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201Author:  Taylor Bayard 1825-1878Requires cookie*
 Title:  Beauty and the beast  
 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 Friend,—I will not say that your letter was entirely unexpected, either to Helmine or myself. I should, perhaps, have less faith in the sincerity of your attachment if you had not already involuntarily betrayed it. When I say that although I detected the inclination of your heart some weeks ago, and that I also saw it was becoming evident to my sister, yet I refrained from mentioning the subject at all until she came to me last evening with your letter in her hand,—when I say this, you will understand that I have acted towards you with the respect and sympathy which I profoundly feel. Helmine fully shares this feeling, and her poor heart is too painfully moved to allow her to reply. Do I not say, in saying this, what her reply must be? But, though her heart cannot respond to your love, she hopes you will always believe her a friend to whom your proffered devotion was an honor, and will be—if you will subdue it to her deserts—a grateful thing to remember. We shall remain in Warsaw a fortnight longer, as I think yourself will agree that it is better we should not immediately return to the castle. Jean, who must carry a fresh order already, will bring you this, and we hope to have good news of Henri. I send back the papers, which were unnecessary; we never doubted you, and we shall of course keep your secret so long as you choose to wear it. MR. EDITOR,—If you ever read the “Burroak Banner” (which you will find among your exchanges, as the editor publishes your prospectus for six weeks every year, and sends no bill to you) my name will not be that of a stranger. Let me throw aside all affectation of humility, and say that I hope it is already and not unfavorably familiar to you. I am informed by those who claim to know that the manuscripts of obscure writers are passed over by you editors without examination—in short, that I must first have a name, if I hope to make one. The fact that an article of three hundred and seventy-five pages, which I sent, successively, to the “North American Review,” the “Catholic World,” and the “Radical,” was in each case returned to me with my knot on the tape by which it was tied, convinces me that such is indeed the case. A few years ago I should not have meekly submitted to treatment like this; but late experiences have taught me the vanity of many womanly dreams.
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202Author:  Taylor Bayard 1825-1878Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hannah Thurston  
 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: Never before had the little society of Ptolemy known so animated a season. For an inland town, the place could not at any time be called dull, and, indeed, impressed the stranger with a character of exuberant life, on being compared with other towns in the neighborhood. Mulligansville on the east, Anacreon on the north, and Atauga City on the west, all fierce rivals of nearly equal size, groaned over the ungodly cheerfulness of its population, and held up their hands whenever its name was mentioned. But, at the particular time whereof we write—November, 1852—the ordinarily mild flow of life in Ptolemy was unusually quickened by the formation of the great Sewing-Union. This was a new social phenomenon, which many persons looked upon as a long stride in the direction of the Millennium. If, however, you should desire an opposite view, you have but to mention the subject to any Mulligansvillain, any Anacreontic, or any Atauga citizen. The simple fact is, that the various sewing-circles of Ptolemy—three in number, and working for very different ends—had agreed to hold their meetings at the same time and place, and labor in company. It was a social arrangement which substituted one large gathering, all the more lively and interesting from its mixed constitution, in place of three small and somewhat monotonous circles. The plan was a very sensible one, and it must be said, to the credit of Ptolemy, that there are very few communities of equal size in the country where it could have been carried into effect. “Be ye not weak of vision to perceive the coming triumph of Truth. Even though she creep like a tortoise in the race, while Error leaps like a hare, yet shall she first reach the goal. 6 The light from the spirit-world is only beginning to dawn upon the night of Earth. When the sun shall rise, only the owls and bats among men will be blind to its rays. Then the perfect day of Liberty shall fill the sky, and even the spheres of spirits be gladdened by reflections from the realm of mortals! “I will not say that my mind dwelt too strongly on the symbols by which Faith is expressed, for through symbols the Truth was made clear to me. There are many paths, but they all have the same ending.” “Dear Miss Thurston:—I know how much I have asked of you in begging permission to write, for your eye, the story which follows. Therefore I have not allowed myself to stand shivering on the brink of a plunge which I have determined to make, or to postpone it, from the fear that the venture of confidence which I now send out will come to shipwreck. Since I have learned to appreciate the truth and nobleness of your nature—since I have dared to hope that you honor me with a friendly regard—most of all, since I find that the feelings which I recognize as the most intimate and sacred portion of myself seek expression in your presence, I am forced to make you a participant in the knowledge of my life. Whether it be that melancholy knowledge which a tender human charity takes under its protecting wing and which thenceforward sleeps calmly in some shadowy corner of memory, or that evil knowledge which torments because it cannot be forgotten, I am not able to foresee. I will say nothing, in advance, to secure a single feeling of sympathy or consideration which your own nature would not spontaneously prompt you to give. I know that in this step I may not be acting the part of a friend; but, whatever consequences may follow it, I entreat you to believe that there is no trouble which I would not voluntarily take upon myself, rather than inflict upon you a moment's unnecessary pain.
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203Author:  Taylor Bayard 1825-1878Requires cookie*
 Title:  Joseph and his friend  
 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: Rachel Miller was not a little surprised when her nephew Joseph came to the supper-table, not from the direction of the barn and through the kitchen, as usual, but from the back room up stairs, where he slept. His work-day dress had disappeared; he wore his best Sunday suit, put on with unusual care, and there were faint pomatum odors in the air when he sat down to the table. My dear Asten:—Do you remember that curious whirling, falling sensation, when the car pitched over the edge of the embankment? I felt a return of it on reading your letter; for you have surprised me beyond measure. Not by your request, for that is just what I should have expected of you; and as well now, as if we had known each other for twenty years; so the apology is the only thing objectionable— But I am tangling my sentences; I want to say how heartily I return the feeling which prompted you to ask me, and yet how embarrassed I am that I cannot unconditionally say, “Yes, with all my heart!” My great, astounding surprise is, to find you about to be married to Miss Julia Blessing,—a young lady whom I once knew. And the embarrassment is this: I knew her under circumstances (in which she was not personally concerned, however) which might possibly render my presence now, as your groomsman, unwelcome to the family: at least, it is my duty—and yours, if you still desire me to stand beside you—to let Miss Blessing and her family decide the question. The circumstances to which I refer concern them rather than myself. I think your best plan will be simply to inform them of your request and my reply, and add that I am entirely ready to accept whatever course they may prefer. Since I wrote to you from Prescott, dear Philip, three months have passed, and I have had no certain means of sending you another letter. There was, first, Mr. Wilder's interest at —, the place hard to reach, and the business difficult to investigate. It was not so easy, even with the help of your notes, to connect the geology of books with the geology of nature; these rough hills don't at all resemble the clean drawings of strata. However, I have learned all the more rapidly by not assuming to know much, and the report I sent contained a great deal more than my own personal experience. The duty was irksome enough, at times; I have been tempted by the evil spirits of ignorance, indolence, and weariness, and I verily believe that the fear of failing to make good your guaranty for my capacity was the spur which kept me from giving way. Now, habit is beginning to help me, and, moreover, my own ambition has something to stand on. When Madeline hung a wreath of holly around your photograph this morning, I said to it as I say now: “A merry Christmas, Joseph, wherever you are!” It is a calm sunny day, and my view, as you know, reaches much further through the leafless trees; but only the meadow on the right is green. You, on the contrary, are enjoying something as near to Paradise in color, and atmosphere, and temperature (if you are, as I guess, in Southern California), as you will ever be likely to see. Philip, Philip, I have found your valley! Dear Sir:—“Fay's Geography for Schools” has been added to the list of books furnished to the schools under the control of the Board of Education.
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204Author:  Taylor Bayard 1825-1878Requires cookie*
 Title:  The story of Kennett  
 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: At noon, on the first Saturday of March, 1796, there was an unusual stir at the old Barton farm-house, just across the creek to the eastward, as you leave Kennett Square by the Philadelphia stage-road. Any gathering of the people at Barton's was a most rare occurrence; yet, on that day and at that hour, whoever stood upon the porch of the corner house, in the village, could see horsemen approaching by all the four roads which there met. Some five or six had already dismounted at the Unicorn Tavern, and were refreshing themselves with stout glasses of “Old Rye,” while their horses, tethered side by side to the pegs in the long hitching-bar, pawed and stamped impatiently. An eye familiar with the ways of the neighborhood might have surmised the nature of the occasion which called so many together, from the appearance and equipment of these horses. They were not heavy animals, with the marks of plough-collars on their broad shoulders, or the hair worn off their rumps by huge breech-straps; but light and clean-limbed, one or two of them showing signs of good blood, and all more carefully groomed than usual. “Sir: Yr respd favour of ye1 1 This form of the article, though in general disuse at the time, was still frequently employed in epistolary writing, in that part of Pennsylvania. 11th came duly to hand, and ye proposition wh it contains has been submitted to Mr. Jones, ye present houlder of ye mortgage. He wishes me to inform you that he did not anticipate ye payment before ye first day of April, 1797, wh was ye term agreed upon at ye payment of ye first note; nevertheless, being required to accept full and lawful payment, whensoever tendered, he hath impowered me to receive ye moneys at yr convenience, providing ye settlement be full and compleat, as aforesaid, and not merely ye payment of a part or portion thereof.
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205Author:  Thomas Frederick William 1806-1866Requires cookie*
 Title:  John Randolph, of Roanoke, and other sketches of character, including William Wirt  
 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 remember some years since to have seen John Randolph in Baltimore. I had frequently read and heard descriptions of him; and one day, as I was standing in Market, now Baltimore Street, I remarked a tall, thin, unique-looking being hurrying towards me with a quick impatient step, evidently much annoyed by a crowd of boys who were following close at his heels; not in the obstreperous mirth with which they would have followed a crazy or a drunken man, or an organ-grinder and his monkey, but in the silent, curious wonder with which they would have haunted a Chinese, bedecked in full costume. I instantly knew the individual to be Randolph, from the descriptions. I therefore advanced towards him, that I might take a full observation of his person without violating the rules of courtesy in stopping to gaze at him. As he approached, he occasionally turned towards the boys with an angry glance, but without saying anything, and then hurried on as if to outstrip them; but it would not do. They followed close behind the orator, each one observing him so intently that he said nothing to his companions. Just before I met him, he stopped a Mr. C—, a cashier of one of the banks, said to be as odd a fish as John himself. I loitered into a store close by, and, unnoticed, remarked the Roanoke orator for a considerable time; and really, he was the strangest-looking being I ever beheld. Gentlemen: It is a matter of deep regret to me, that I did not receive your kind letter of the 9th of August till a very late day. I was in the mountains of New Hampshire, taking a breath of my native air, and it was the last of August before I returned. I know not whether, if I had received your communication sooner, it would have been in my power to attend the meeting to which I was invited, but I should have been able to have given a more timely answer.
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206Author:  Thompson Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce) 1795-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  Centeola  
 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: “To all good Deacons, church folks and others, who can honestly say they are without the sin of abetting what they must have known to be, if anything at all was to be made out of it, nothing more or less than a scheme for passing counterfeit money — let them cast the first stone.
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207Author:  Thompson Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce) 1795-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  The doomed chief, or, Two hundred years ago  
 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 an anxious, as well as a stirring day with the colonists at New Plymouth. The public mind, for the last few months, had been laboring under a very unusual, and a constantly increasing excitement. Among all classes of men there evidently existed a deep, though unacknowledged consciousness, that the calculations of selfishness, craft, and fraud, instead of obedience to the simple dictates of justice and honesty, had latterly characterized their intercourse with the Indians. This, as in most other cases of conscious wrong doing, had made them, especially the leading men of the colony, peculiarly sensitive respecting the relations in which they stood with the red men, filling them with jealousies, suspicions, and apprehensions, lest the latter, impressed doubtless with the same or livelier convictions of their wrongs, should be secretly nourishing thoughts and schemes of redress and retribution. The colonists were also fully conscious that the injured race were now no longer the comparatively harmless and contemptible foes they were in times past, when bows and arrows and war-clubs were their most formidable weapons, whole scores of which were scarcely good against a single musket in battle; but that they had, at this period, almost universally supplied themselves with fire arms, in the fatal use of which, when occasion required, they had no superiors, even among the most expert sharp-shooters of the old world. And especially and painfully conscious were likewise the leading colonists, that in addition to the advantages thus possessed by their apprehended foes, there had now sprung up among them a Master Spirit who was believed to be fully capable of combining, and giving direction to all the various elements of their disaffection with fearful effect. That Master Spirit was Metacom, the King Philip of subsequent historic renown. And it was not without reason they feared that he, insulted, fined, and dragooned as he had been into hollow treaties of peace, would not long remain inactive or forego—unless prompt and decided measures were taken to prevent the execution of what was believed to be his bold and settled design—a war of extermination against the colonists of New England. “As soon as Captain Willis is able to travel, which I trust is now, his late captor, or prisoner, or nurse in the woods, would be gratified to see him at Providence. Enquire of Governor Williams for
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208Author:  Thompson Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce) 1795-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  Gaut Gurley, or, The trappers of Umbagog  
 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: So wrote the charming Cowper, giving us to understand, by the drift of the context, that he intended the remark as having a moral as well as a physical application; since, as he there intimates, in “gain-devoted cities,” whither naturally flow “the dregs and feculence of every land,” and where “foul example in most minds begets its likeness,” the vices will ever find their favorite haunts; while the virtues, on the contrary, will always most abound in the country. So far as regards the virtues, if we are to take them untested, this is doubtless true. And so far, also, as regards the mere vices, or actual transgressions of morality, we need, perhaps, to have no hesitation in yielding our assent to the position of the poet. But, if he intends to include in the category those flagrant crimes which stand first in the gradation of human offences, we must be permitted to dissent from that part of the view; and not only dissent, but claim that truth will generally require the very reversal of the picture, for of such crimes we believe it will be found, on examination, that the country ever furnishes the greatest proportion. In cities, the frequent intercourse of men with their fellow-men, the constant interchange of the ordinary civilities of life, and the thousand amusements and calls on their attention that are daily occurring, have almost necessarily a tendency to soften or turn away the edge of malice and hatred, to divert the mind from the dark workings of revenge, and prevent it from settling into any of those fatal purposes which result in the wilful destruction of life, or some other gross outrage on humanity. But in the country, where, it will be remembered, the first blood ever spilled by the hand of a murderer cried up to Heaven from the ground, and where the meliorating circumstances we have named as incident to congregated life are almost wholly wanting, man is left to brood in solitude over his real or fancied wrongs, till all the fierce and stormy passions of his nature become aroused, and hurry him unchecked along to the fatal outbreak. In the city, the strong and bad passions of hate, envy, jealousy, and revenge, softened in action, as we have said, on finding a readier vent in some of the conditions of urban society, generally prove comparatively harmless. In the country, finding no such softening influences, and no such vent, and left to their own workings, they often become dangerously concentrated, and, growing more and more intensified as their self-fed fires are permitted to burn on, at length burst through every barrier of restraint, and set all law and reason alike at defiance. “Thinking something unusual to be brewing overhead, we are off for the lake about 10 A. M. “Dear Claud, — You do not know, you cannot know, what the effort costs me to write this. You do not know, you cannot know, what I have felt, what I have suffered since I became fully apprised of the painful circumstances under which your late expedition was brought to a close; and especially since I became apprised of the lamentable scenes that occurred in the court, growing out of that unfortunate — O how unfortunate, expedition! Before that court was held, and during the doubtful days which intervened between it and your escape from the terrible perils that attended your return, the hope that all would, all must turn out right, in some measure relieved my harrowing fears and anxieties; though even then the latter was to the former as days of cloud to minutes of sunshine. But, when I heard what occurred at the trial, — the bitter crimination and recrimination, the open rupture, the menaces exchanged, and the angry parting, — and, more alarming than all, when I saw my father return in that fearful mood, from which he still refuses to be diverted, the last gleam of hope faded, and all became cloud, all gloom, — dark, impenetrable, and forbidding. My nights, when sleep at length comes to close my weeping eyes, are passed in troubled dreams; my days in more troubled thoughts, which I would fain believe were dreams also. O, why need this be? I have done nothing, — you have done nothing; and I have no doubt of your faith and honor for performing all I shall ever require at your hands. But, Claud, I love you, and all `Know love is woman's happiness;' and all know, likewise, that the ties of love are but gossamer threads, which a word may rupture, a breath shake, and even the power of unpleasant associations destroy. Still, is there not one hope, — the hope that this thread, hitherto so blissfully uniting our hearts, subtle and attenuated as it is, may yet be preserved unbroken, if we suffer no opinion, no word, no syllable to escape our lips, respecting the unfortunate affair that is embroiling our parents; if we wholly deny ourselves the pleasure of that social intercourse which, to me, at least, has thus far made this wilderness an Eden of delight? But can it be thus preserved, if we keep up that intercourse, as in the sunshine of our love, — those pleasant, fleeting, rosy months, when I was so happy, O so very happy, in the feelings of the present and the prospects of the future? No, no, it is not possible, it is not possible for you to come here, and encounter my father in such a mood, and then return and receive the upbraidings of your own, that you are joining or upholding the house of his foes. It is not possible for you to do this, and your heart receive no jar, and mine no fears or suspicions of its continued fealty. I dare not risk it. Then do not, dearest Claud, O do not come here, at least for the present. Perhaps my dark forebodings, that our connection is not to be blessed for our future happiness, may be groundless. Perhaps the storm that now so darkly hangs over us may pass harmlessly away. Perhaps this painful and perplexing misunderstanding — as I trust in Heaven's mercy it only is — may yet be placed in a light which will admit of a full reconciliation between our respective families. But, till then, let our relations to each other stand, if you feel disposed to let them, precisely as we left them at our last mournfully happy parting; for, till then, though it break my heart, I could never, never consent to a renewal of our intercourse. Have I said enough, and not too much? I could not, under the almost insupportable weight of grief, fear, and anxiety, that is distracting my brain, and crushing my poor heart, — I could not say less, I dare not say more. O Claud, Claud, why has this dreadful cloud come over us? O, pray that it may be speedily removed, and once more let in, on our pained and perplexed hearts, the sunshine of their former happiness. Dearest Claud, good-by; don't come, but don't forget “Mrs. Elwood, my Friend, — Our Mr. Phillips has been here, and told us all that has happened in your settlement. Mrs. Elwood, I am greatly troubled at the loss your family suffer, with the rest of the hunters, but still more troubled and fearful for your husband and your noble son, about what may grow out of the quarrel with that dark man. My father knew him, time long past, and said there would be mischief done the company, when we heard he was going with them. I hope Mr. Elwood will keep out of his way; and I hope, Claud, — O, I cannot write the thought. Mrs. Elwood, I am very unhappy. I sometimes wish your brave and noble son had suffered me to go down and be lost in the dark, wild waters of those fearful rapids. By the goodness of my white father, whom I am proud 22 to hope you may some time see with me in your settlement, I have all the comforts and indulgences that a heart at ease could desire; warm, carpeted rooms, dress, books, company, smooth flatterers, who mean little, it may be, together with real friends, who mean much, and prove it by actions, which do not, like words, ever deceive. And yet, Mrs. Elwood, they are all now without any charms for me. My heart is in your settlement. The grand old forest, and the bright lake, were always things of beauty for me, before I saw him; but now, when associated with him, — O, Mrs. Elwood, if I did not know you had something of what I meant should forever be kept secret from all but the Great Eye, in your keeping, and if you had not made me feel you would be my discreet friend, and keep it as safe from all as an unspoken thought, I would not for worlds write what I have, and what I every moment find my pen on the point of writing more fully. O, how I wish I could make you understand, without words, what I feel, — how I grieve over what I almost know must be vain hopes, and vainer visions of happiness! You have sometimes had, it may be, very bright, delightful dreams, which seemed to bring you all your heart desired; and then you suddenly awoke, and found all had vanished, leaving you dark and sad with disappointment and regret. If you have, you may fancy what my thoughts are undergoing every hour of the day. O, how my heart is drawn away towards you! I often feel that I must fly up, like a bird, to be there. I should come now, but for what might be thought. I shall certainly be there in early spring. I can't stay away, though I may come only to see what I could bear less easy than these haunting, troubled fancies. Mrs. Elwood, adieu. You won't show this, or breathe a word about it, — I know you won't; you could not be so cruel as that. Mrs. Elwood, may I not sign myself your friend? “To Claud Elwood:— My career is ended, at last. Well, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have been nobody's fool nor nobody's tool. Early perceiving that nine out of ten were only the stupid instruments of the tenth man, the world over, I resolved to go into the system, and did, and improved on it so as to make nineteen out of twenty tools to me, — that is all. I have no great fault to find with men generally, though I always despised the whole herd; for I knew that, if they used me well, it was only because they dared not do otherwise. I don't write this, however, to preach upon that, but to let you know another thing, to chew upon.
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209Author:  Thompson Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce) 1795-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  The rangers, or, The Tory'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: Towards night, on the twelfth of March, 1775, a richly-equipped double sleigh, filled with a goodly company of well-dressed persons of the different sexes, was seen descending from the eastern side of the Green Mountains, along what may now be considered the principal thoroughfare leading from the upper navigable portions of the Hudson to those of the Connecticut River. The progress of the travellers was not only slow, but extremely toilsome, as was plainly evinced by the appearance of the reeking and jaded horses, as they labored and floundered along the sloppy and slumping snow paths of the winter road, which was obviously now fast resolving itself into the element of which it was composed. Up to the previous evening, the dreary reign of winter had continued wholly uninterrupted by the advent of his more gentle successor in the changing rounds of the seasons; and the snowy waste which enveloped the earth would, that morning, have apparently withstood the rains and suns of months before yielding entirely to their influences. But during the night there had occurred one of those great and sudden transitions from cold to heat, which can only be experienced in northern climes, and which can be accounted for only on the supposition, that the earth, at stated intervals, rapidly gives out large quantities of its internal heats, or that the air becomes suddenly rarefied by some essential change or modification in the state of the electric fluid. The morning had been cloudless; and the rising sun, with rays no longer dimly struggling through the dense, obstructing medium of the dark months gone by, but, with the restored beams of his natural brightness, fell upon the smoking earth with the genial warmth of summer. A new atmosphere, indeed, seemed to have been suddenly created, so warm and bland was the whole air; while, occasionally, a breeze came over the face of the traveller, which seemed like the breath of a heated oven. As the day advanced, the sky gradually became overcast — a strong south wind sprung up, before whose warm puffs the drifted snow-banks seemed literally to be cut down, like grass before the scythe of the mower; and, at length, from the thickening mass of cloud above, the rain began to descend in torrents to the mutely recipient earth. All this, for a while, however, produced no very visible effects on the general face of nature; for the melting snow was many hours in becoming saturated with its own and water from above. Nor had our travellers, for the greater part of the day, been much incommoded by the rain, or the thaw, that was in silent, but rapid progress around and beneath them; as their vehicle was a covered one, and as the hard-trodden paths of the road were the last to be affected. But, during the last hour, a great change in the face of the landscape had become apparent; and the evidence of what had been going on unseen, through the day, was now growing every moment more and more palpable. The snow along the bottom of every valley was marked by a long, dark streak, indicating the presence of the fast-collecting waters beneath. The stifled sounds of rushing streams were heard issuing from the hidden beds of every natural rill; while the larger brooks were beginning to burst through their wintry coverings, and throw up and push on before them the rending ice and snow that obstructed their courses to the rivers below, to which they were hurrying with increasing speed, and with seemingly growing impatience at every obstacle they met in their way. The road had also become so soft, that the horses sunk nearly to the flank at almost every step, and the plunging sleigh drove heavily along the plashy path. The whole mass of the now saturated and dissolving snow, indeed, though lying, that morning, more than three feet deep on a level, seemed to quiver and move, as if on the point of flowing away in a body to the nearest channels. Vermont was ushered into political existence midst storm and tempest. We speak both metaphorically and literally; for it is a curious historical fact, that her constitution, the result of the first regular movement ever made by her people towards an independent civil government, was adopted during the darkest period of the revolution, at an hour of commotion and alarm, when the tempest of war was actually bursting over her borders and threatening her entire subversion. And, as if to make the event the more remarkable, the adoption took place amidst a memorable thunder-storm, but for the happening of which, at that particular juncture, as will soon appear, that important political measure must have been postponed to a future period, and a period, too, when the measure, probably, would have been defeated, and the blessings of an independent government forever lost, owing to the dissensions, which, as soon as the common danger was over, New York and New Hampshire combined to scatter among her people. The whole history of the settlement and organization of the state, indeed, exhibits a striking anomaly, when viewed with that of any other state in the Union. She may emphatically be called the offspring of war and controversy. The long and fierce dispute for her territory between the colonies above named had sown her soil with dragon teeth, which at length sprang up in a crop of hardy, determined, and liberty-loving men, who, instead of joining either of the contending parties, soon resolved to take a stand for themselves against both. And that stand, when taken, they maintained with a spirit and success, to which, considering the discouragements, difficulties, and dangers they were constantly compelled to encounter, history furnishes but few parallels. But although every step of her progress, from the felling of the first tree in her dark wilderness to her final reception into the sisterhood of the states, was marked by the severest trials, yet the summer of 1777 — the period to which the remainder of our tale refers — was, for her, far the most gloomy and portentous. And still it was a period in which she filled the brightest page of her history, and, at the same time, did more than in any other year towards insuring her subsequent happy destiny. “You are hereby appointed by the Council of Safety to go through this and the neighboring towns, bordering on the British line of march; to spy out the resorts of the tories; to mark and identify all inimical persons; to gain all the information that can be obtained respecting the movements of the enemy at large; and make report, from time to time, to this council or some field officer of our line.* * Those who may doubt the probability that such a commission would be issued by this body, would do well to consult that part of the journal of their proceedings, at this period, which has been preserved and published, in which will be found several similar ones, to serve as specimens of the many contained in the part that was lost, and to show how searching were the operations of these vigilant guardians of the cause of liberty in Vermont, and how various the instruments they made use of to effect their objects. “You remember your promise, Sabrey, to visit me the first opportunity. That opportunity now occurs. Captain Jones and other friends have presented your father's name at head-quarters for promotion; and he has now, I am informed, received an appointment. If he accepts, as I am sure he will, I hope you will accompany him, and remain with me. I have just received one of those letters so precious to me: he says the army will probably move on to Fort Edward next week, the obstructions in the road being now mostly removed; so that, by the time you arrive, I shall probably be enabled to introduce you to the beautiful and accomplished ladies of whom he has so much to say, — such as the Countess of Reidesel, Lady Harriet Ackland, and others, who accompany their husbands in the campaign. But you will perhaps say that he is interested in praising these ladies for the love and heroism which prompt them to brave such fatigues and dangers for the sake of their lords, since he is warmly urging me to consent to an immediate union, that I may follow their example. He says, in his last letter, — and I think truly, — that I cannot long remain where I am, in a section which, he evidently anticipates, will soon become a frightful scene of strife and bloodshed; and that I must therefore go away with my friends, and leave him, perhaps forever, or put myself under his protection in the army. And he seems hurt that I hesitate in a choice of the alternatives. On the other hand, my connections and friends here think it would be little short of madness in me to yield to my lover's proposal. The people about here are greatly alarmed at the expected approach of the British army, which is known to be accompanied by a large body of Indians. Many are already removing, and nearly all preparing to go. The crisis hastens, and yet I am undecided. Prudence points one way, love the other. What shall I do? O Sabrey, what shall I do? Should you come on with your father, I think I should feel a confidence in going with you to the British encampment. Come then, my friend, come quickly; for I feel as if I could not go without friends, and especially a female friend, to accompany me; while, at the same time, I feel as if some irresistible destiny would compel me to the attempt. And yet why should I hesitate to take any step which he advises? Why refuse to share with him any dangers which he may encounter? And why should my anticipations of the future, which have ever, till recently, during my happy intimacy with Mr. Jones, been so bright and blissful, be clouded now? I know not; I know not why it should be so; but lately my bosom has become disturbed by strange misgivings, and my mind perplexed by dark and undefined apprehensions. I must not, however, indulge them; and your presence, I know, would entirely dissipate them. I repeat, therefore, come, and that quickly. Adieu. “I am at the British head-quarters — not exactly a prisoner, but evidently a closely-watched personage, having reached here, with my captors, after a forced and fatiguing journey, which, however, was not made unpleasant by any disrespectful treatment. 9 * Although the party, to whom I became a prisoner, have been frightened back or recalled, and the expedition, of which they were the advance, given up, yet I think it my duty to say, that another, and much more formidable one, is in agitation against Bennington. I hope our people will be prepared for it, and show these haughty Britons that they do not deserve the name of the undisciplined rabble of poltroons and cowards by which I here daily hear them branded. “This is a work I can cheerfully recommend, for in my estimation it is the best collection of Hymn Tunes that has appeared for several years, and one of the best ever published in this country. In style, the Music is very chaste and pleasing, and in its arangement excellent. Being generally plain and easy of performance, it is admirably adapted to the wants of Country Choirs. I shall be glad to see the work more extensively used, and shall take much pleasure in introducing it in my Schools.
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210Author:  Thompson Maurice 1844-1901Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hoosier mosaics  
 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: No matter what business or what pleasure took me, I once, not long ago, went to Colfax. Whisper it not to each other that I was seeking a foreign appointment through the influence of my fellow Hoosier, the late Vice-President of the United States. O no, I didn't go to the Hon. Schuyler Colfax at all; but I went to Colfax, simply, which is a little dingy town, in Clinton County, that was formerly called Midway, because it is half way between Lafayette and Indianapolis. It was and is a place of some three hundred inhabitants, eking out an aguish subsistence, maintaining a swampy, malarious aspect, keeping up a bilious, nay, an atra-bilious color, the year round, by sucking like an attenuated leech at the junction, or, rather, the crossing of the I. C. & L., and the L. C. & S. W. railroads. It lay mouldering, like something lost and forgotten, slowly rotting in the swamp. “Come to see us, even if you won't stay but one day. Come right off, if you're a Christian girl. Zach Jones is dying of consumption and is begging to see you night and day. He says he's got something on his mind he wants to say to you, and when he says it he can die happy. The poor fellow is monstrous bad off, and I think you ought to be sure and come. We're all well. Your loving uncle, Mr. Editor—Sir: This, for two reasons, is my last article for your journal. Firstly: My time and the exigencies of my profession will not permit me to further pursue a discussion which, on your part, has degenerated into the merest twaddle. Secondly: It only needs, at my hands, an exposition of the false and fraudulent claims you make to classical attainments, to entirely annihilate your unsubstantial and wholly underserved popularity in this community, and to send you back to peddling your bass wood hams and maple nutmegs. In order to put on a false show of erudition, you lug into your last article a familiar Latin sentence. Now, sir, if you had sensibly foregone any attempt at translation, you might, possibly, have made some one think you knew a shade more than a horse; but “whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.” “Editor of the Star—Dear Sir: In answer to your letter requesting me to decide between yourself and Mr. Blodgett as to the correct English rendering of the Latin sentence “De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” allow me to say that your free translation is a good one, if not very literal or elegant. As to Mr. Blodgett's, if the man is sincere, he is certainly crazy or wofully illiterate; no doubt the latter.
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211Author:  Trowbridge J. T. (John Townsend) 1827-1916Requires cookie*
 Title:  Lucy Arlyn  
 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 a proud day for Archy Brandle and his mother when Lucy Arlyn came out to their house to make a friendly visit and to drink tea. “You promised to grant me a favor. This is what I am directed to require of you. Find yourself at Dr. Biddikin's to-morrow at three, P.M. There you will meet a disagreeable little old woman, with yellow hair and a sour temper, named “Miss Lucy Arlyn. Respected Madam, — The reason you saw the undersigned a-fishing to-day, and which you may have seen him on previous occasions passing with rod and line by the brook which meandures beyond the house which has the honor of being your residence (viz., Jehiel Hedge's), the undersigned might explain, and would astonish you, if you would but grant an interview which he has sought in this way in order to get a word with you; not venturing to call openly, fear of offence: though he has in his possession facts of the most utmost importance to you, whom I fear have been wronged by a man I have long served faithfully, and blinded my eyes to his misdeeds, but whom I now suspect is a villain of the darkest calibre” — “I can no longer be of use to you, and I go; having already staid a day too long. My spiritual gift — for which alone you valued me — went before. I lost it when I lost myself. It will return to me only when my tranquillity returns; which can never be with you. I loved you, Guy Bannington. There, take my heart; tread it beneath your proud feet. I neither hate nor love you now. I am ice. The universe wails around me; but I hear it with dull ears. Farewell! I am weary, and wish to sleep.”
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212Author:  Alcott Louisa May 1832-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  Moods  
 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 room fronted the west, but a black cloud, barred with red, robbed the hour of twilight's tranquil charm. Shadows haunted it, lurking in corners like spies set there to watch the man who stood among them mute and motionless as if himself a shadow. His eye turned often to the window with a glance both vigilant and eager, yet saw nothing but a tropical luxuriance of foliage scarcely stirred by the sultry air heavy with odors that seemed to oppress not refresh. He listened with the same intentness, yet heard only the clamor of voices, the tramp of feet, the chime of bells, the varied turmoil of a city when night is defrauded of its peace by being turned to day. He watched and waited for something; presently it came. A viewless visitant, welcomed by longing soul and body as the man, with extended arms and parted lips received the voiceless greeting of the breeze that came winging its way across the broad Atlantic, full of healthful cheer for a home-sick heart. Far out he leaned; held back the thick-leaved boughs already rustling with a grateful stir, chid the shrill bird beating its flame-colored breast against its prison bars, and drank deep draughts of the blessed wind that seemed to cool the fever of his blood and give him back the vigor he had lost.
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213Author:  Alcott Louisa May 1832-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  Work  
 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: “AUNT BETSEY, there 's going to be a new Declaration of Independence.”
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214Author:  Aldrich Thomas Bailey 1836-1907Requires cookie*
 Title:  Marjorie Daw, and other people  
 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: Letter received. Dillon be hanged. I think I ought to be on the ground. Stay where you are. You would only com-plicate matters. Do not move until you hear from me. My being at The Pines could be kept secret. I must see her. Do not think of it. It would be useless. R. W. D. has locked M. in her room. You would not be able to effect an interview. Locked her in her room. Good God. That settles the question. I shall leave by the twelve-fifteen express. Mr Van Twiller Dear Sir — i am verry great-full to you for that Bracelett. it come just in the nic of time for me. The Mademoiselle Zabriski dodg is about plaid out. My beard is getting to much for me. i shall have to grow a mustash and take to some other line of busyness, i dont no what now, but will let you no. You wont feel bad if i sell that Bracelett. i have seen Abrahams Moss and he says he will do the square thing. Pleas accep my thanks for youre Beautiful and Unexpected present.
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215Author:  Aldrich Thomas 1836-1907Requires cookie*
 Title:  Prudence Palfrey  
 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: Parson Wibird Hawkins was in trouble. The trouble was not of a pecuniary nature, for the good man had not only laid up treasures in heaven, but had kept a temporal eye on the fluctuations of real estate in Rivermouth, and was the owner of three or four of the nicest houses in Hollyhock Row. Nor was his trouble of a domestic nature, whatever it once might have been, for Mrs. Wibird Hawkins was dead this quarter of a century. Nor was it of the kind that sometimes befalls too susceptible shepherds, for the parson had reached an age when the prettiest of his flock might have frisked about him without stirring a pulse. You will probably be surprised to receive a letter from me after all these months of silence,—or, rather, years, for it is nearly three years, is n't it, since we parted? I have been in no mood or condition to write before, and I write now only because I may not have another chance to relieve you of any uncertainty you may feel on my account. I have thought it my duty to do this since I came to the resolve, within a few days, to give up my hopeless pursuits here and go into the army. If you do not hear from me or of me in the course of four or six months, you will know that my bad luck, which began in Montana, has culminated somewhere in the South. Then you can show this to my Uncle Dent, or even before, if you wish; I leave it to your discretion. Perhaps I shall do something in the war; who knows? It is time for me to do something. I am a failure up to date. I'm not sure I am a brave man, but I have that disregard for life which well fits me to lead forlorn-hopes,—and I've led many a forlorn-hope these past three years, Joe. Place the balance due me on account, and the six U. S. bonds you hold for me, to the credit and subject to the order of Colonel Peyton Todhunter. Go to Chicago instantly. Draw funds from Rawlings. Will join you at 6666. You have failed. He is here. Has Colonel Todhunter drawn the funds described in the despatch of yesterday? If not, stop payment until further advices.
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216Author:  Austin Jane G. (Jane Goodwin) 1831-1894Requires cookie*
 Title:  Dora Darling  
 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: “Hi! Dat good un! Bully for de 'federates, dis chile say. Dey's showed deyse'fs out now! Cut um stick in de night, eh, an' put! Jes' like de wicked flea in de Bible dat no one wan't a tryin' fer to cotch. Golly, I wish I'd got de rebel flea 'tween dis yer finger an' fum! Wouldn' I crack um 'bout de shortes'? An' de Yankees got dar umformation from a 'telligent conterban', did dey? Wish't I know'd dat 'telligent feller! I'd like 'o shake um paw, an' gib um a chaw ob ole Varginny for de sarvice he done to ebery nigger in de Souf w'en he help de Yankees. Wish't I was in his brogans, — reckon dey wouldn' fin' no 'telligenter nor no willin'er conterban' dan ole Pic ud make ef he got de chance fer ter show um sentermen's; but de trouble wid dis yer nigger is, him candle's got a bushel basket atop ob um, an' de Bible hese'f say dat dat ar' ain't no kin' ob a fashion. Bud ef de Yankees 'ud come an' kick off de ole basket—golly, what a confurgation o' smartness 'ud bust on dey eyesight!” “Dear Dora: I'm going further South with my regiment. I have been sick, and am not very well now, and don't believe I will ever come back. I'd like ever so much to see you before I go, more especially because I think I never will see you again. I darsn't come inside the pickets, but this fellow will bring you to me to-night, if you'll come. Do come, for I want to see you badly. “And now, Mr. Brown, I am going to tell you something so surprising, that I can hardly believe it myself. Only think of Captain Karl's mother being my own dear mother's sister, the very aunt Lucy that I have so long wanted to find! And only think, too, that Charlie (that's what we call Captain Karl almost always here) knew all the time, or suspected, at least; because, when he wrote to his mother about me, and said my name was Dora Darling, she wrote back word that her sister married a man named Darley, and told him to inquire if it wasn't the same name. Then he took up my little Bible one day, when I had been reading to him, and saw mother's name, `Mary Lee,' written in it; and his own mother's name was Lucy Lee; so he knew then right off. But he made believe to his mother that he didn't know; and he never said a word to me; but he says, if I had concluded not to go with him, he should have told me, though he didn't want to, because he wanted to surprise us both.
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217Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  A New England tale, and Miscellanies  
 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: “In returning to my lodgings, late last evening, I was accosted by a man, muffled in a cloak. I recognised his voice at once. It was our unfortunate townsman, Wilson. He has succeeded à merveille in an ingenious plan of escape from durance, and sails in the morning for one of the West India islands, where he will, no doubt, make his debut as pirate, or in some other character, for which his training has equally qualified him. A precious rascal he is indeed; but, allow me a phrase of your fraternity, sir, I had no light to give him up to justice, after he had trusted to me; and more than that, for he informs me, that he had, since his confinement, written to the Woodhulls to engage me as counsel, and through them he learnt the fact of my being in this city. This bound me, in some sort, to look upon the poor devil as my client; and, as it would have been my duty to get him out of the clutches of the law, it would have been most ungracious to have put him into them, you know, since his own cleverness, instead of mine, has extricated him. He has explained to me, and he informs me has communicated to you, (for he says he cannot trust his mother to make them public,) the particulars of the sequestration of the old woman's money. I think Miss Elton never imparted to you the event that led to the sudden engagement, from which she has chosen to absolve me; and you have yet to learn, that there is generosity, disinterestedness in the world, that may rival the virtue which reposes under the shadow of the broad-brim. But, your pardon. I have wiped out all scores. The reception I have met with in this finest of cities, has been such as to make me look upon the incidents of an obscure village as mere bagatelles, not worthy of a sigh from one who can bask in the broad sunshine of ladies' favour and fortune's gifts. One word more, en passant, of Wilson's explanations. I rejoice in it sincerely, on Miss Elton's account. She deserved to have suffered a little for her childishness in holding herself bound by an exacted promise, for having put herself in a situation in which her guilt would have seemed apparent to any one but a poor dog whom love had hoodwinked—pro tempore. She is too young and too beautiful a victim for the altar of conscience. However, I forgive her, her scruples, her fanaticism, and her cruelties; and wish her all happiness in this world and the next, advising her not to turn anchorite here, for the sake of advancement there. “Mr. Allen came home three weeks ago, and said it was not sure you would be a colonel; but Mr. Oakley saw it in the paper, yesterday, that you are one, and I hurraed and hurraed till my little mother said I should make her deaf. And mother dressed up, and put the blue ribbon you sent her, round her neck, and looked so beautiful; Mr. Oakley said the ribbon was just a match for her eyes, and then such a rosy colour came into her cheeks. “Dear and Honoured Husband:—Your `little wifie' (I am glad you still call me so) thanks you from the bottom of her heart for your long letters. How kind of you, after your long days' marches, and your hard, hard work, to sit up at night to write to us, and especially to me, who am but a poor and short letter-writer myself. Oh, my dear heart, when will this tedious war be over, and you be at home again? Not that every thing does not go on very well. Dear sister Sylvy sees to every thing, does every thing. I am a poor thriftless wife to you, and I am afraid I shall not even be a mere ornamental piece of furniture—a `jim crack' of William Freeman's (as you remember who, called me), if you do not soon come home. I am getting thinner and thinner, and you will have to put on your spectacles (I cannot believe you wear spectacles!) to see me. “Dear and Respected Brother:—Your letter was duly received two weeks after date. I thank you for its approving words; also for your profitable advice, concerning the farm, stock, and so forth, which shall—the Lord willing—be attended to. “My dear Sir—Family afflictions compel me to resign my commission. With ardent prayers for my country—all I can now give her— “My dear Sir—I have just succeeded to the possession of an immense fortune, and hasten to offer you the only reparation in my power for a wrong deeply regretted by— Yours with sentiments of immeasurable respect— “I am clean discouraged. It seems as if Providence crowded on me. There is black disappointment, turn which way I will. I have had an offer to go to Orleans, and part pay beforehand, which same I send you herewith. Ellen read—“Mrs. O'Roorke,—You have been a kind friend to me, and I thank you; and give you, in token of my gratitude, all that I have in this room. My clothes please give to Ellen, and the purse with the two dollars, in the corner of the drawer, to Pat. With many thanks from me,
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218Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  The league of the Miami  
 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: Whoever has attempted to trace through its various windings, or plunge into and divine the mysteries of that mysterious, inexplicable thing, the human heart, has ever found himself perplexed—lost in a mazy bewilderment. Well sung one of England's greatest poets, “The proper study of mankind is man,” for man is a strange, strange being; his life is a medley of inconsistencies—his heart a labyrinth of good and evil. There is in our nature a propensity, a desire for concealment, which may be termed somewhat hypocritical, and which gives the outward, and the inward man, two strong contrasting aspects. Were it not for this, we should not see the gentle smile upon the surface, while the death-worm was gnawing at the core. We should not be daily told that such an one is happy, such an one enjoys all the beauties of life, while he, or she, is looking forward to the cold and silent tomb to end the misery of a life of woe. Why is this? Why do we seek to seem other than we feel— than we are? Ah, there is the mystery. That it is so, none will deny. Were it not for this—were our features the index of our thoughts—where would be the sacredness of grief? or the holy charm of love? And is not one sacred to us? Does not the other seem holy in our eyes? Do we not hoard them in our heart of hearts, as the miser hoards his treasures from the gaze of the world? And do we not, like him, feel a secret pleasure in brooding over them in silence, alone? Could we not do this—did the world know us as we know ourselves—not all the terrors of death, not all the terrors of a great hereafter, would be sufficient to hinder thousands from rashly plunging into the mystic, UNKNOWN BEYOND! In this do we not behold an All-wise ordering? Madam:—When this reaches you, I shall probably be no more. I believe that we are often warned of our approaching dissolution, and I feel that mine is near at hand. What my end will be, God only knows; yet, while I contemplate and write, I shudder. Seven years ago, I placed in your charge Cicely Edgerton—”
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219Author:  Bierce Ambrose 1842-1914?Requires cookie*
 Title:  The fiend's delight  
 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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220Author:  Ward Artemus 1834-1867Requires cookie*
 Title:  Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic illustrations  
 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—I'm movin along—slowly along—down tords your place. I want you should rite me a letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in your place. My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal—t'would make you larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss jump up and squeal) wax figgers of G. Washington Gen. Tayler John Bunyan Capt. Kidd and Dr. Webster in the act of killin Dr. Parkman, besides several miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts & murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by none. Now Mr. Editor, scratch orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place. I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend upon it. I want you should git my hanbills up in flamin stile. Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleld Show. We must fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their feelins. Cum the moral on 'em strong. If it's a temprance community tell 'em I sined the pledge fifteen minits arter Ise born, but on the contery ef your peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as we ever met, full of conwiviality, & the life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take, don't you? If you say anythin abowt my show say my snaiks is as harmliss as the new born Babe. What a interestin study it is to see a zewological animil like a snaik under perfeck subjecshun! My kangaroo is the most larfable little cuss I ever saw. All for 15 cents. I am anxyus to skewer your infloounce. I repeet in regard to them hanbills that I shall git 'em struck orf up to your printin office. My perlitercal sentiments agree with yourn exackly. I know thay do, becawz I never saw a man whoos didn't.
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