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21Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  The pioneer's daughter  
 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: One of the most disastrous battles for the whites ever fought on the Western frontier, was that known by the inglorious but significant appellation of “St. Clair's Defeat.” This took place within the limits of what is now Dark County, on the Wabash river, in the present State of Ohio, on the 4th of November, 1791. The facts relating to it are briefly these:
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22Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Rosalie Du Pont, or, Treason in the camp  
 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 on a fine, pleasant morning, toward the latter part of September, 1780, that a heavy double knock resounded through the elegant mansion of Graham Percy, in Queen-street. The servant who opened the door, beheld a stranger, dressed in deep black, with a strongly-marked, deadly-pale countenance, and small, black, fiery eyes, that seemed capable of penetrating to his very soul.
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23Author:  Phelps Elizabeth Stuart 1844-1911Requires cookie*
 Title:  The silent partner  
 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 rainiest nights, like the rainiest lives, are by no means the saddest.
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24Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Viola, or, Adventures in the far South-west  
 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: “Away! away! away! three cheers for freedom! and ho for the sunny South!” “Dear Morton—We meet strangely —we have from the first—and since I saw you on the boat at New Orleans, I have thought there may be such a thing as a special Providence. Oh, Morton, if you love me—if you ever loved me— forsake me not now! Till I saw you last, despair had for months sat like an incubus upon my heart. Hope had fled me, and in vain I labored to lure her back. She came with you; and since then has fluttered in sight, but ready to take wing and leave me forever. You, Morton, and hope, are so united, that neither can come alone. Oh, misery! misery! how well I know the meaning of the term! What shall I say of the past? I could pour out my soul to you in words, were we together; but I can say nothing on paper. Yet something I must say. My mother is dead. My father—oh! that he better deserved the name!—what shall I say of him? Morton, to be brief, my father has sold me to a man I detest, and is now on his way to deliver me to my purchaser. In other words, and to speak without enigma, my father having failed in business, is resolved to retrieve his fortune by disposing of my hand to a French count, who boasts of a distant connection with Louis Philippe. He is rich, and owns a country seat somewhere near the Brazos; but I cannot direct you to it, nor do I even know the vicinity. I only know it is called D'Estang Ville. You may perhaps find it from the name —that is, should you care to trouble yourself about it. Thither I am to be transported; and once there my father has solemnly sworn I shall become the wife of D'Estang, or take the alternative of ending my days in a convent, in the interior of Mexico. Of the two, my choice is already made. I will never wed this count. Morton, my hope is in you, or death. If you fail me, the latter may not. I would not die now— but can I live a life of misery? I have knelt and prayed to my father to forego his terrible resolve. In vain. He is inexorable. Oh! how he has changed of late! He is another being. Mother and wealth were his idols. One is dead—the other lost; and now he would rebuild his fortunes on the crushed hopes and broken heart of his only child. He cannot love me, Morton, and I have learned to fear him. Could he have loved my mother? If so, why am I treated thus? Of M. D'Estang—he once visited my father in the city of Mexico. I was then a child—but it seems he conceived a passion for me even then, which years have strengthened rather than weakened. I say passion; for had he ever loved, he would not buy me like a slave now. How he and my father met within a year, and how one bought and the other sold me, I cannot tell you now—perhaps I may when we meet, should God permit us to meet again on earth. My hand trembles, and tears dim my eyes. Morton, dear Morton, I cannot write more. I have stolen away to do this. Will it ever reach you? and can you assist me if it does? Oh, Morton, by the sweet past! by our then happy hopes of the future! I conjure you to come to my aid! But you must come disguised. If seen and recognised, I verily believe your life will be taken. It is fearful to think so, Morton—it is terrible! No more. “I am a prisoner in the tower; secure the bearers of this; let no one leave the Ville, on pain of death, and come instantly to my release. “Let the bearers of this, my particular friends, be provided with four good horses, and be permitted to leave the Ville without question or hindrance.
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25Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Walde-Warren:  
 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: Far up towards the headwaters of one of the tributaries of the Cumberland river, and not many leagues distant from that portion of the Cumberland mountains which divides the state of Tennessee, there is a wild, beautiful, romantic valley. This valley is about three miles in extent, oval in shape, with the breadth of a mile and a half in the centre, closing up at either end by the peculiar curve of the hills which environ it, and leaving just sufficient space for the passage of the stream alluded to, and a traveled road which winds along its banks and slightly cuts the southern base of the projecting eminences. About central way of this valley, is a quiet, picturesque village, of neat white houses, overlooked by the mountains, and as rural and sequestered as one could wish to find. This village occupies both sides of the stream, which is spanned by an arched wooden bridge, beneath which the waters sparkle, foam and roar, as they dash over a rocky bed, and dart away with the frolic-someness of youth. In fact the stream itself may not inappropriately be likened to a youth just freed from the trammels and helplessness of infancy, when budding strength begins to give buoyancy, independence, ambition, and love of wild adventure; for, nurtured among the mountains, and fed to a good estate, it has burst from the control of parental nature, and now comes hopping, skipping and dancing along, with childish playfulness—occasionally sobered for a moment as it glides past some steep overhanging cliff, like a youth full of timid curiosity on entering a place of deep shadow—but in the main, wild, merry and sportive—laughing in the sunshine—rollicking, gamboling, purling and roaring—now playing hide and seek among the bushes, and now rushing away, with might and main, to explore the world that lays before it, unconscious that aught of difficulty may lie in its path.
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26Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Wild Scenes on the Frontiers, Or, Heroes of the West  
 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: We talk of the ferocity, the vindictiveness, the treachery, and the cruelty of the native savage; and, painting him in the darkest colors, tell how, when his hunting grounds covered the sites of our now proudest cities, he was wont to steal down upon a few harmless whites, our forefathers, and butcher them in cold blood, sparing neither sex nor age, except for a painful captivity, to end perhaps in the most demoniac tortures; and we dwell upon the theme, till our little innocent children shudder and creep close to our sides, and look fearfully around them, and perhaps wonder how the good God, of whom they have also heard us speak, could ever have permitted such human monsters to encumber His fair and beautiful earth. But do we reverse the medal and show the picture which impartial Truth has stamped upon the other side—and which, in a great measure, stands as a cause to the opposite effect—stands as a cause for savage ferocity, vindictiveness, treachery and cruelty? Do we tell our young and eager listeners that the poor Indian, living up to the light he had, and not unfrequently beyond it, knew no better than to turn, like the worm when trampled upon, and bite the foot that crushed him? That we had taken the land of his father's graves and driven him from his birthright hunting grounds? That we had stolen his cattle, robbed him of his food, destroyed his growing fields, burned his wigwams, and murdered his brothers, fathers, wives and little ones, besides instigating tribe to war against tribe—and that, knowing nothing of the Christian code, to return good for evil, he fulfilled the law of his nature and education in taking his “great revenge” upon any of the pale-faced race he should chance to meet? No! we seldom show this side of the medal—for the natural inquiry of the innocent listener might contain an unpleasant rebuke:
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27Author:  Ward Artemus 1834-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Artemus Ward in London  
 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 
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28Author:  Ward Artemus 1834-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Artemus Ward's panorama  
 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: YOU are entirely welcome ladies and gentlemen to my little picture-shop.1 1 “My little picture-shop.”—I have already stated that the room used was the lesser of the two on the first-floor of the Egyptian Hall. The panorama was to the left on entering, and Artemus Ward stood at the south-east corner facing the door. He had beside him a music-stand, on which for the first few days he availed himself of the assistance afforded by a sheet of foolscap on which all his “cues” were written out in a large hand. The proscenium was covered with dark cloth, and the picture bounded by a great gilt frame. On the rostrum behind the lecturer was a little door giving admission to the space behind the picture where the piano was placed. Through this door Artemus would disappear occasionally in the course of the evening, either to instruct his pianist to play a few more bars of music, to tell his assistants to roll the picture more quickly or more slowly, or to give some instructions to the man who worked “the moon.” The little lecture-room was thronged nightly during the very few weeks of its being open. My dear Sir,—My wife was dangerously unwell for over sixteen years. She was so weak that she could not lift a teaspoon to her mouth. But in a fortunate moment she commenced reading one of your lectures. She got better at once. She gained strength so rapidly that she lifted the cottage piano quite a distance from the floor, and then tipped it over on to her mother-in-law, with whom she had had some little trouble. We like your lectures very much. Please send me a barrel of them. If you should require any more recommendations, you can get any number of them in this place, at two shillings each, the price I charge for this one, and I trust you may be ever happy.
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29Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mark Twain's 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: 502EAF. Page 003. In-line Illustration. Image of a sarcophagus with the carved figure of a man on top of it. A cat is sleeping on the figure's feet.
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30Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far South-west  
 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 first of October, of the year of our Lord 1845, found me a guest of the Tremont House, in the goodly city of Galveston, Texas. An invalid guest, I may add—for I had been confined to my room for some days, suffering much pain from a couple of flesh wounds received in a recent skirmish with a party of Texan brigands, somewhere between my present abode and the river Brazos, while in the act of making my escape with some friends from the head-quarters of a notorious villain, counterfeiter, etcetera, known as Count D'Estang. The reader who has been so fortunate, or unfortunate, (I leave him to decide which,) as to peruse a portion of my narrative, under the title of “Viola,” will readily understand to what I allude; but in order to refresh his memory with the past events of my career, and also give those before whom I may now appear for the first time an inkling of what has already been recorded of my adventures, I will here transcribe a letter, which about this period I wrote home to my worthy parent in Virginia: “In my last, dated at New Orleans, you will recollect I made some mention of a very eccentric travelling companion, by the name of Harley, who, having been introduced to me one night at a ball in Swansdown, renewed acquaintance on the boat at Louisville, and kept me company down the river; and I think I also added, that we had in contemplation a trip to Mexico, merely to gratify curiosity and have some adventures. Well, we have not been to Mexico as yet—but we have had some adventures notwithstanding. If memory serves me right, I told you there was a certain mystery about my friend—for even then I regarded him as such—which I had not been able to fathom; but this has since been explained away, and I now know his whole history. “I have just received a letter from home, which requires my presence there immediately. My poor father has been taken suddenly ill, and is not expected to recover. I shall leave to-day for Macon, via Savannah, taking Viola with me, to whom I now expect my friends to be reconciled, since the blood of the St. Auburns is not in her veins. As I cannot fix on any time for my return, you had better not wait for me; but write to Macon, and keep me advised of your whereabouts. It grieves me to part with so dear a friend—but necessity compels me. Can you not come to Macon? Think of it seriously—I will assure you of a cordial reception. Dear Viola, with tearful eyes, sends her love to you. Do not fail to write, and keep me advised of your doings; and believe me, my dear Harry, “Pardon my seeming uncourteousness of last night! I was agitated, and troubled, but not without cause. After what has already passed between us, I think it no more than right that I should, to some extent, give you the explanation you desired. This cannot be done in the presence of a third party; and I must entreat you not to mention aught of last night's interview to any one! Destroy this as soon as read!
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31Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  The phantom of the forest  
 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: Probably no region of the globe ever presented more attractions to the genuine hunter and lover of the backwoods, than the territory known as Kentucky previous to its settlement by the race that now holds possession of its soil. Its location, happily intermediate between the extremes of heat and cold, afforded a most congenial climate; its surface was diversified by steep hills and deep valleys, stupendous cliffs and marshy levels, dense woods and flowery glades, immense caverns and tangled brakes, large streams and wonderful licks; and hither came all the beasts of the forest, to roam in unrestrained freedom through wilds seldom trod by human feet, and gay-plumed songsters from every region swept along the balmy air and made the sylvan retreats ring with their silvery strains. When first discovered by the white man, no human beings claimed ownership of this enchanting land. The red man of the North, and the red man of the South, came here to hunt and fight; but the victor bore off his spoils, and the vanquished went back in dismay, and neither put up his wigwam on the neutral ground. For years after its discovery by the white man, Kentucky could not boast a hundred of the race within its borders; but then the tide of emigration set in strongly toward this western land of promise, and a few years more beheld its broad surface dotted here and there with the rude fortresses and dwellings of incipient civilization. Every step forward, however, was marked with blood. The red man was jealous of the white, and there was for a long period an almost continuous, fierce, and sanguinary struggle for the mastery; while the midnight yells, the wailing shrieks and the burning homes, too often proclaimed the horrid work of death and desolation.
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32Author:  Jacobs Harriet A. (Harriet Ann) 1813-1897Requires cookie*
 Title:  Incidents in the life of a slave girl  
 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 born a slave; but I never knew it till six years of happy childhood had passed away. My father was a carpenter, and considered so intelligent and skilful in his trade, that, when buildings out of the common line were to be erected, he was sent for from long distances, to be head workman. On condition of paying his mistress two hundred dollars a year, and supporting himself, he was allowed to work at his trade, and manage his own affairs. His strongest wish was to purchase his children; but, though he several times offered his hard earnings for that purpose, he never succeeded. In complexion my parents were a light shade of brownish yellow, and were termed mulattoes. They lived together in a comfortable home; and, though we were all slaves, I was so fondly shielded that I never dreamed I was a piece of merchandise, trusted to them for safe keeping, and liable to be demanded of them at any moment. I had one brother, William, who was two years younger than myself — a bright, affectionate child. I had also a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable woman in many respects. She was the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, who, at his death, left her mother and his three children free, with money to go to St. Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the Revolutionary War; and they were captured on their passage, carried back, and sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my grandmother used to tell me; but I do not remember all the particulars. She was a little girl when she was captured and sold to the keeper of a large hotel. I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and was so faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it was for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of property. She became an indispensable personage in the household, officiating in all capacities, from cook and wet nurse to seamstress. She was much praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so famous in the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining them. In consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked permission of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the household work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she would clothe herself and her children from the profits. Upon these terms, after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her midnight bakings, 2 assisted by her two oldest children. The business proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, which was saved for a fund to purchase her children. Her master died, and the property was divided among his heirs. The widow had her dower in the hotel, which she continued to keep open. My grandmother remained in her service as a slave; but her children were divided among her master's children. As she had five, Benjamin, the youngest one, was sold, in order that each heir might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. There was so little difference in our ages that he seemed more like my brother than my uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors. Though only ten years old, seven hundred and twenty dollars were paid for him. His sale was a terrible blow to my grandmother; but she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work with renewed energy, trusting in time to be able to purchase some of her children. She had laid up three hundred dollars, which her mistress one day begged as a loan, promising to pay her soon. The reader probably knows that no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding; for, according to Southern laws, a slave, being property, can hold no property. When my grandmother lent her hard earnings to her mistress, she trusted solely to her honor. The honor of a slaveholder to a slave! “$300 Reward! Ran away from the subscriber, an intelligent, bright, mulatto girl, named Linda, 21 years of age. Five feet four inches high. Dark eyes, and black hair inclined to curl; but it can be made straight. Has a decayed spot on a front tooth. She can read and write, and in all probability will try to get to the Free States. All persons are forbidden, under penalty of the law, to harbor or employ said slave. $150 will be given to whoever takes her in the state, and $300 if taken out of the state and delivered to me, or lodged in jail. “Dear Grandmother: I have long wanted to write to you; but the disgraceful manner in which I left you and my children made me ashamed to do it. If you knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you would pity and forgive me. I have purchased freedom at a dear rate. If any arrangement could be made for me to return to the south without being a slave, I would gladly come. If not, I beg of you to send my children to the north. I cannot live any longer without them. Let me know in time, and I will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever place best suits my uncle's convenience. Write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter,
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33Author:  Child Lydia Maria Francis 1802-1880Requires cookie*
 Title:  Autumnal leaves  
 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: “What a remarkably pretty girl Mrs. Barton has for a nursery maid,” said Mrs. Vernon to her daughter. “Forgive me for venturing to call you so. I am compelled to depart for Italy to-morrow; and that must be my excuse. I have reflected much upon the subject, and young as I am, I feel that it is my duty not to refuse the eligible situation my relatives have procured for me. It has given me great pain to come to this conclusion; but I console myself with the reflection that some day or other, I shall be free to follow my own inclinations. I can never forget you, never cease to love you; and I cannot part without saying farewell, and conjuring you to cherish the memory of the blissful moments we have passed together. Do ask Mrs. Barton to allow me an hour's interview with you this evening. She and your mother can both be present, if they think proper. They will see by this 3 request that my views are honourable, and my professions sincere.
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34Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  A book for an hour  
 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: CONTAINING A MORAL. “ `Gentlemen,—What the mischief do you suppose you want with a post-office at Baldwin's Ranch? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there, you could'nt read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass through with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice substantial jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. Gentlemen,—You will have to go to the State Legislature about that speculation of yours—Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just as they would with one of your silvermines out there—they would try to make all the world believe it was “wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You close your petition with the words: `And we will ever pray.' I think you had better—you need to do it. “ `Gentlemen,—George Washington, the revered Father of his Country, is dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! for ever. He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time as this you speak of water-lots! —what a lot was his! “ `Gentlemen,—It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right too, and Dawson's on the left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's, and onward thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it and compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still futher information upon the subject, from to time, as you may desire it and the Post Office Department be enabled to furnish it to me.
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35Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mark Twain's (burlesque) autobiography and first romance  
 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: TWO or three persons having at different times intimated that if I would write an autobiography they would read it when they got leisure, I yield at last to this frenzied public demand, and herewith tender my history:
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36Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mark Twain's sketches, new and old  
 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: 503EAF. Page 017. In-line image of Mark Twain standing at the counter of a jeweler. The jeweler is examining Twain's watch with a magnifying glass, as Twain looks on uncomfortably. “`Gentlemen: What the mischief do you suppose you want with a post-office at Baldwin's Ranche? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there, you couldn't read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass through, with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice, substantial jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. “`Gentlemen: You will have to go to the State Legislature about that speculation of yours— Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just as they would with one of your silver mines out there—they would try to make all the world believe it was “wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You close your petition with the words: “And we will ever pray.” I think you had better—you need to do it. “`Gentlemen: George Washington, the revered Father of his Country is dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! forever. He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time as this, you speak of water-lots!—what a lot was his! “`Gentlemen: It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right, too, and Dawson's on the left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's and onward thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it, and compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still further information upon the subject, from time to time, as you may desire it and the Post-office Department be enabled to furnish it to me. Whereas, The Constitution guarantees equal rights to all, backed by the Declaration of Independence; and
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37Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Doctor Vandyke  
 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 man was sitting in a house on Gloucester Street, in Williamsburg, Virginia, about a hundred years ago, busy at a very singular employment. “My dear Lord: I have the honor to say that I have received your note of yesterday, informing me of your desire to return to Scotland, but I trust 'tis not essential to your plans, or required by circumstances, that this departure should be so very sudden. 'Twill subject me, I fear, to serious inconvenience, as I highly appreciate your services, my lord, and should with difficulty supply your place. “My Lord: You have twice, with great courtesy, expressed your good-wishes, in bidding me farewell—it is I who go from Williamsburg the first, now: and I can do no less than reciprocate your lordship's obliging sentiments, and express the hope that you may enjoy health and happiness, whether in Virginia or in Scotland. “Sir: May I beg you to do me the honor to visit me at my house between the hour of noon and one o'clock to-day? An affair of a very extraordinary character renders your presence desirable, and I beg that you will not fail to be present at the hour named. “I am about to leave Virginia forever; but, before I go, I must see you once more, or die of despair. I cannot enter Rivanna, as one of the wedding-guests, and witness your marriage. That would kill me, or drive me to some act of madness which would but make you still more unhappy. Devise some other means—at the hour and spot you fix, I will be present. “I cannot escape from the company until to-morrow night — my wedding-night. Come, then, to the oak-tree— where—that day—O me!
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38Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Ellie, or, The human comedy  
 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: “Sir: You were guilty of an offence and an insult toward me this morning, which your blood or my own will answer. I told you as much, and I now repeat, that nothing but the amplest satisfaction will suffice. You shall learn, sir, that I am not to be thwarted with impunity—and Captain Tarnish, the bearer of this note, will make the arrangements for the meeting. Should you refuse, as I expect, I will publish your name as coward! coward! coward! mark me, sir! “Mr. Sansoucy will very much oblige me by releasing me from my promise to accompany him to the opera to-night. I feel as if I should not be able to enjoy it.
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39Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Fairfax, or, The master of Greenway Court  
 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 an evening of October, in the year 1748, the slopes of the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap were all ablaze with the red light of the sinking sun. “Mr. Falconbridge:—After much doubt I address you, to warn you, as a friend, against allowing your affections to be ensnared by Miss B. Argal. I have no right, sir, to pry into your matters, and maybe I will get no thanks, but your courtesy to me makes it impossible for me to see you duped. Captain Wagner will not speak out—he says that he has already said more than he had a right to—and I will, therefore, do so myself. The paper which I put in this letter will tell you all. The poor young man was a distant relative of mine, and died at my house. He wrote the paper just before his death. I will add no more, except that I have no private grudge against Miss Argal, and so remain, “I am about to commit suicide. Before putting an end to my miserable life, I will relate the circumstances which impel me to the act. My mind is perfectly sane, my memory good—I will speak calmly. This is my history: “The poor young man was found dead when we ran at the explosion of his pistol. This paper was lying on the table. Mr. Harley Austin returned it to me, not wishing to keep it; he has since left the country.” “I desire, and if necessary require that the prisoner Powell may be treated with all respect, and especially brought to Court without hand-cuffs.
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40Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hammer and rapier  
 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 the night of the 17th of July, 1861, a man, standing upon the earthworks at Manassas, was looking toward Centreville. “If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg,” wrote Lincoln, “and the tail of it on the Plank Road between Fredericksburg and Chancellorville, the animal must be very slim somewhere—could you not break him?
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