| | 101 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Add | | | Title: | Mliss  | | | | 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: | Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside
in gentler undulations, and the river grows less
rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red
mountain stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from
the red road at sunset, in the red light and the
red dust its white houses look like the outcroppings
of quartz on the mountain-side. The red
stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost
to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent,
turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way
places, and vanishing altogether within a hundred
yards of the town. It is probably owing
to this sudden twist in the road that the advent
of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended
with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting
from the vehicle at the stage office the too-confident
traveler is apt to walk straight out of
town under the impression that it lies in quite
another direction. It is related that one of the
tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of
these self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag,
umbrella, New York Mercury, and other evidences
of civilization and refinement, plodding
along over the road he had just ridden, vainly
endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's
Pocket. “Respected Sir:—When you read this I am run
away. Never to come back. Never, never never.
You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my
Amerika's Pride (a highly-colored lithograph from a
tocacco-box) to Sally Flanders. But don't you give
anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dair to. Do
you know what my oppinion of her, it is this, she is
perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present
from yours respectfully, “Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county
seat. Our case is won. We leave here next week. “Dear Papa:—Please tell Mr. Gray that his protege
is safe. Mr. Gray:—If you care a damn for Mliss, come and
take care of her. The devil has got her, and his name
is Wade. Dear Lissy:—Trust the hearer of this as you would the
writer. We long for your return. Your suit is won. I
would write more, but I do not know whose hands this letter
may fall into. Regina sends her love. Your waiting friend, Dear Sister:—Just got a letter from Mr. Gray, telling me
that I am wanted at home. Been wanting to come home for
two months, but don't see just how to get away. Truth is,
little Clytie is the prettest girl in Smith's Pocket, and I got a
little sweet on her. Couldn't help it. That's the kind of fellow
I am. Now, if you'll write to Clytie, and invite her to
spend a few months with you, it'll be all right. Big brother'll
go along to make sure it's all right. If you don't I'm afraid
there'll be a row, and the boys up here are all crack shots
Your erring brother, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 102 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Add | | | Title: | Tales of the Argonauts, and other sketches | | | | 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: | “Dear Steve, — I've been thinking over your proposition
to buy Nichols's quarter-interest, and have concluded
to go in. But I don't see how the thing will pay
until you have more accommodation down there, and for
the best class, — I mean my customers. What we want
is an extension to the main building, and two or three
cottages put up. I send down a builder to take hold of
the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him; and
you are to look after them as you would for one of us. “My dear Sir, — I do not know whether the bearer
will suit you; but, unless the office of `devil' in your
newspaper is a purely technical one, I think he has all
the qualities required. He is very quick, active, and
intelligent; understands English better than he speaks
it; and makes up for any defect by his habits of observation
and imitation. You have only to show him how to
do a thing once, and he will repeat it, whether it is an
offence or a virtue. But you certainly know him already.
You are one of his godfathers; for is he not Wan Lee, the
reputed son of Wang the conjurer, to whose performances
I had the honor to introduce you? But perhaps
you have forgotten it. “Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on
Heavytree Hill on Christmas Day. Invite what friends
you choose. “O Frank! — Don't you remember what we agreed
upon anent the baby? Well, consider me as dead for the
next six months, or gone where cubs can't follow me, —
East. I know you love the baby; but do you think, dear
boy, — now, really, do you think you could be a father
to it? Consider this well. You are young, thoughtless,
well-meaning enough; but dare you take upon yourself
the functions of guide, genius, or guardian to one so
young and guileless? Could you be the Mentor to this
Telemachus? Think of the temptations of a metropolis.
Look at the question well, and let me know speedily; for
I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking up an
awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like a
maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 103 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Add | | | Title: | Cousin Maude ; And, Rosamond | | | | 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: | “The doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know
the old place. Thar's a big dining-room run out to the
South, with an expansion-table mighty nigh a rod long,
and what's more, it's allus full, too, of city stuck-ups—
and the way they do eat! I haint churned nary pound
of butter since you went away. Why, bless yer soul, we
has to buy. Do you mind that patch of land what the
Doctor used to plant with corn? Well, the garden sass
grows there now, and t'other garden raises nothin' but
flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on purpose
to tend 'em. He's writin' this for me. Thar's a tower
run up in the North-east eend, and when it's complete,
she's goin' to have a what you call 'em—somethin' that
blows up the water—oh, a fountain. Thar's one in the
yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's got one of Cary's
rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin' crazy about,
and every hot day she keeps John a turnin' the injin' to
squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like
a thunder-shower! Thar's a bath-room, and when them
city folks is here some on 'em is a washin' in thar all the
time. I don't do nothin' now but wash and iron, and if
I have fifty towels I have one! But what pesters me
most is the wide skirts I has to do up; Miss Canady wears
a hoop bigger than an amberell. They say Miss Empress,
who makes these things, lives in Paris, and I wish you'd
put yourself out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to
quit sendin' over them fetched hoops. Thar aint no sense
in it! We've got jiggers in every chamber where the
water spirts out. Besides turnin' the injin, John drives
the horses in the new carriage. Dr. Canady looks poorly,
and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but I knows
the claws is thar. She's about broke him of usin' them
maxims of his, and your poor marm would enjoy it a
spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity him after a while.
I do, and if things continners to grow wus, I shall just ask
pra'rs for him in my meetin'. Elder Blossom is powerful
at that. My health is considerable good, but I find I grow
old. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 104 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Add | | | Title: | The War-path | | | | 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: | A dense fog hung over the placid surface of the Delaware
River, and enveloped in its folds many of the ancient
buildings of Burlington, then the capital of the colony of
New Jersey. The stately mansion of the British governor,
William Franklin, situated on the beautiful green bank so
much admired at the present day, was wrapped in the
vapour, and, as was often said of its occupant, seemed
lost in a mist. Even the haunted tree in front of the
governor's residence—the witches' sycamore—was reported
by fearful pedestrians to have vanished, or at least to have
become invisible. “Oh, my dear Julia! I have just learned, by a letter from
Mr. Cameron, brought to my father by the dumb but faithful
Skippie, that you have been seized by the Indians and carried
a captive into the wilderness! But the letter says a
great Indian-fighter, named Hugh McSwine, and a band
of Scots, are in pursuit, and will certainly overtake your
captors. This is startling intelligence, indeed, and distressing,
though relieved somewhat by the comfortable assurance—which
is sanctioned by the prophetic looks and decisive
gestures of Skippie—that you will soon be restored to
your friends. And Skippie, in two words, has told me to
write this letter, making me understand, I scarcely know
how, that it will certainly be delivered into your hands.
He sets out on his return in the morning, and I am resolved
to write all night!” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 107 | Author: | Phelps
Elizabeth Stuart
1844-1911 | Add | | | Title: | Hedged in | | | | 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: | “HOUSES in streets are the places to live
in”? Would Lamb ever have said it
if he had spent, as I did, half a day in, and in
the region of, No. 19 Thicket Street, South
Atlas? “And how, if it were lawful, I could pray for
greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake.”
John Bunyan provided you and me with a morning's
discussion when he said that. Do you remember?
Because I am writing to you, and
because Nixy sits studying beside me, are reasons
sufficient why I should recall the words on this
particular occasion. I am crowded for time, but I write to
tell you — for I would prefer that you should
hear it from me — that we have at length identified
and brought home Eunice's child. Whatever there is to tell you this time
is the quiet close of a stormy epoch in our
family history, — rich in wrecks, like all stormy
things. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 108 | Author: | Warner
Anna Bartlett
1824-1915 | Add | | | Title: | Dollars and cents | | | | 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: | I WAS but a young thing, not yet
“Standing with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet”—
when there came a change in our outward circumstances.
During my first years, we had enjoyed what some of our
ancestors had toiled for; and my father after each day's
soaring and diving into philosophy and science walked about
our garden in silk stockings and with a rose in his mouth,—
at that time I was a little thing that the rose-bushes looked
down upon. And I looked up to them, with admiring eyes
that often went higher still, and took in the straw hat that
Mr. Howard wore of an afternoon: certainly that hat was
a miracle for all purposes of shade and adornment. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 111 | Author: | Evans
Augusta J.
(Augusta Jane)
1835-1909 | Add | | | Title: | Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" | | | | 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: | “I CAN hear the sullen, savage roar of the breakers, if
I do not see them, and my pretty painted bark —
expectation — is bearing down helplessly upon them.
Perhaps the unwelcome will not come to-day. What then? I
presume I should not care; and yet, I am curious to see him, —
anxious to know what sort of person will henceforth rule the
house, and go in and out here as master. Of course the pleasant,
peaceful days are at an end, for men always make din and strife
in a household, — at least my father did, and he is the only one I
know much about. But, after all, why borrow trouble? — the
interloper may never come.” “I congratulate you, my young friend, on the correctness of
your French themes, which I leave in the drawer of the library-table.
When I return I will examine those prepared during my
absence; and, in the interim, remain, “Dr. Grey: For God's sake come as quick as possible.
I am afraid my mother is dying. “Edith, — No lingering vestige of affection, no remorseful
tenderness, prompted that mission from which I have recently
returned, and only the savage scourgings of implacable duty
could have driven me, like a galley-slave, to my hated task.
The victim of a horrible and disfiguring disease which so completely
changed his countenance that his own mother would
scarcely have recognized him, — and the tenant of a charity hospital
in the town of —, I found that man who has proved the
Upas of your life and of mine. During his delirium I watched
and nursed him — not lovingly (how could I?) but faithfully,
kindly, pityingly. When all danger was safely passed, and his
clouded intellect began to clear itself, I left him in careful
hands, and provided an ample amount for his comfortable
maintenance in coming years. I spared him the humiliation
of recognizing in his nurse his injured and despised wife; and,
as night after night I watched beside the pitiable wreck of a
once handsome, fascinating, and idolized man, I fully and freely
forgave Maurice Carlyle all the wrongs that so completely
stranded my life. To-day he is well, and probably happy, while
he finds himself possessed of means by which to gratify his
extravagant tastes; but how long his naturally fine constitution
can hold at bay the legion of ills that hunt like hungry wolves
along the track of reckless dissipation, God only knows. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 114 | Author: | Winthrop
Theodore
1828-1861 | Add | | | Title: | John Brent | | | | 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: | I write in the first person; but I shall not
maunder about myself. I am in no sense the
hero of this drama. Call me Chorus, if you
please, — not Chorus merely observant and impassive;
rather Chorus a sympathizing monitor
and helper. Perhaps I gave a certain crude
momentum to the movement of the play, when
finer forces were ready to flag; but others bore
the keen pangs, others took the great prizes,
while I stood by to lift the maimed and cheer
the victor. “We are hastening on. I can write you but
one word. Our journey has been prosperous.
Mr. Armstrong is very kind. My dear father,
I fear, is shattered out of all steadiness. God
guard him, and guide me! My undying love
to your friend. “We sail at once for home. My father cannot
be at peace until he is in Lancashire again.
Don't forget me, dear friends. I go away sick
at heart. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 116 | Author: | Woolson
Constance Fenimore
1840-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Castle nowhere | | | | 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: | NOT many years ago the shore bordering the head
of Lake Michigan, the northern curve of that
silver sea, was a wilderness unexplored. It is a wilderness
still, showing even now on the school-maps
nothing save an empty waste of colored paper, generally
a pale, cold yellow suitable to the climate, all
the way from Point St. Ignace to the iron ports on
the Little Bay de Noquet, or Badderknock in lake
phraseology, a hundred miles of nothing, according to
the map-makers, who, knowing nothing of the region,
set it down accordingly, withholding even those
long-legged letters, “Chip-pe-was,” “Ric-ca-rees,” that
stretch accommodatingly across so much townless territory
farther west. This northern curve is and always
has been off the route to anywhere; and mortals, even
Indians, prefer as a general rule, when once started,
to go somewhere. The earliest Jesuit explorers and
the captains of yesterday's schooners had this in common,
that they could not, being human, resist a crosscut;
and thus, whether bark canoes of two centuries
ago or the high, narrow propellers of to-day, one and
all, coming and going, they veer to the southeast or
west, and sail gayly out of sight, leaving this northern
curve of ours unvisited and alone. A wilderness
still, but not unexplored; for that railroad of the
future which is to make of British America a garden
of roses, and turn the wild trappers of the Hudson's
Bay Company into gently smiling congressmen, has it
not sent its missionaries thither, to the astonishment
and joy of the beasts that dwell therein? According
to tradition, these men surveyed the territory, and
then crossed over (those of them at least whom the
beasts had spared) to the lower peninsula, where,
the pleasing variety of swamps being added to the
labyrinth of pines and sand-hills, they soon lost
themselves, and to this day have never found what
they lost. As the gleam of a camp-fire is occasionally
seen, and now and then a distant shout heard
by the hunter passing along the outskirts, it is supposed
that they are in there somewhere, surveying
still. “Respected Sir, — I must see you, you air in
danger. Please come to the Grotter this afternoon
at three and I remain yours respectful, “Mr. Solomon Bangs: My cousin Theodora Wentworth
and myself have accepted the hospitality of
your house for the night. Will you be so good as
to send tidings of our safety to the Community, and
oblige, “E. Stuart: The woman Dorcas Bangs died this
day. She will be put away by the side of her husband,
Solomon Bangs. She left the enclosed picture,
which we hereby send, and which please acknowledge
by return of mail. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 117 | Author: | unknown | Add | | | Title: | The arrow of gold, or, The shell gatherer | | | | 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: | “A young man, about eighteen years of age,
five feet ten inches high, with brown complexion,
dark hazel eyes very bright, and black
curling hair, left the Arrow Inn on the morning
of the 27th, to go to St. James's Palace. He
was an entire stranger in London; and, as he has
not returned, and had considerable money in his
purse, it is feared he has met with foul play, or
is lost. He wore a snuff-colored Lincolnshire
frock, blue kersey trowsers, and a brown seal-skin
cap with a visor. He has a proud air, and
is gentle-spoken. “Dear Dame Cresset: I lost my way—I
was pressed in a man-of-war—I am now a prisoner.
This man, Bolton, says he will give you
this, if he escapes free. Take care of my things!
I do not know the name of the ship—but I hope
yet to escape, sooner or later. Farewell. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 118 | 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 |
| 120 | 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 |
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