| | 181 | Author: | Derby
George Horatio
1823-1861 | Add | | | Title: | The Squibob papers  | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Dear Sir: — I am requested by a number of
your brother officers, and other gentlemen, to solicit
you to deliver the oration at the celebration
of the approaching Fourth of July, at this post. “Dear Sir: — I have the honor to acknowledge
the receipt of your very polite invitation to
address a number of my brother officers, and other
gentlemen, on the coming glorious anniversary,
at Vancouver. Dear Cate, you know I luv you mor an any
uther Girle in the World, and wat's the Reson
you allways want Me to tell you so. I no you ar
almost gitting tired of waiting for me; I no you luv
me fit to brake your hart. I no we ort to git
marid, but how kin we if we kant — sa! Wat's
the use in thinkin bout it. I thort wen I sold mi
mule that I wud have nough to pay the precher
and by you nice goun. But I tried mi luk at
poker and got strapt the fust nite. Cate, you
never played poker — in korse not. Wel, it's
a confounded mity nice game as long as you kin
sit behind a smorl par; but when you kant get a
par, the pot's gone. I luv you so much, Cate, that
I allmost hav a notion to sel me 1 horse wagin and
buck a nite or 2 at farow; but how kin I — sa!
Mi whol wagin wudent fech more an fore or 5
good staks. ile go back to the mountings an
work and dig and swet and do every thing I kin
to get money to git marid. I ain't any ways gelus,
Cate, but pleze don't hug and kiss and set on
J—n B—s lapp any noor. you know he
ain't worth shaks, he kant drink mor an 3 hornes
'thout gittin tite; I kin stand up under fiftey.
You know I kin lick him 2, and hav dun it and
kin do it agin. But I ain't a bit gelus, I no I out
to marid long ago. leven years is rether long to
kort a gal, but ile hav you yit Cate. Gentlemen, — At a large and respectable meeting
held by your guests this evening, in the bar
room of your exquisite hotel. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 182 | Author: | Duganne
A. J. H.
(Augustine Joseph Hickey)
1823-1884 | Add | | | Title: | Bianca, or, The star of the valley | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | DUSK was deepening
over the Alpine
summits, and huge
shadows stalked
slowly downward,
broadening gloomily
through the valleys.
All nature
was sinking into the
sealed quiet of a
winter's night, only
to be broken, during
the long hours,
by the rumbling
thunders of shifting
fields of snow in the passes and declivities of
the mountains, or perchance the sudden rushing
crash of an avalanchine slide of gathered ice,
bearing terror and destruction to the slumbering
villages below. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 184 | Author: | Duganne
A. J. H.
(Augustine Joseph Hickey)
1823-1884 | Add | | | Title: | The tenant-house, or,, Embers from poverty's hearthstone | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | WHEN a stranger, under guidance and protection of
police, or a home missionary, fearlessly breaking
bread with outcasts, penetrates some gloomy court or
narrow alley in the great Christian city of New York, he
beholds destitution and squalor of most repulsive feature:
he discovers tottering buildings crowded with sickly and
depraved human beings; stalwart, malign-looking men,
glancing furtively at every passer-by; brazen-browed women,
with foul words upon their reeking lips; children
of impure thoughts and actions, leering with wicked precocity.
When he enters the wretched abiding-places of
these unhappy people, he may find, amid associations of
vice and uncleanness, many suffering and patient souls
bearing earthly martyrdom with serene trust in their
Heavenly Father, and plucking, even out of their “ugly
and venomous” adversity, the “jewel” of immortal peace.
Such struggling ones do not dwell long in the darkness
and dolor of their probation; for the celestial ladders,
let down from Mercy's throne, rest quite as often upon the
black pavement of a tenant-court as amid the flowers that
tesselate a palace garden; and up, unceasingly, on the
shining rounds, glide disenthralled spirits of the poor and
lowly watchers for their Lord. “Your letter was received yesterday, and I have
spent the hours since in weeping and prayer. I have
prayed for you, dear Charles! with my heart sobbing, well-nigh
to break. O could I ever dream that you would
leave me for another? But I must not chide you—God
knows how I love you, dearest—I would lay down my life
for you cheerfully, without a murmur. But it is a hard
sacrifice you require of me—to give you up to another
woman, Charles! when you have sworn to love no other
one but your Margaret. You tell me you do not love the
lady—that you will marry her only for your worldly prospeets!
O Charles! I feel this is all wrong; but, alas!
what dare I say to you? I am poor—without fortune but
my deep love—God knows, I would resign a throne for
your affection, if I were a queen, instead of a portionless
girl. Charles! what was it that you said?—O Heaven!
did I understand your meaning?—that your love for me
would remain unchanged, and we should be happy after
your marriage! After your marriage, Charles! Do you
not know me better? Do you think I would consent to
do wrong, even of my great love for you? No, Charles!
after your marriage, we must never meet more! Beloved,
bear with me—it is the last time I shall annoy you. You
will wed the lady, Charles! Do not wrong her trust!—
be kind to her when she becomes your—wife! make her
happy! love her—and forget me! I shall not live a
great while, dear Charles; for my heart will break, in
thinking of the past, and of my hopes, all, all withered.
Farewell, dearest! I submit to your wishes, but I must
never see you after you are another's. Adieu, Charles!—
for the last time, my Charles! God bless and protect
you! Dear, dear Charles — husband!—I resign you.
Farewell, forever! “My dearest Rebecca,”—so the note ran—“I am
thinking of you by day, dreaming of you at night, adoring
you always. I have much to tell you, sweet one, and
must see you to-day. Fail not to meet me, at the usual
hour, at our trysting-place, darling of my soul. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 185 | Author: | Smith
Seba
1792-1868 | Add | | | Title: | My thirty years out of the Senate | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 will be seen by the date above that I wrote this little
history of my life twenty odd years ago. It was the time the
Boston folks published a little vollum of my first Letters, and
the Life was writ to head the vollum with. But I've seen a
great deal more of the world since then, and have writ a
great many more Letters, and seen a great deal more of the
workings of American Politicians. And they'll all have to
come into my Thirty Years' View. But there'll be a kind of
gap near the close of Gineral Jackson's time, and for awhile
after, because a lot of my letters, written at that time, was
lost in a fire some years afterward, and I don't suppose I can
now find the papers they was published in. But I will bridge
over the gap as well as I can, and there'll be a pretty long
road to travel both sides of it. And this reminds me how
strange the parallel runs between me and Colonel Benton;
for he lost a lot of his letters and speeches and dockyments by
fire, and had a good deal of a hard job to go over the ground
again in getting up his work. But I and Colonel Benton are
hard to beat. We generally go ahead, let what will stand in
the way. Dear Cousin Ephraim:—I now take my pen in hand to let
you know that I am well, hoping these few lines will find you
enjoying the same blessing. When I come down to Portland
I didn't think o' staying more than three or four days, if I
could sell my load of ax handles, and mother's cheese, and
cousin Nabby's bundle of footings; but when I got here I
found Uncle Nat was gone a freighting down to Quoddy, and
aunt Sally said as how I shouldn't stir a step home till he come
back agin, which won't be this month. So here I am, loitering
about this great town, as lazy as an ox. Ax handles
don't fetch nothing; I couldn't hardly give 'em away. Tell
Cousin Nabby I sold her footings for nine-pence a pair,
and took it all in cotton cloth. Mother's cheese come to
seven-and-sixpence; I got her half a pound of shushon,
and two ounces of snuff, and the rest in sugar. When
Uncle Nat comes home I shall put my ax handles aboard
of him, and let him take 'em to Boston next time he goes;
I saw a feller tother day, that told me they'd fetch a good
price there. I've been here now a whole fortnight, and
if I could tell ye one half I've seen, I guess you'd stare worse
than if you'd seen a catamount. I've been to meeting, and to
the museum, and to both Legislaters, the one they call the
House, and the one they call the Sinnet. I spose Uncle
Joshua is in a great hurry to hear something about these
Legislaters; for you know he's always reading newspapers,
and talking politics, when he can get anybody to talk with
him. I've seen him when he had five tons of hay in the field
well made, and a heavy shower coming up, stand two hours
disputing with Squire W. about Adams and Jackson—one
calling Adams a tory and a fed, and the other saying Jackson
was a murderer and a fool; so they kept it up, till the rain
began to pour down, and about spoilt all his hay. GRAND CAUCUS AT DOWNINGVILLE—THE LONG AGONY OVER, AND THE
NOMINATION OUT. My Dear Old Friend:—I've jest got the Union, containing
the broadside you fired at me, and I'm amazingly struck up,
and my feelins is badly hurt, to see that you've got so bewildered
that you seemingly don't know me. It's a melancholy
sign when old folks get so bewildered that they mistake their
oldest and best friends, one for t'other. Why, your head is
turned right round. How could you say that I was “a fictitious
Major Jack Downing?” and that my last letter to you
was a “trashy forgery?” and that you would “strip the
mask from me?” I feel bad now about writing my last letter
to you, for I'm afraid you took it too hard. I beg of you now,
my dear friend, to let all drop right where 'tis; leave Mr.
Burke to do the burkin' and the fightin', and you go right out
into the country and put yourself under the “cold-water cure”
somewhere, and see if your head won't come right again. I
“fictitious,” and you going to “strip the mask from me!”
Why, my dear friend, if you could only be up here five
minutes, and jest lift the mask off of my face one minute,
you'd know me jest as easy as the little boy knew his daddy.
Your head couldn't be so turned but what you'd know me; for
you'd see then the very same old friend that stood by you and
Gineral Jackson fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen years ago; the
same old friend that coaxed up Gineral Jackson, and made
him forgive you for calling him such hard names before he
was elected. It's very ungrateful for you to forget me now—
that is, if you was in your right mind. For I'm the same old
friend, the same Jack Downing that was born and brought up
in Downingville, away Down East, in the State of Maine, and
that drove down to Portland in Jinnerwary, 1830, with a load of
ax-handles and bean-poles, and found the Legislater in a dreadful
snarl, all tied and tangled, and see-sawin' up and down a
whole fortnight, and couldn't choose their officers. I found
my ax-handles and bean-poles wouldn't sell, so I took to polytix,
and went to writin' letters. The Legislater fout and fout
all winter; but I kept writin', and at last I got 'em straitened
out. I kept on writin' for a whole year, and got the polytix
of Maine pretty well settled. Then I see Gineral Jackson
was getting into trouble, and I footed it on to Washington to
give him a lift. And you know I always stuck by him afterward
as long as he lived. I helped him fight the battles with
Biddle's monster bank till we killed it off. I helped him put
down nullification, and showed exactly how it would work if it
got the upper hand, in my letter about carrying the raft of logs
across Sebago Pond, when Bill Johnson got mad and swore
he'd have his log all to himself, and so he cut the lashings
and paddled off on his log alone; and then his log begun to roll,
and he couldn't keep it steady, and he got ducked head over
heels half a dozen times, and come pesky near being drowned.
And that wasn't all I did to keep off nullification and help put
it down. I brought on my old company of Downingville
malitia to Washington, under the command of Cousin Sargent
Joel, and kept 'em there, with their guns all loaded, till the
danger was over. And I used to go up top of the Congress
House every day, and keep watch, and listen off toward South
Carolina, so as to be ready, the first moment nullification bust
up there, to order Sargent Joel to march and fire. The Gineral
always said the spunk I showed was what cowed nullification
down so quick, and he always felt very grateful to me for it.
Well, I stuck by the Gineral all weathers; and I kept writin'
letters from Washington to my old friend, the editor of the
Portland Courier, and kept old Hickory's popularity alive
among the people, and didn't let nobody meddle with his Administration
to hurt it. Well, then, you know, the Gineral,
in the summer of 1832, started off on his grand tower Down
East, and I went with him. You remember, when we got to
Philadelphy, the people swarmed round him so thick they almost
smothered him to death; and the Gineral got so tired
shakin' hands that he couldn't give another shake, and come
pretty near faintin' away; and then I put my hand round under
his arm, and shook for him half an hour longer, and so we
made out to get through. I sent the whole account of it to
my old friend of the Portland Courier. Well, then we jogged
along to New York; and there, you remember, we come pesky
near getting a ducking when the bridge broke down at
Castle Garden. I sent the whole account of it to my old
Portland friend. Well, the next day your “original” Major
Downing published his first original letter in a New York
paper, giving an account of the ducking at Castle Garden.
Nobody couldn't dispute but this was the true, ginuine, “original”
Downing document, although my “vile imitations” of it
had been going on and published almost every week for two
years. I say nobody couldn't dispute it, because 'twas proved
by Scripture and poetry both. For the Bible says, “The
first shall be last, and the last first;” and poetry says,
“Coming events cast their shadows before.” So the shadows,
the “vile imitations,” had been flying about the country for
more than two years before the original event got along. I
hope your head will get settled again, so that you can see
through these things and understand 'em, and know me jest
as you used to. I can't bear the idea of your not knowing
me, and thinking I'm “fictitious.” My Dear Old Friend:—I'm alive yet, though I've been
through showers of balls as thick as hailstones. I got
your paper containing my letter that I wrote on the road
to the war. The letters I wrote afterward, the guerrillas
12
and robbers are so thick, I think it's ten chances to one
if you got 'em. Some of Gineral Scott's letters is missing
just in the same way. Now we've got the city of Mexico
annexed, I think the Postmaster-General ought to have a more
regular line of stages running here, so our letters may go
safe. I wish you would touch the President and Mr. Johnson
up a little about this mail-stage business, so they may keep
all the coach makers at work, and see that the farmers raise
horses as fast as they can, for I don't think they have any idea
how long the roads is this way, nor how fast we are gaining
south. If we keep on annexin' as fast as we have done a year
or two past, it wouldn't take much more than half a dozen
years to get clear down to t'other end of South America, clear
to Cape Horn, which would be a very good stopping place;
for then, if our Government got into bad sledding in North
America, and found themselves in a dilemma that hadn't no
horn to suit 'em, they would have a horn in South America
that they might hold on to. Dear Sir:—I've done my best, according to your directions,
to get round Santa Anna, but it is all no use. He's as slippery
as an eel, and has as many lives as a cat. Trist and I
together can't hold him, and Scott and Taylor can't kill him
off. We get fast hold of him with our diplomatics, but he
slips through our fingers; and Scott and Taylor cuts his head
off in every town where they can catch him, but he always
comes to life in the next town, and shows as many heads as
if he had never lost one. I had a long talk with him in the
city, and pinned him right down to the bargain he made with
you when you let him into Vera Cruz, and asked him “why
he didn't stick to it.” He said he “did stick to it as far as
circumstances rendered it prudent.” My Dear Old Friends:—Gineral Scott and I find a good
deal of bother about getting our dispatches through to Vera
Cruz, or else you'd hear from me oftener. I do think the
President is too backward about clearing out this road from
here to Vera Cruz, and keeping it open, and introducing the
improvements into the country that we stand so much in need
of here. He and Mr. Ritchie pretends to have constitutional
scruples about it, and says the Constitution don't allow of
internal improvements; and Mr. Ritchie says the resolutions
of '98 is dead agin it, too; and, besides, Mr. Ritchie says these
internal improvements is a Federal doctrine, and he'd always
go agin 'em for that, if nothin' else. But 'tis strange to me
the President hasn't never found out yet that where there's a
will there's a way, Constitution or no Constitution. All he's
got to do is, to call all these roads round here in Mexico
“military roads,” and then he'd have the Constitution on his
side, for everbody knows the Constitution allows him to make
military roads. I know the President is very delicate about
fringing on the Constitution, so I don't blame him so much for
holding back about the internal improvements here in Mexico,
though I don't think there's any other part of the United
States where they are needed more. But there's no need of
splitting hairs about the roads; military roads isn't internal
improvements, and he's a right to make military roads as
much as he pleases. And as them is jest the kind of roads
we want here, and shall want for fifty years (for our armies
will have to keep marching about the country for fifty years
before they'll be able to tame these Mexicans, and turn 'em
into Americans), it is confounded strange to me that the
President is so behind-hand about this business. What's the
use of our going on and annexin' away down South here, if
he don't back us up and hold on to the slack? And there's
no way to hold on to it but to keep these military roads open
so our armies can go back and forth, and bring us in victuals,
and powder, and shot, and money. Dear Colonel:—Things is getting along here as well as
could be expected, considerin' the help we have, but we are all
together too weak-handed to work to profit. If you want us to
hurry along down South, we need a good deal more help and
more money. It wouldn't be no use to give that three millions
of dollars to Santa Anna now, for the people have got so out
with him that he couldn't make peace if he had six millions.
He's skulking about the country, and has as much as he can
do to take care of himself. So I think you had better give up
the notion about peace altogether, it 'll be such a hard thing
to get, and send on the three millions here to help us along
in our annexin'. It's dangerous standin' still in this annexin'
business. It's like the old woman's soap—if it don't go ahead,
it goes back. It would be a great help to us in the way of
holdin' on to what we get, if you would carry out that
plan of giving the Mexican land to settlers from the United
States, as fast as we annex it. I've been very impatient to
see your proclamation offering the land to settlers to come
out here. You've no idea how much help it would be to us if
we only had a plenty of our folks out here, so that as fast as
we killed a Mexican, or drove him off from his farm, we could
put an American right on to it. If we could only plant as we
go, in this way, we should soon have a crop of settlers here
that could hold on to the slack themselves, and leave the
army free to go ahead, and keep on annexin'. I thought
when I left Washington, you was agoing to put out such a
proclamation right away. And I think you are putting it off
a good deal too long, for we've got land and farms enough
here now for two hundred thousand at least; and, if they
would only come on fast enough, I think we could make room
for twenty thousand a week for a year to come. But I'm afraid
you're too delicate about doing your duty in this business;
you are such a stickler for the Constitution. I'm afraid you're
waiting for Congress to meet, so as to let them have a finger
in the pie. But I wouldn't do it. From all I can hear, it
looks as if the Whigs was coming into power; and if they
should, it would be a terrible calamity, for they are too narrowminded
and too much behind the age to understand the rights
of this annexin' business, and it's ten chances to one if they
don't contrive some way to put a stop to it. GREAT BATTLE IN THE COURT-MARTIAL. Dear Colonel:—I've been stumping it round all over the
lot for two or three months, tight and tight, for our American
friend, Gineral Cass, and as I s'pose you are very anxious and
uneasy to know how it's coming out, I thought I would set
down and make out a private report, and send it on to you by
the telegraph wires, for they say they go like lightening, and
give you some of the premonitory symptons, so that when the
after-clap comes you may be a little prepared for it, and not
feel so bad. As I said afore, I've been all round the lot, sometimes
by the steamboats, and sometimes by the railroads, and
sometimes by the telegraph, and when there wasn't no other
WRITING BY TELEGRAPH.
688EAF. Page 310. In-line image. A man sits upon a telephone pole writing a telegraph on a piece of paper perched on top of his tophat.
way to go, I footed it. And I'm satisfied the jig is up with
us, and it's no use in my trying any longer; and Mr.
Buchanan's speech was all throwed away, too. I'm very sure
we shall get some of the States, but I'll be hanged if I can tell
which ones. There an't a single State that I should dare to
bet upon alone, but taking 'em all in the lump, I should still
stick out strong for half a dozen at least. I see where all the
difficulty is, as plain as day. You may depend upon it, we
should elect Gineral Cass easy enough if it wasn't for Gineral
Taylor; but he stands peskily in the way, jest as much as he
stood in the way of the Mexicans at Bony Vista. As for Mr.
Van Buren, if he stood agin us alone, we should tread him all
to atoms; he couldn't make no headway at all, especially
after we got the nomination at Baltimore. Jest between you
and me, I don't think much of Mr. Van Buren now. I don't
believe he ever was a Democrat. I think he only made believe
all the time; and I'd bet two to one he's only making believe
now. I wish the Old Gineral, dear Old Hickory, that's
dead and gone, could be here now to have the handling of
him for a little while; if he didn't bring him into the traces I
wouldn't guess agin. Dear Gineral:—I'm afraid you've thought strange of it
that I haint writ to you afore now, for so long time past; but
I couldn't, I've been so busy cruising round among the fishermen
down to New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia, and the Gulf
of St. Lawrence, that I couldn't get no time to write, nor
couldn't find no Post-Office to send it. Ye see, Gineral, I didn't
accept your invitation to take a seat in your Cabinet, 'cause
I'm one of them sort that can't bear setting a great deal. I
can't stan' it without I'm up and knocking about pretty much
every day; and I understood the Cabinet had to set nigh
about half the time, so I told you I should a good deal rather
have some foreign appointment, where I could stir myself.
And you told me the foreign appointments was pretty much
all spoken for, twenty times over, but you would give me a
commission as Minister-Gineral, and I might go round and
look after the interests of the country wherever I thought
MAJOR DOWNING'S VISIT TO THE FISHING SMACKS.
688EAF. Illustration page. The Major is standing up in a rowboat, being addressed by a sailor who is standing on the deck of a larger fishing boat next to which the rowboat has drawn. The sailor points to the mast of the boat, and another sailor is bending over some ropes at the prow of the boat. In the background there are many more fishing boats. One bears an "S" on its mainsail.
best. Now that was jest what I liked; you couldn't a gin
me no appointment that would suit me better. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 188 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, 1861, June 23. | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | After receiving your very welcome letter last evening, I seal myself to comply with your request to
write you. Your letter gave some very pleasant
feelings and again it
some feelings amounting almost to pain. because I thought there
was a little considerable,, of flattery min- gled with it. Perhaps if you had been in
the room when I read your letter, you might have seen me indulge a very little in that feminine weakness of
blushing for indeed I was surprised. There is always some thing so
disgusting to flattery in any form and especially when it
from those that I wish to call by
the endering name of friend that for the moment it creates within my
heart a strange sensation that is hard to conquer I do not say this as
a reproof. but that I may be understood. you may not have meant it for
flattery but I took it as such, so if you value my friendship please
do avoid flattery in every form towards me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 190 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, 26 September 1861 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | After waiting long and
anxiously I at last recieved your kind letter dated Sept. 16 Indeed I
was
surprised when I recieved it for I had almost dispaired the hope
of hearing from you again. and having heard since you left Camp Dennison I thing
that you must have felt somewhat relieved when you found yourself down
the. You must have felt freed to some extent. I think that
I should enjoy a ride on that , with it guarded by
some of the gallant seventh. You spoke of your feelings during the fight of
as being indescribable Perhaps they were similar to mine when I first heard of the
fight Not knowing who were safe and who were not
and also hearing that that idolized brother had
passed into the cold hands of death you will not wonder that my feelings were sad
and voluntarily turned to Charlie wondering if he too had entered that narrow void.
It was then I again felt that strange sensation mingled with
pity that I wrote you of when I first became acquainted with you I was then I really longed
to hear from you but did not have the pleasure till last eve You wrote of sending a
letter after recieving mine which I did not recieve Perhaps I will yet but do not
think so Charlie I wish I could collect my scattered thoughts enough to write
something worthy your perusal. but that seems impossible I wrote a letter to Hallie
a few days ago including a few lines to you do you know whether he recieved it or
not
I sincerely hope you did. I read of the fight in
which Col. Lowe fell. Noble man he died a cruel yet noble death It seems, when I
realize the privations of. war, cruel for our (for our) brave youths to fall on the
battle field with no kind friend to sooth and comfort them. But I would not sadden
your thoughts. If you were here would we not have a nice ring? We miss
Hal very much when we round the old
while away the hours in music. He would never give us any peace till we would play and sing with him. Charlie I have a
sweet little friend here in Mecca If it were not for her I would be very lonesome
indeed. We are almost constantly together her name is
Dora Leslie I wish you were acquainted with her. She is gentle and kind and still
she is as perfect a piece
of female vanity as I ever became acquainted
with. [W or Sh]e attends the same school the same lesson and occupy the
same seat. In fact some have intimated that our friendship was more for the sake of
her brother and Hal than for each other (Ridicalous)
If Hal knew who told me so he would laugh some. I saw Edwin Williams about
two weeks ago. he said when I wrote to Hal to send word to Will. Braden that he was
well and would like to see him. He wish very much to go to war again but
does not
health will permit him to do so. Charlie what a quiet day this
is This morning it was warm and the sun was shining so beautifully
but
now hardly
clouds have gathered together and completely
obscured the sun. a slow drizzling rain is falling as if nature was
shedding a few silent tears that the summer is ended and the cold winter is fast
approaching. When the rain is falling in torrents I always turn my thoughts to the
soldiers wondering when and how they are I do you if you will be obliged
to camp out this winter Charlie you know not how many silent petitions have been
sent to that high throne for your safety and darling Hallie's I sometimes wonder
why life is so strange and why I am to this dull routine of
life You may think that I have strange feelings indeed I have at times I know not
for what I live. Do I do any good in the world? I fear
not But what am I writing My thoughts have been
way down south in Ole Virginny with Hal to day more than usual, and I scarcely know
what I write Charlie are you fasting to day Dora
to ask you she says tell him Addie and I are on green apples But I
guess you will be tired when you have finished this nonsense give my love to Hallie
and Please write soon and oblige me | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 191 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, December 19th, 1861 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | I have returned from school but how should I answer your kind letter:
If I should answer it as Irecievedit; it would
be with bitter oh, such bitter tears. Should
I tell you why I wept? No, dear Charlie I cannot now perhaps I never can, but be assured my reasons are resistless. Dear
Charlie my spirit has striven to watch over
and guard thee, and hourly & fervant prayers has risen to the
throne of Grace for your safety. But that prayer was only as a
true and loving sister would pray for a brother. I have striven aquired any other feeling save a
sisterly love and Dear CharlieI
if I have caused any other feeling
to rise in your heart save the feeling of friendship I entreat of you to forgive me for I did it unintentionly. And
if you cherish such feelings toward me Dear Charlie for my sake
and for the sake of your future happiness quench them. Promise me
that you will. Only remember me as a
sister or a friend. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 195 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, February 23rd, 1862 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | A welcome letter was there dearest brought by fridays's
mail It had been long and earnestly looked for by anxious and,
sometime tearful eyes, I could not refrain from thinking,
pretty loud, Heart! welcome messenger of love,
when it was handed, me I must
tell you how or rather what a joyful disappointment,
it produced | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 198 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, April 20th, 1862 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | Do not think dear one that I address you thus merely as a salutation for I
feel that you are precious to me. The reason
that I write the word "precious" as I do,, your apologies for
addressing me by endearing names shall I say troubled me[;] I
was surprised darling. almost pained when I read your letter I had not
thought of confining myself to the rules of etiquette when writing to you.
nor do I think I ought: I always speak as I feel and generally obey
the dictations of my heart; Have I not done right? those that I loved I always have my own form of addressing
them by irrespective of etiquette. I love to be called by pet names,,
shall I tell you what Hal and papa used to call me: Hal's pet name for
me was"Birdie" and father's (dont laugh now)
was"Whip-stalk,," When a child I was very slender and quite tall,
hence papa called me by that"tender" expression. I just asked
father (he is here at aunties) if he remembers what he used to call me. He
replied that he did,, but does not think I am much of a whip stalk
now. that I am now more of a chub. Ha ha you say that not more than a week
passes without writing to me. How strange! Last week I received two
letters from you the first time I have received one from you oftener
than in ten days and sometimes much longer for two months I
guess. Charlie dear, would you have
thought me doing right if I had engaged a school and gone on -
commenced teaching &c, without speaking to you in regard to any
future occupations? Truly you would not have wished me to. You say "you found the
bitter with the sweet" while teaching. I
have considered all this but is it not always so in life; and should I
not teach because I will find perhaps a few unpleasant days? I think I
shall love teaching. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 199 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, May 5, 1862 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | My "first day" in teaching has passed and here am I in my room at
Mrs. Leslie's seated as quietly as you please
giving my "soldier boy" the
"perticelars"
What a splendid landscape! I presume that even more beautiful are
the scenes which you have witnessed within a year than are those on the
banks of the little
"Cuyahoga"
but without any exceptions it is the lovliest place that I ever was in
Oh! Charlie you must
come home and draw a sketch of this romantic little place. Just as if I
did not want you to come to see me. As I went to my"home"this
morning. half a dozen
little faces - although quite early -
peeped out to get a sight of the new"school ma'am." What queer
specimens of human nature! I could hard -ly keep
back the laugh that made my side ache. (Bless me what language!) to hold
[unclear] in. Some little fit of mischiviousness
would seize hold of [unclear] one of them and they
would turn to perform the act when lo! my eye would chance some how,
to be looking right that way when oh! what a penitent reverential look the
little fellow would cast at me . guess I couldn't give him a
reprimand! Is not a school room the place to study human nature! I have
some ladies as old as myself attending school. one
Lillie Armstronglives in the same house with Mrs Leslie. I have a class in algebra. I am real glad that my
scholars are so far advanced for they may learn me something. Dorasits here by me. she has just
recd a letter from one of her friends Miss
Anna Williams. Why could not I receive a letter
from Charlie. By the way darling three weeks [unclear]
ago next friday was the
last "happy day" that I have had. for
you know that I am not truly happy only while hearing from you I can
not censure you for not writing oftener for I know how
the"blockade" interferes with my happiness. I have been
teasing Dora to write to you but she is
afraid it will not be acceptable. Oh: Charlie write Laurareal often wont you my darling? She
will be so lonesome now as Addie is not with her to drive off the
blues. Charlie do you hear that noise? The frogs over in yonder
millpond are having a regu -lar jubilee. I guess they dont know what fearful state our country is in. Oh: any thing
but war. When men fight to quell a rebellion or to cease some awful wrong
it is just but when they fight as some of the rebels seem to [unclear] only to kill it is horrible. What a strain of
thoughts those disagreeable frogs have led me into. I will try to
drive it away. I do not know of any news that has
transpired in Mecca but that Jim Beebe has moved out of
town strange to say he does not seem to be missed. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 200 | Author: | Case, Adelaide E. | Add | | | Title: | Letter from Adelaide E. Case to Charles N. Tenney, May 6th, 1862 | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | The Corinne Carr Nettleton Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-Text | UVA-LIB-Nettletoncivilwarletters | | | | Description: | With a thankful heart I recieved your precious
letter tonight of the 28th? and cheer- fully devote myself to the pleasure of answering
it. I wrote ou last eve informing you that I had commenced my school. You
are mistaken, dear one, I shall always be "Addie" at least I hope that
to you I shall. No difference if they do add the appel -lations of
"Mistress," "Teacher" yet from under these coverings a strong semblance of
Addie may be recognizable. Yes darling, you heard aright in your
fanciful vision when you imagined hearing a chap-
ter read from
the Bible. I should not feel my-self worthy the name of
teacher, if I could not open my school with a chapter from God's Holy
Book. I also have my scholars learn a verse from some portion of
the Bible, which they may choose and repeat just before the
close of school. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
|
