand and appreciate my motives, and that no one
will be more ready than yourself to acquiesce in any measure
which the interests of the country may seem to require, regardless
of all personal considerations. Thanking you for the fidelity
and energy with which you have always supported my efforts,
and for the courage and devotion you have ever manifested in
the service of the country, I am, very respectfully and truly,
your obedient servant, “My Dear Madam—I want you to know how we in Virginia
admired, appreciated, and loved your son. Had he been her own,
Virginia could not have loved him more; certainly she could
not owe him more—so long and so bravely had he fought upon
her soil. He was particularly well known in this unfortunate
part of the State, which has been, sometimes for months, overrun
by our foes. Many families will miss his coming, so daring was
he, and so much depended on by General Stuart. He scouted a
great deal alone in the enemy's lines, and was often the bearer
of letters and messages from loved oncs long unheard from.
Often, when we have been cut off from all communication from
our own people, he has been the first to come as the enemy were
leaving, often galloping up when they were searcely out of
sight—always inspiring us with fresh hope and courage, his
cheerful presence itself seeming to us a prophecy of good. “Know Ye, That reposing special confidence in the patriotism,
fidelity, and ability of Antonia J.—, I, James E. B.
Stuart, by virtue of the power vested in me as Brigadier-General
of the Provisional Army of the Confederate States of America,
do hereby appoint and commission her my honorary Aide-de-Camp,
to rank as such from this date. She will be obeyed,
respected, and admired by all true lovers of a noble nature. “I hereby bind myself, on my word of honour, not to take up
arms against the Confederate States, or in any manner give aid
and comfort to the Federal cause, until I am regularly exchanged. When I left home, my dear boys, I promised to write to you
whenever an opportunity occurred, and give you some of my
views and opinions. When you come out of Richmond, my dear boys, you have
to get a passport. As you have never yet travelled from home,
I will explain what a passport is. It is a paper (always brown)
which is signed by somebody or his clerk, and which induces a
melancholy-looking soldier at the cars, with a musket and fixed
bayonet, to let you go back from the horrors of Richmond to
the delights of camp. The Army of Northern Virginia had surrendered! Strange,
incredible announcement! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 17 | Author: | Cozzens
Frederic S.
(Frederic Swartwout)
1818-1869 | Add | | | Title: | The Sparrowgrass papers, or, Living in the country | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It is a good thing to live in the country. To
escape from the prison-walls of the metropolis—
the great brickery we call “the city”—and to live
amid blossoms and leaves, in shadow and sunshine,
in moonlight and starlight, in rain, mist, dew,
hoar-frost, and drouth, out in the open campaign,
and under the blue dome that is bounded by the
horizon only. It is a good thing to have a well
with dripping buckets, a porch with honey-buds,
and sweet-bells, a hive embroidered with nimble
bees, a sun-dial mossed over, ivy up to the eaves,
curtains of dimity, a tumbler of fresh flowers in
your bedroom, a rooster on the roof, and a dog
under the piazza. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 18 | Author: | Cummins
Maria S.
(Maria Susanna)
1827-1866 | Add | | | Title: | The lamplighter | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was growing dark in the city. Out in the open country it
would be light for half an hour or more; but within the close
streets where my story leads me it was already dusk. Upon the
wooden door-step of a low-roofed, dark, and unwholesome-looking
house, sat a little girl, who was gazing up the street with much
earnestness. The house-door, which was open behind her, was
close to the side-walk; and the step on which she sat was so low
that her little unshod feet rested on the cold bricks. It was a
chilly evening in November, and a light fall of snow, which had made
everything look bright and clean in the pleasant open squares,
near which the fine houses of the city were built, had only served
to render the narrow streets and dark lanes dirtier and more cheerless
than ever; for, mixed with the mud and filth which abound
in those neighborhoods where the poor are crowded together, the
beautiful snow had lost all its purity. “Dear Gertrude: As there were plenty of Boston folks at
the wedding, I daresay you have heard before this of Mr. Graham's
marriage. He married the widder Holbrook, the same I
wrote you about. She was determined to have him, and she's
got him. I don't hesitate to say he's got the worst of the bargain.
He likes a quiet life, and he's lost his chance of that,—
poor man!—for she's the greatest hand for company that ever I
saw. She followed Mr. Graham up pretty well at Havana, but
I guess he thought better of it, and did n't really mean to have
her. When we got to New Orleans, however, she was there;
and the long and short of it is, she carried her point, and married
him. Emily behaved beautifully; she never said a word against
it, and always treated the widder as pleasantly as could be; but,
dear me! how will our Emily get along with so many young folks
as there are about all the time now, and so much noise and confusion?
For my part, I an't used to it, and don't pretend that
I think it's agreeable. The new lady is civil enough to me, now
she's married. I daresay she thinks it stands her in hand, as
long as she's one of the family, and I've been in it so long. But
I suppose you've been wondering what had become of us, Gertrude,
and will be surprised to find we've got so far as New
York, on our way home,—my way home, I should say, for I'm
the only one that talks of coming at present. The truth is, I
kept meaning to write while we were in New Orleans, but there
was so much going on I did n't get a chance; and, after that
horrid steamboat from Charleston here, I was n't good for anything
for a week. But Emily was so anxious to have you written
to that I could n't put it off any longer than until to-day. Poor
Emily is n't very well; I don't mean that she's downright sick,
—it's low spirits and nervousness, I suppose, more than anything.
She gets tired and worried very quick, and is easily
startled and disturbed, which did n't use to be the case. I think
likely it's the new wife, and all the nieces, and other disagreeable
things. She never complains, and nobody would know but what
she was pleased to have her father married again; but she has n't
seemed quite happy all winter, and now it troubles me to see how
sad she looks sometimes. She talks a sight about you, and felt
dreadfully not to get any more letters. To come to the principal
thing, however, they are all going to Europe,—Emily and all.
I take it it's the new wife's idea; but, whoever proposed the
thing, it's all settled now. Mr. Graham wanted me to go, but I
would not hear of such a thing; I would as soon be hung as
venture on the sea again, and I told him so, up and down. So
now he has written for you to go with Emily; and, if you are not
afraid of sea-sickness, I hope you won't refuse, for it would be
dreadful for her to have a stranger, and you know she always
needs somebody, on account of her blindness. I do not think she
has the least wish to go; but she would not ask to be left behind,
for fear her father should think she did not like the new wife. “I need not tell my darling Gertrude how much I have missed
her, and longed to have her with me again; how I have thought
of her by night and day, and prayed God to strengthen and
fit her for her many trials and labors. The letter written soon
after Mr. Cooper's death, is the last that has reached me, and
I do not know whether Mrs. Sullivan is still living. Write
to me at once, my dear child, if you cannot come to us. Father
will tell you of our plans, and ask you to accompany us to Europe;
my heart will be light if I can take my dear Gerty with me, but
not if she leave any other duty behind. I trust to you, my love,
to decide aright. You have heard of father's marriage. It is a
great change for us all, but will, I trust, result in happiness.
Mrs. Graham has two nieces who are with us at the hotel. They
are to be of our party to go abroad, and are, I understand, very
beautiful girls, especially Belle Clinton, whom you have seen in
Boston some years ago. Mrs. Ellis is very tired of writing, and
I must close with assuring my dearest Gertrude of the devoted
affection of “Miss Gertrude Flint: I am married, and intend to go
abroad on the 28th of April; my daughter will accompany
us, and, as Mrs. Ellis dreads the sea, I am induced to propose
that you join us in New York, and attend the party, as a companion
to Emily. I have not forgotten the ingratitude with which
you once slighted a similar offer on my part, and nothing would
compel me to give you another opportunity to manifest such a
spirit, but a desire to promote the happiness of Emily, and a
sincere wish to be of service to a young person who has been in
my family so long that I feel a friendly interest in providing for
her. I thus put it in your power, by complying with our wishes,
to do away from my mind the recollection of your past behavior;
and, if you choose to return to us, I shall enable you to maintain
the place and appearance of a lady. As we sail the last of the
month, it is important you should be here in the course of a fortnight;
and, if you will write and name the day, I will myself meet
you at the boat. Mrs. Ellis being anxious to return to Boston,
I hope you will come as soon as possible. As you will be obliged
to incur expenses, I enclose a sum of money sufficient to cover
them. If you have contracted debts, let me know to what amount,
and I will see that all is made right before you leave. Trusting
to your being now come to a sense of your duty, I am ready to
subscribe myself your friend, “My Dear Mrs. Jeremy: As yesterday was the day on which
we expected to sail for Europe, you will be somewhat astonished
to hear that we are yet in New York, and still more so to learn
that the foreign tour is now indefinitely postponed. Only two
days since, Mr. Graham was seized with his old complaint, the
gout, and the attack proved so violent as seriously to threaten his
life. Although to-day somewhat relieved, and considered by his
physician out of immediate danger, he remains a great sufferer,
and a sea-voyage is pronounced impracticable for months to come.
His great anxiety is to be at home; and, as soon as it is possible
for him to bear the journey, we shall all hasten to the house in
D—. I enclose a note for Mrs. Ellis. It contains various directions
which Emily is desirous she should receive; and, as we did
not know how to address her, I have sent it to you, trusting to
your kindness to see it forwarded. Mrs. Graham and her nieces,
who had been anticipating much pleasure from going abroad, are,
of course, greatly disappointed at the entire change in their plans
for the summer. It is particularly trying to Miss Clinton, as her
father has been absent more than a year, and she was hoping to
meet him in Paris. “My darling Gertrude: My much-loved child,—for such
you indeed are, though a father's agony of fear and despair alone
wrung from me the words that claimed you. It was no madness
that, in the dark hour of danger, compelled me to clasp you to
my heart and call you mine. A dozen times before had I been
seized by the same emotion, and as often had it been subdued
and smothered. And even now I would crush the promptings of
nature, and depart and weep my poor life away alone; but the
voice within me has spoken once, and cannot again be silenced.
Had I seen you happy, gay and light-hearted, I would not have
asked to share your joy, far less would I have east a shadow on
your path; but you are sad and troubled, my poor child, and
your grief unites the tie between us closer than that of kindred,
and makes you a thousand times my daughter; for I am a
wretched, weary man, and know how to feel for others' woe. “My dear, dear Father,—If I may dare to believe that you
are so, and, if not that, my best of friends,—how shall I write to
you, and what shall I say, since all your words are a mystery!
Father! blessed word! O, that my noble friend were indeed my
father! Yet tell me, tell me, how can this be? Alas! I feel a
sad presentiment that the bright dream is all an illusion, an error.
I never before remember to have heard the name of Philip Amory.
My sweet, pure and gentle Emily has taught me to love all the
world; and hatred and contempt are foreign to her nature, and, I
trust, to my own. Moreover, she has not an enemy in the wide
world; never had, or could have. One might as well war with
an angel of Heaven as with a creatures so holy and lovely as she. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 19 | Author: | Cummins
Maria S.
(Maria Susanna)
1827-1866 | Add | | | Title: | Mabel Vaughan | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | On a pleasant midsummer's afternoon, a middle-aged lady,
with a mild and thoughtful face, sat alone in her quiet parlor,
busily engaged in sewing. It was a country home in which
she dwelt, and her low window opened directly into a green
and sloping orchard, now fragrant with new-mown hay, the
sweet breath of which was borne in on every passing breeze.
She was a woman of many cares, and but little leisure, and for
more than an hour had not lifted her eyes from her work,
when, suddenly attracted by the merry voices of children, she
arrested herself in the act of setting a stitch, and, with her
needle still poised between finger and thumb, leaned her elbow
on the window-sill and for several minutes gazed earnestly and
attentively upon a little group collected beneath an opposite
tree. They were too far off for their words to be distinguishable,
but happiness shone in their faces, mirth rang in their
careless shout, and joy danced in all their motions. Whether
chasing the light butterfly, pelting each other with tufts of hay,
or, in the very exuberance of their spirits, scampering without
purpose or rest in the sunshine, they were in every view pictures
of infant glee, cheering and happy sights to a mother's
heart. Though now and then smiling on their sport, however,
the gentle-faced lady at the window was watching them with a
more thoughtful and observant gaze than the occasion seemed
to warrant, for she saw amid their play what a less careful eye
might have failed to discern, and from it she drew a moral. “Dearest May:—After three days and nights of constant
travelling, I arrived at the miserable town from which father
wrote to you, and found him wretchedly accommodated in a
mere barn of a place, every tolerable room in the tavern, and
every spare corner in the few private houses, having been
appropriated to those of the passengers who were more seriously
injured. Father's escape seems almost miraculous, as
he was in the front car, which rolled over twice as it fell down
27*
the embankment. He has suffered considerably from a bruise
on his back, and a sprain in the ancle, which made him quite
helpless for a few days. He has, also, had an uncomfortable
sensation of dizziness in the head, but that is merely the natural
effect of the jar, and has already begun to subside. Do not be
anxious about him, for I flatter myself I make a capital doctor,
nurse, cook, and housekeeper, all of which offices have devolved
upon me. “Dear Miss Mabel,” wrote Lydia, “I'm afraid you don't
know that Mrs. Leroy is very sick at the hotel here in New
York. I hated to frighten you, and didn't know how to tell
you of it without; but mother says you ought to know, for it
wouldn't be like you not to come right away. When she first
took sick, Cecilia sent for us, and we've been here ever since.
Cecilia has gone back to Cape May to wait on another lady.
Mother does the best she can, and I try to be of some use.
The folks in the hotel are very good, and the doctor comes
ever so often; but he can't seem to help her, and she's getting
very bad. Oh, Miss Mabel, we wish you were here, and we
hope you will start as soon as you get this. “Dear Mrs. Herbert:—Your kind New Year's letter,
with all the pleasant reminiscences, affectionate messages, and
loving inquiries from yourself and the dear girls, was a most
welcome proof of the tender interest with which you have
followed me to my new home, and claims a hearty response;
though before I have answered half your questions, I fear
you will weary of my Western experiences. We have now
passed two winters in our new home, and begin to feel ourselves
old settlers;—the more so, as no less than thirty families
have established themselves in the village since our arrival.
As we are a little on the outskirts of the town, however, we
have no near neighbor, except Mr. Gracie, the clergyman,
who lives across the opposite bit of prairie, and who, with his
daughter, are our most intimate and esteemed friends. I have
frequently spoken of Helen in my letters, so her name and many
points of her disposition and character are no doubt familiar to
you. But you cannot imagine the treasure she has been
to me, ever since the first moment of our acquaintance. Next
to yourself, there is no one to whom I am so much indebted
for the ease and pleasure with which I have been enabled to
adapt myself to our new circumstances. Care sits so lightly
on her shoulders, and she knows so well how to combine employment
and recreation, that in her society the most important
duties cease to be burdensome, and little mishaps afford
only new occasion for merriment. The children of the rough
backwoodsmen, who are among her father's parishioners, hear
the sound of her horse's feet, and run to meet her the moment
she is in sight, sure of some trifling gift, a story, or a ride on
the pony, which seems to be common property. If she goes
with her basket of medicines to visit the sick, at a distance,
she comes back so laden with flowers, you would think she
had been a Maying; and an old Canadian Indian woman, to
whom she daily reads a chapter in her French Bible, declares
her voice more musical than running water. I have never
seen father so abstracted with the cares of business that he
has not a pleasant word for his fairy nurse, as he calls her,
and no bribe is so effectual with the boys, or inducement
rather (for I, like you, scorn the use of bribes), as the promise
of an evening visit to Helen. As for Harry—but never
mind about Harry—sisters are so suspicious, you know, where
their brothers are concerned. “Dear Aunt Sabiah:—thus she wrote—I have been
wandering about the house for the last half hour, asking myself
whether the cottage-roofed chamber above can be made
warm in winter, and cool in summer, whether the stairs are
not too steep for any but youthful feet to climb, whether our
parlor is not too contracted for comfort, and the view from its
windows too strange and dreary to ever wear the look of home;
and I have concluded, in spite of all disadvantages, that, with
love on our side, and the earnest wish to make you happy, you
would be far more comfortable here, than in my aunt Ridgway's
spacious and richly-furnished mansion. I never dared
say this before. I never ventured to breathe the hope I have
long had at heart, for I knew your love of old associations, and
your dislike of change. But your last letter has made me
bold. I cannot bear the thought that you are subjected to
such trials, such hardships, and such absolute indignities, as I
plainly perceive you have lately been made to suffer, when
here you would be independent, appreciated, and beloved. It
is true we have not, as we once had, luxuries to offer, but we
have all the necessaries and most of the comforts of life, and
these, too, in abundance; for our Western lands are so lavish
in their produce, that hospitality with us almost ceases to be a
virtue. Then, too, although my father, as you well know, has
sacrificed everything but this Western property for the payment
of his debts, and is unwilling to dispose of any portion of
the estate at present, Harry is gradually bringing a large part
of it under cultivation, and, if his success continues, the rent
which he insists upon paying, will not only furnish us with
every needed supply, but enable us to lay by something for
the children's education. So, even if your poor hands are dis
abled with the rheumatism, you need not fear that your presence
here will be the burden which you say it is to my aunt
Margaret. On the contrary, we shall hail your coming with
delight, and shall rejoice to contribute in every way to your
happiness. I have consulted father, who quite agrees with me
in my view of the matter, and will, I am sure, be rejoiced to
welcome you. The boys are improving very much as they
grow older, and now that they have such an ample play-ground,
you will not suffer at all from their noise. Our village shop-keeper
goes to the eastward every spring for the purchase of
goods, and will be a most excellent escort on the journey. You
see I am quite taking it for granted you will come, but it is
because I feel so truly, dear aunt, that your rightful and
natural place is at our hearth-stone, as well as in our hearts;
and because I know you so well that I venture to believe you
will not disappoint the earnest wishes and hopes of “Dear Mrs. Herbert:—When I look back to the days
of my childhood, there ever arises before me the image of one
dear friend, whose tender love and devoted care made it a
blessed and happy portion of my life, on which memory loves
to dwell. When I consider the years which have since intervened,
I can not fail to be reminded, that at every step I have
been counselled, strengthened and cheered, by the advice, the
warnings, and the lessons of this same dear friend; and now
that I am about to enter upon a new sphere of duty, I feel an
instinctive yearning to still claim a place in her good wishes,
her affection, and her prayers. You have cherished the child,
encouraged the woman—let me bespeak your loving sympathy
for the wife. It does not become me to say much of him to
whom, to-morrow, I expect to stand in this new and near
relation. Some day, I trust, you will see and know Mr.
Percival, and be enabled to judge for yourself. But if genuine
simplicity and true manliness of heart and life entitle a man to
honor, I may well be proud of the station which he holds, both
independently, and in the world's opinion; and if strength of
Christian principle is the surest foundation for confidence and
trust, I may well believe that the sentiments which he now
professes are sincere, and will be lasting. I trust I have not
said too much; but indeed, dear Mrs. Herbert, my only fear is
that I am not worthy to be the object of his choice; and it is
that I may become so, that I chiefly beg an interest in your
prayers. Bayard (for you will wish to know him by his Christian
name also) is the son of Counsellor Percival, as he was
usually called, a lawyer, formerly of high standing in New
York city, but now for some years deceased. His widow is
still living, vigorous and active, although nearly seventy-six
years of age. She, too, is well known in New York and elsewhere,
for the active part she has taken in every philanthropic
and benevolent scheme; nor does she, even at her present
advanced period of life, feel herself excused from exertion, or
unfitted for active duty. You will realize this, when I tell you
that she has recently taken a house in Cambridge, with the
view of furnishing a home for two of her grandsons, now students
at Harvard, and that she has invited Alick and Murray
also to become members of her family. No proposition could
have been more opportune, so far as the boys are concerned;
for Alick hopes to be prepared for admission to the University
at the commencement of the next collegiate year, and Murray
could nowhere pursue, to such advantage, the mathematical
studies which are to fit him for his chosen profession—that
of an engineer. At first, we all opposed the plan, fearing
Madam Percival was assuming too much care; but she over-persuaded
my father and Harry, convinced me that she anticipated
only pleasure from the charge, and finally carried her
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