| | 302 | Author: | Lippard
George
1822-1854 | Add | | | Title: | Washington and his men  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “I was born of a noble ancestry,” said a great man
who had risen from the kennel where Poverty hides its
hopeless face—“True, my parents were poor, but
three hundred years ago, the blood which flows in my
veins, coursed in the veins of Lords, Archbishops,
Counts, Dukes and Kings.” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 303 | Author: | Longstreet
Augustus Baldwin
1790-1870 | Add | | | Title: | Georgia scenes | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | If my memory fail me not, the 10th of June, 1809,
found me at about 11 o'clock in the forenoon, ascending
a long and gentle slope, in what was called “The Dark
Corner” of Lincoln. I believe it took its name from
the moral darkness, which reigned over that portion of
the county, at the time of which I am speaking. If in
this point of view, it was but a shade darker than the
rest of the county, it was inconceivably dark. If any
man can name a trick, or sin, which had not been committed
at the time of which I am speaking, in the very
focus of all the county's illumination, (Lincolnton) he
must himself be the most inventive of the tricky, and the
very Judas of sinners. Since that time, however, (all
humor aside) Lincoln has become a living proof “that
light shineth in darkness.” Could I venture to mingle
the solemn with the ludicrous, even for the purposes of
honorable contrast, I could adduce from this county instances
of the most numerous and wonderful transitions,
from vice and folly, to virtue and holiness, which have
ever perhaps been witnessed since the days of the apostolic
ministry. So much, lest it should be thought by
some, that what I am about to relate, is characteristic of
the county in which it occurred. “Dear Sir:—I send you the money collected on the
notes you left with me. Since you left here, Polly has
been thinking about old times, and she says, to save her
life she can't recollect you.” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 305 | Author: | Mathews
Cornelius
1817-1889 | Add | | | Title: | Big Abel, and the little Manhattan | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Whoever has sailed up or down the East River in a fog, or
driven to Hallet's Cove, Long Island, on a dusty day, or walked
the Third Avenue in the moonlight, has been beset by the vision
of a great white tower, rising, ghost-like, in the air, and holding
all the neighborhood in subjection to its repose and supernatural
port. The Shot-Tower is a strange old fellow, to be sure! 'Spite
of that incessant buzzing in his head, he holds himself as high
and grandly, as though he hadn't the trouble of making shot for
the six-and-twenty United States. He never dozes or nods, even
in the summer noon; nor does he fall asleep in the most crickety
nights, but winks, with that iron top of his, at all the stars, as they
come up, one by one; and outwatches them all. There he is,
gaunt and clean, as a ghost in a new shroud, every day in the
year. Build as you may, old Gotham! Hammer and ding and
trowel on all sides of him, if you choose,—you cannot stir him an
inch, nor sully the whiteness in which he sees himself clothed, in
that pure glass of his of Kipp's Bay! If you have seen him once,
you know him always. A sturdy Shot-Tower to be sure!—and
go where you will, you carry him with you. He is the Ghost of
New York, gone into the suburbs to meditate on the wickedness
of mankind, and haunt the Big City, in many a dream of war, and
gun-shot wounds, and pattering carnage, when he falls asleep. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 306 | Author: | Mathews
Cornelius
1817-1889 | Add | | | Title: | Chanticleer | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I SEE old Sylvester Peabody—the head of the
Peabody family—seated in the porch of his country
dwelling, like an ancient patriarch, in the calm
of the morning. His broad-brimmed hat lies on the
bench at his side, and his venerable white locks flow
down his shoulders, which time in one hundred seasons
of battle and sorrow, of harvest and drouth, of
toil and death, in all his hardy wrestlings with old
Sylvester, has not been able to bend. The old man's
form is erect and tall, and lifting up his head to its
height, he looks afar, down the country road which
leads from his rural door, towards the city. He has
kept his gaze in that direction for better than an
hour, and a mist has gradually crept upon his vision;
objects begin to lose their distinctness; they grow
dim or soften away like ghosts or spirits; the whole
landscape melts gently into a pictured dew before him.
Is old Sylvester, who has kept it clear and bright so
long, losing his sight at last, or is our common world,
already changing under the old patriarch's pure regard,
into that better, heavenly land? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 307 | Author: | McHenry
James
1753-1816 | Add | | | Title: | O'Halloran, or The insurgent chief | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Perhaps no where in the British Islands, will
the admirer of the grand and sublime, in the works
of nature, find more gratification than along the
northern shores of the county of Antrim. From
the Gabbon precipices, near the entrance of Larne
Harbour, to Port Rush, near Colerain, a long
range of rocky coast, extending upwards of fifty
miles, exhibits, in some places, the boldest promontories
jutting into the sea, and perforated with
numerous caverns, into many of which the raging
waters pour with reverberating noise. In other
places, small bays, occasioned by the mouths of
the rivers and rivulets that there seek a junction
with the ocean, interrupt the continuity of the
rocky chain, and by affording to the visiter the
view of towns and villages, surrounded by the fertility
of nature, and the conveniences of art, produce
a striking and pleasing contrast to the prevailing
wildness of the coast, and make its grandeur
still more grand. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 308 | Author: | McHenry
James
1753-1816 | Add | | | Title: | O'Halloran, or The insurgent chief | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was on the evening of the fourth of June, that
a messenger arrived from Belfast, at O'Halloran
Castle. He delivered to its owner the following
note, and passed on to circulate others of a similar
import throughout the country. “The signal is given. The mail coach has not
arrived. Our informant says it was stopped yesterday
at Swords. The south is in arms—Wexford is
taken. Let the rising be on the 7th inst. The general
rendezvous for this county is Donegore hill.
The small parties of the military quartered in the
country towns must be captured, if possible, by
surprise. The bearer will proceed with intelligence
along the coast. You will despatch messengers
through the interior, by Ballynure, Ballyclare,
Ballyeaston, Ballymena, &c. Expedition is requisite. “I am now a prisoner in the hands of the insurgents;
and you may be sure I am well treated,
when I inform you that I have had influence
enough to persuade them to postpone an attack,
which, just as I was brought here, they were on
the point of making upon you. “Sir, we are to the number of sixteen hundred
men in arms, prepared to attack the garrison under
your command. But to give you an opportunity
of saving your soldiers from destruction, we
have thought proper, first, to apprize you of our intention,
and to summon you in the name of our
country, to surrender your party, both military
and others, with all your warlike stores, into our
hands. As our prisoners your lives will be safe,
and as much attention as possible paid to your
comforts. The lives, families and properties of
such of our town's-men as have joined you, shall
also remain unmolested. Our attack shall be suspended,
in expectation of your compliance, for three
quarters of an hour, but no longer. “Sir, enclosed is my reply to the rebel chieftains.
By it you will see that you anticipated truly,
when you supposed that I would not agree to an
unconditional surrender. I am sorry that you are
in their power; but it is pleasing to find that they
are not disposed to abuse their good fortune, by
acts of wantonness or cruelty. It may yet be in
my power to show that I can esteem humanity,
even in such an enemy. “In answer to your message, I have to inform
you that rather than comply with your demands,
my party and myself are resolved to meet destruction
amidst the ruins of the place, which it is our
duty to defend. Do not, however, suppose that we
shall fall an easy prey. It is true, your number
exceed ours by ten to one; but were they a hundred
to one, as we are fully supplied with the
means of defence, we know too well how to use
them, not to make our enemies deplore the dearness
of any victory they may gain over us. In
your case, it is apparent that victory is at least
doubtful. Some traits of humanity displayed by
you have been communicated to me, in consideration
of which I give you my promise, and all the
gentlemen of the town, who have so gallantly come
to my assistance, will guarantee its performance,
that if you lay down your arms, and return peaceably
to your allegiance, all that you have yet done
shall be overlooked, and pardoned, and the full
and free protection of the laws of your country
shall once more be extended towards you. Should
you reject this offer, I can only deplore your infatuation;
I must resist you unto destruction, and
the blood of those who may fall on both sides, be
upon your heads. “Dear Sir—It has fallen to my lot to communicate
to you the unfortunate news of the forces we
assembled this morning, being completely defeated
and dispersed, after a severe conflict with a large
body of the king's troops, near Ballynahinch, in
which it is supposed, that we lost upwards of one
thousand men. “Sir, being informed that you have the rebel
chief, O'Halloran, in custody, I am induced, in
consequence of some representations made to me
in his favour, by a person well acquainted with
him, to pardon his offence, on condition that he
shall pay a fine to be assessed by you to any
amount, not exceeding ten thousand pounds, which
sum shall be appropriated to the relief of those
royalists who have suffered from the rebellion in
the county of Antrim. “Dear Barrymore—I have at length followed
you. Excited by my ardent desire to see the peerless
beauty, who could so completely subdue a
heart which was impregnable to all the attacks of
the Dublin fair, I eagerly embraced the first moment,
in which I could, with propriety, undertake
the journey. The day before I left the city, I
waited on the Lord Lieutenant, with the letter you
enclosed from the Recluse, who, I understand, is to
be no longer a mendicant, but is to appear in society
in his own proper character of Francis Hamilton,
Esq. of Hamilton-hall, in the county of Tyrone.
His excellency was much pleased to hear from
him; and, without delay, not only granted to him
his request, but wrote to him a long letter, which
on finding I was about to take a Northern trip, he
entrusted to my care. “Dear Sir—It is with great satisfaction that I
acknowledge the receipt of your's of this morning,
covering the commands of his excellency, the Lord
Lieutenant, respecting you, which, of course, it is
my duty, as well as my pleasure, to obey. I shall
make the agreeable communication known without
delay to all the justices of the peace, jailers, and
other officers, whom it concerns, so that you will
be in no danger of personal molestation; and may
appear in public whenever you think proper. “My Son—A few days ago, I received from you
a very foolish letter, requesting me to consent to
your marriage with a woman I never saw, nor, until
that very moment, ever heard of. I took, of
course, some pains to inquire concerning her, and
her connexions. The only person from whom I
could obtain much information, is your old mendicant
protagee, who praises her in a style that I
cannot well understand; but from which I can
gather that she is a great beauty. I presume,
therefore, that in the ardour of your admiration,
you have endowed her with angelic qualities, for
in the eyes of every love-sick young man who has
a handsome mistress, she cannot be aught else
than an angel. “* * * * * * * * * At what an awful crisis,”
said he, “have I been entrusted with the government
of this unfortunate country? Treason, rebellion,
massacre, and invasion, have shaken her to
pieces, and have prostrated her into the depth of
misery. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 309 | Author: | McHenry
James
1753-1816 | Add | | | Title: | Meredith, or, The mystery of the Meschianza | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I know not whether any philosopher has
ever made the observation, that, the heart which
is the most susceptible of gratitude, is also
the most readily excited to revenge. But
it is a truth which, for its confirmation, requires
not the testimony of philosophers. It
has human nature for its foundation, and experience
for its support. Indeed it is reasonable
to suppose that he who is very sensible of
kindness will be equally so of injuries. Both
feelings spring from the same source, acuteness
of sensation. Hence the frequent saying in relation
to a man of sensibility, that he is either a very
warm friend, or a very bitter enemy. There are
indeed exceptions. But to what rule is there
not? There may be, nay, there actually are,
kind and amiable people whose sensibilities are
altogether on the side of good nature. But
these are generally tame and inefficient beings,
who are either devoid of sagacity to see when
they are injured, or destitute of courage to
show resentment. “I can live no longer. My life has
been for some months but one continued paroxysm
of mental agony. My existence much
longer would bring upon you the most indelible
and unmitigable disgrace that could, by a
daughter, be inflicted on a father. My last interview
with Harris proved fatal to my honour.
He ruined me, and then abandoned me
for ever.—That interview! alas, it was a stolen
one, unknown to you, and granted at his entreaty
contrary to your injunctions. Oh! how
I have been punished for my disobedience!
No one has as yet perceived the effects of my
guilt in the alteration of my person. But in
a short time it would become too apparent
for concealment. Then, then, my father, you
would be disgraced for ever; and were I to
live, I would see you dying broken-hearted—
and I the cause! But I will not live to witness
such a calamity. In opium there is power to destroy
life, by lulling the senses into lethargy
and dissolving the springs of animation. I have
provided myself with the precious drug which
is to relieve me for ever from that load of
earthly misery which has become too great for
me longer to endure. Farewell, my beloved
father. Oh! do not curse me when I shall be
dead, for my last prayer to Heaven shall ascend
for thee.” “You were once the object of my
fond attachment. I addressed you sincerely
Q
with a view to our final alliance, and we became
engaged. Circumstances have lately given
another direction to my views. It is, therefore,
my duty to release you from your engagement.
I do this the more readily and promptly,
because I am aware that my cousin, Captain
Harris, of the British army, has placed his
affections upon you, and I am desirous of being
no longer considered an obstacle to the
success of his suit. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 310 | Author: | Melville
Herman
1819-1891 | Add | | | Title: | Mardi | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | We are off! The courses and topsails are set: the
coral-hung anchor swings from the bow: and together, the
three royals are given to the breeze, that follows us out to
sea like the baying of a hound. Out spreads the canvas—
alow, aloft—boom-stretched, on both sides, with many a
stun' sail; till like a hawk, with pinions poised, we shadow
the sea with our sails, and reelingly cleave the brine. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 311 | Author: | Melville
Herman
1819-1891 | Add | | | Title: | Mardi | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | We were now voyaging straight for Maramma; where
lived and reigned, in mystery, the High Pontiff of the adjoining
isles: prince, priest, and god, in his own proper
person: great lord paramount over many kings in Mardi;
his hands full of scepters and crosiers. “Attend my lord:—`Anno Mardis 50,000,000, o. s.
I, Bardianna, of the island of Vamba, and village of the
same name, having just risen from my yams, in high health,
high spirits, and sound mind, do hereby cheerfully make and
ordain this my last will and testament. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 312 | Author: | Melville
Herman
1819-1891 | Add | | | Title: | Redburn, his first voyage | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Wellingborough, as you are going to sea, suppose you
take this shooting-jacket of mine along; it's just the thing
—take it, it will save the expense of another. You see,
it's quite warm; fine long skirts, stout horn buttons, and
plenty of pockets.” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 315 | Author: | Mitchell
Donald Grant
1822-1908 | Add | | | Title: | The lorgnette, or, Studies of the town | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | You know, my dear Fritz, that I am not unused
to the handling of a glass; and that I have amused
myself for a considerable number of years in looking
about the world, as carelessly and freely as I
chose. Now, it has occurred to me, in the opening
of this new half-century, (may you live to the
end of it!) that in common justice, I ought to
make such return as lies in my power, by attempting
to amuse some little portion of that world,
which has so long and gratuitously amused me. Dear Sir,—I wish you would send me, soon as
convenient, the card of your friend Tophanes. I
think he must be a `stick;' and I rather imagine
he can give me the right sort of advice. For you
must know that I've been hanging on the town
nearly the whole winter, and yet the d—l of an
invitation have I got. With this, my dear Fritz, I leave you to your
quiet country avocations, until the mail of another
week shall light up your solitude with a glowing
No. V. It has been hinted to me that you are an old
friend of my former husband; if you are, I wish you
would do me the favor to call; any little remembrances
of the dear, good man are most satisfying.
I want to tell you, too, how much I approve your
work; your judicious remarks upon taste, I cannot
praise high enough. I have long felt the want of
just such a book as you propose. As for the polka,
you've said just what you ought to say; it's a positive
shame, the way our young folks do go on in
these matters! Only to think that my little cousin
Polly went so far the other evening as to lay her
head outright on a gentleman's shoulder, out of
sheer exhaustion; why, Sir, it made all the blood
boil in my body! I wish you would let me know who you are:—
do; I think I could give you some capital hints; you
know a lady knows a great deal that a gentleman
never can know, try as hard as he may. Besides,
I should like amazingly to dance a polka with you;
I know from the way you write about it, that you
must understand it a great deal better than the
fussy little fellows who almost pull me over, and
havn't got an idea of the spirit of the thing. A
lady wants some sort of support,—doesn't she? I
think you could give it, and not be pushing one
about against the wall-flowers, and getting dizzy
and stupid. Sir,—In some of your papers you have made
flippant, and I think I may say, indelicate allusions
to a Mr. Browne. A gentleman bearing
that name, though differently spelled, has called
my attention to the fact, and has consulted me
(an advocate and attorney at law) upon the propriety
of instituting an action for damages. “Mr. Timon:—I am astonished at you, my dear
sir; why do you speak so harshly of the town ladies,
and present them in so unfavorable lights?
I have been all along a most excellent friend to
your paper, and have, time and again, defended
you against most merciless assaults; but if you
do not speedily amend, and speak better of us, I
shall leave you to defend yourself. Dear Sir,—I do not know but a serious letter
will be out of place amid the ironical talk, and
only half-earnest tone of your paper; at any rate,
I have determined to tell you what I think and
feel—a thing I scarce ever do even to my husband.
For I have been married, you must know, nearly
three years; and for the last seven years we have
been trying (my Mamma and I) to `get up' in
New York society. And now (Papa got rich four
years ago last May) we have done it. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 316 | Author: | Mitchell
Donald Grant
1822-1908 | Add | | | Title: | The lorgnette, or, Studies of the town | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Well, Fritz, it is even true, that notwithstanding
my rusticity, I find myself approaching, little by
little, to a state of town domestication; and at the
earnest solicitation of my worthy bookseller, I am
led to resume my weekly observations, and even to
extend their influence, if influence they have, by
association with a large publishing house, which
will give to them a wide country circulation. It
is quite possible, therefore, that this may fall under
your eye at the house of your parson (if a liberal-minded
person), or of your village attorney (if a
man of progress), even before you shall have broken
my private seal. Mr. Timon:—I have read all you have written,
and like it very much. My mamma (for a wonder)
likes it too: so does Aunt Sophy. But they have
forbid my polking with strange gentlemen, at least
those who are introduced to me at the balls. Is
not this ridiculous?—one meets such nice young
men at the balls, and nowhere else! I wish you
would persuade mamma so; if you could, you
would greatly oblige your true friend, Sir:—I can't say that I like altogether the tone
of your remarks about Washingtonians. You
seem to have looked only at such stray individuals
as have lost character at home, (which it is
possible to do,) and gone to your city to set up.
As for the members, I shall not defend them, as
they are at best but a shabby set of fellows, who
bother us amazingly in the winter-time, and have
no more gratitude for favors, personal or domestic,
than so many office-holders. Here we are at length, and what a charming
place!—such trees, and dinners, and then the
bowling alley; (do you ever bowl?) if you do, get
a pair of those pretty gaiters at what-d'ye-call-him's.
Papa has taken two rooms for us in the
east wing, and Marie sleeps in a little alcove just
out of mine. The galleries stretch around inside
the wing, and several gentlemen—married gentlemen,
ma says—(but very handsome) pass very
often. You don't know how pleasant it is to sit in
the window, in that deshabille you said was so becoming.
Ma begins to think so too, for Miss Figgins
has got one just like it. My Dear Timon:—Though your paper has rarely
reached me, yet I have seen enough of its spirit,
to believe that some little account of my country
life will serve your turn, and give you some hints,
that you may possibly work over to good account. I
had made in town, by dint of jobbing, what they
call hereabouts a fortune; and not having gained
much footing in genteel society,—partly because
we didn't care about it, and partly because wife is
principled against low necks, and the opera, I determined
to set up in the country. A year ago I was married to a belle of the town,
and am beginning now fairly to sorrow over my
bargain: nor is this because she has lost her beauty;
for to tell the truth, I think she is more of a belle
now than ever; and is as complacent in her action
toward all the beaux, as I ever knew a woman in
my life. I can scarce come up a single day, from
my business in the city, but I meet her walking
with some spruce fellow of her acquaintance, with
whom she appears to be enjoying herself as well as
she ever did in my company. As you have taken upon yourself to be the censor
of modes and proprieties, which office I must
say, you have filled quite respectably so far, I want
to draw your attention to the developments in a
recent work by a distinguished lady, called (I speak
of the book, and not the lady)—Truth Stranger than
Fiction. Such barbarity as is disclosed in this
book, and such extraordinary defence as is made
of these barbarities, by the officers of a time-honored
Institution, ought to meet with a strong rebuke
from every humane person (as I think you
are) and to make every woman of maidenly
sentiments quiver with indignation and horror. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 317 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Add | | | Title: | Charlotte | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “ARE you for a walk,” said Montraville to
his companion, as they arose from table;
“are you for a walk? or shall we order the chaise
and proceed to Portsmouth?” Belcour preferred
the former; and they sauntered out to view the town,
and to make remarks on the inhabitants, as they returned
from church. “As to-morrow is the anniversary of the happy
day that gave my beloved girl to the anxious wishes
of a maternal heart, I have requested your governess
to let you come home and spend it with us; and as
I know you to be a good affectionate child, and
make it your study to improve in those branches
of education which you know will give most
pleasure to your delighted parents, as a reward
for your diligence and attention I have prepared
an agreeable surprise for your reception. Your
grand-father, eager to embrace the darling of his
aged heart, will come in the chaise for you: so
hold yourself in readiness to attend him by nine
o'clock. Your dear father joins in every tender
wish for your health and future felicity, which
warms the heart of my dear Charlotte's affectionate
mother, And am I indeed fallen so low,” said Charlotte,
“as to be only pitied? Will the
voice of approbation no more meet my ear? and
shall I never again possess a friend, whose face will
wear a sinile of joy whenever I approach? Alas!
how thoughtless, how dreadfully imprudent have
I been! I know not which is most painful to endure,
the sneer of contempt, or the glance of compassion,
which is depicted in the various countenances of
my own sex: they are both equally humiliating.
Ah! my dear parents, could you now see the child
of your affections, the daughter whom you so dearly
loved, a poor solitary being, without society,
here wearing out her heavy hours in deep regret
and anguish of heart, no kind friend of her own sex
to whom she can unbosom her griefs, no beloved
mother, no woman of character will appear in my
company, and low as your Charlotte is fallen, she
cannot associate with infamy.” “Will my once kind, my ever beloved mother,
deign to receive a letter from her guilty, but
repentant child? or has she, justly incensed at my
ingratitude, driven the unhappy Charlotte from her
remembrance? Alas! thou much injured mother!
shouldst thou even disown me, I dare not complain,
because I know I have deserved it: but yet, believe
me, guilty as I am, and cruelly as I have disappointed
the hopes of the fondest parents, that ever
girl had, even in the moment when, forgetful of
my duty, I fled from you and happiness, even
then I loved you most, and my heart bled at the
thought of what you would suffer. Oh! never,
never! whilst I have existence, will the agony of
that moment be erased from my memory. It
seemed like the separation of soul and body. What
can I plead in excuse for my conduct? alas! nothing!
That I loved my seducer is but too true!
yet powerful as that passion is when operating in a
young heart glowing with sensibility, it never
would have conquered my affection to you, my
beloved parents, had I not been encouraged, nay,
urged to take the fatally imprudent step, by one of
my own sex, who, under the mask of friendship,
drew me on to ruin. Yet think not your Charlotte
was so lost as to voluntarily rush into a life
of infamy; no, my dear mother, deceived by the
specious appearance of my betrayer, and every
suspicion lulled asleep by the most solemn promises
of marriage, I thought not those promises would
so easily be forgotten. I never once reflected that
the man who could stoop to seduction, would not
hesitate to forsake the wretched object of his passion,
whenever his capricious heart grew weary of
her tenderness. When we arrived at this place,
I vainly expected him to fulfil his engagements,
but was at last fatally convinced he had never intended
to make me his wife, or if he had once
thought of it, his mind was now altered. I scorned
to claim from his humanity what I could not obtain
from his love: I was conscious of having forfeited
the only gem that could render me respectable
in the eye of the world. I locked my sorrows
in my own bosom, and bore my injuries in
silence. But how shall I proceed? This man,
this cruel Montraville, for whom I sacrificed honour,
happiness, and the love of my friends, no
longer looks on me with affection, but scorns the
credulous girl whom his art has made miserable.
Could you see me, my dear parents, without
society, without friends, stung with remorse, and
(I feel the burning blush of shame die my cheeks
while I write it) tortured with the pangs of disappointed
love; cut to the soul by the indifference
of him, who, having deprived me of every other
comfort, no longer thinks it worth his while to
sooth the heart where he has planted the thorn of
never-ceasing regret. My daily employment is to
think of you and weep, to pray for your happiness
and deplore my own folly: my nights are scarce
more happy, for if by chance I close my weary
eyes, and hope some small forgetfulness of sorrow,
some little time to pass in sweet oblivion, fancy,
still waking, wafts me home to you: I see your
beloved forms, I kneel and hear the blessed words
of peace and pardon. Extatic joy pervades my
soul; I reach my arms to catch your dear embraces;
the motion chases the illusive dream; I
wake to real misery. At other times I see my father
angry and frowning, point to horrid caves,
where, on the cold damp ground, in the agonies
of death, I see my dear mother and my revered
grand-father. I strive to raise you; you push me
from you, and shrieking cry—“Charlotte, thou
hast murdered me!” Horror and despair tear
exery tortured nerve; I start, and leave my restless
bed, weary and unrefreshed. “Though I have taken up my pen to address
you, my poor injured girl, I feel I am inadequate to
the task; yet, however painful the endeavour, I could
not resolve upon leaving you for ever without
one kind line to bid you adieu, to tell you how my
heart bleeds at the remembrance of what you was, before
you saw the hated Montraville. Even now imagination
paints the scene, when, torn by contending
passions, when, struggling between love and duty,
you sainted in my arms, and I lifted you into
the chaise: I see the agony of your mind, when,
recovering, you sound yourself on the road to
Portsmouth: but how, my gentle girl, how could
you, when so justly impressed with the value of
virtue, how could you, when loving as I thought
you loved me, yield to the solicitations of Belcour? “When we left our native land, that dear
happy land which now contains all that is dear to
the wretched Charlotte, our prospects were the
same; we both, pardon me, Madam, if I say, we
both too easily followed the impulse of our treacherous
hearts, and trusted our happiness on a tempestuous
ocean, where mine has been wrecked and lost
for ever; you have been more fortunate—you are
united to a man of honour and humanity, united
by the most sacred ties, respected, esteemed, and
admired, and surrounded by innumerable blessings
of which I am bereaved, enjoying those pleasures
which have fled my bosom never to return; alas!
sorrow and deep regret have taken their place. Behold
me, Madam, a poor forsaken wanderer, who
has not where to lay her weary head, wherewith to
supply the wants of nature, or to shield her from
the inclemency of the weather. To you I sue, to
you I look for pity and relief. I ask not to be received
as an intimate or an equal; only for charity's
sweet sake receive me into your hospitable mansion,
allot me the meanest apartment in it, and let me
breath out my soul in prayers for your happiness;
I cannot, I feel I cannot long bear up under the
accumulated woes that pour in upon me; but oh!
my dear Madam, for the love of heaven suffer me
not to expire in the street; and when I am at peace,
as soon I shall be, extend your compassion to my
helpless offspring, should it please heaven that it
should survive its unhappy mother. A gleam of joy
breaks in on my benighted soul while I reflect that
you cannot, will not refuse your protection to the
heart-broken | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 319 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Add | | | Title: | Trials of the human heart | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Will you believe me, Celia, when I
tell you, I wish I was at Bologne
again; that I am dissatisfied and unhappy.
You are surprised. It is nevertheless certainly
true. We formed erroneous opinions of
the world; we thought it a paradise compared
to the solemnity and gloom of our convent.
Trust me, my dear, I have as yet found
nothing, in this gay, busy world, half so
pleasing, as that sweet retirement. But I
forget that this is my first letter, and that
you naturally wish to know every incident
which has happened since our separation.
This innocent curiosity shall be gratified, and
to begin: Looking over some papers which were
lately in possession of my son, I found
some letters which I think proper to return
to you; and am very sorry if any thing
has passed between you that may occasion
you future uneasiness. I am obliged to
you for the very generous sentiments expressed
in those letters, towards my whole
family, and beg leave to inform you, that
your kind wishes, respecting my son's happiness,
are amply fulfilled, as he was yesterday
married to a very amiable woman, possessing
a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 320 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Add | | | Title: | Trials of the human heart | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | This is a charming romantic place, my
dear Celia. There is room for solitude
and deep reflection. Oak-hall is situated in
a very retired part of the country, and has
been the family mansion of the Rooksby's
from time immemorial. The house is antique,
and inspires one's mind with the true
spirit of the days of chivalry. You cannot
think, how often I amuse myself with surveying
its antique battlements, the massy
gates, and deep moat, that surround it;
and while I gaze with a kind of reverential
awe, I fancy, I am perhaps retracing the
steps of many a gallant knight and beauteous
dame who formerly have been inhabitants
of this ancient dwelling. I am a great admirer
of every thing, that wears the face of
antiquity not that I would, were I possessed
of ever so large a fortune, lay out my money
in purchasing a heap of trumpery, that are
really of no intrinsie value, only as the fancy
of the virtuoso stamps them with the appellation
of excellence, because they were made
some hundred years before we were born.
I cannot deny, that I like to examine any
little piece of antiquity, which tends to shew
us the progress of the arts or manufactures,
and when I enjoy the benefit of any thing
useful or convenient I feel a kind of veneration
for the genius, who first invented it,
let it be ever so mean or trifling. I continued in this situation but a few
moments—when I heard a faint voice
call “Meriel,” I turned my head and saw
Kingly emerging from the sea and holding
by part of the wreck—“Oh, Heavens!” said
I, “are you alive then, and is there any
chance of escaping?”—“Some little chance,”
said he, coming near me and beginning to
nutie the cord that was round me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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