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81Author:  Hadden, Jeffrey K.; Shupe, AnsonAdd
 Title:  Televangelism in America  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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82Author:  London, JackAdd
 Title:  The Call of the Wild  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: “Old longings nomadic leap, Chafing at custom's chain; Again from its brumal sleep Wakens the ferine strain.”
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83Author:  Danvers Historical SocietyAdd
 Title:  SALEM VILLAGE RECORD BOOK [For Years 1672 - 1713] Transcription published in installments in The Historical Collections of the Danvers Historical Society, 1924-1931  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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84Author:  Frost Robert 1874-1963Add
 Title:  A Boy's Will  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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85Author:  Robinson Edwin Arlington 1869-1935Add
 Title:  Collected Poems  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: To the Memory of William Edward Butler
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86Author:  Masters Edgar Lee 1868-1950Add
 Title:  Spoon River Anthology  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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87Author:  Frost Robert 1874-1963Add
 Title:  North of Boston  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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88Author:  Howells William Dean 1837-1920Add
 Title:  The Rise of Silas Lapham  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: When Bartley Hubbard went to interview Silas Lapham for the "Solid Men of Boston" series, which he undertook to finish up in The Events, after he replaced their original projector on that newspaper, Lapham received him in his private office by previous appointment. "Will you and General Lapham—" Dear Friend,—I expected when I sent you that note, that you would understand, almost the next day, why I could not see you any more. You must know now, and you must not think that if anything happened to my father, I should wish you to help him. But that is no reason why I should not thank you, and I do thank you, for offering. It was like you, I will say that. Dearest,—What I did was nothing, till you praised it. Everything I have and am is yours. Won't you send a line by the bearer, to say that I may come to see you? I know how you feel; but I am sure that I can make you think differently. You must consider that I loved you without a thought of your father's circumstances, and always shall.
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89Author:  Williams William Carlos 1883-1963Add
 Title:  Sour Grapes  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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90Author:  Stein Gertrude 1874-1946Add
 Title:  Tender Buttons  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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91Author:  Eliot T. S. (Thomas Stearns) 1888-1965Add
 Title:  Poems  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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92Author:  Pound Ezra 1885-1972Add
 Title:  Poems 1918-21  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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93Author:  Fitzgerald F. Scott (Francis Scott) 1896-1940Add
 Title:  Tales of the Jazz Age  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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94Author:  Dos Passos John 1896-1970Add
 Title:  Three Soldiers  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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95Author:  unknownAdd
 Title:  Folk-lore and Fable  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | The Harvard classics | harvard classics 
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96Author:  Kelly Fanny 1845-1904Add
 Title:  Narrative of My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Westward Exploration collection | UVA-LIB-WestwardExplor 
 Description: I Was born in Orillia, Canada, in 1845. Our home was on the lake shore, and there amid pleasant surroundings I passed the happy days of early childhood. "This Indian, after taking part in the present out-break of the Indians against the white settlers and missionaries, being sick, and not able to keep up with his friends in their flight, we give you the offerings of friendship, food and clothing. You are in our power, but we won't harm you. Go to your people and gladden their hearts. Lay down your weapons, and fight the white men no more. We will do you good, and not evil. Take this letter; in it we have spoken. Depart in peace, and ever more be a friend to the white people, and you will be more happy. "Whoever you may be, if you will only buy us from the Indians with ponies or any thing, and let me come and stay with you until I can get word to my friends, they will pay you well; and I will work for you also, and do all I can for you. "Makatunke says he will not fight wagons, for they have been fighting two days. They had many killed by the goods they brought into camp. They tell me what to write. I do not understand them. I was taken by them July 12. They say for the soldiers to give forty head of cattle. "If you are really a white woman captive in the hands of these Indians, I shall be glad to buy you and restore you to your friends, and if a few unarmed Indians will deliver you at the place where your letter was received, I will send there for them three good American horses, and take you to our camp. "I am truly a white woman, and now in sight of your camp, but they will not let me go. They say they will not fight, but don't trust them. They say, 'How d'ye do.' They say they want you to give them sugar, coffee, flour, gunpowder, but give them nothing till you can see me for yourself, but induce them, taking me first. They want four wagons, and they will stop fighting. They want forty cattle to eat; I have to write what they tell me. They want you to come here—you know better than that. His name Chatvanco and the other's name Porcupine. Read to yourself, some of them can talk English. They say this is their ground. They, say, 'Go home and come back no more.' The Fort Laramie soldiers have been after me, but they (the Indians) run so; and they say they want knives and axes and arrow-iron to shoot buffalo. Tell them to wait and go to town, and they can get them. I would give them any thing for liberty. Induce them to show me before you give anything. They are very anxious for you to move now. Do not, I implore you for your life's sake. "Your second communication convinces me that you are what you profess to be, a captive white woman, and you may be assured that myself and my party are eager for release, but for the present I can not accede to the demands, or gratify the wants of your captors. We are sent on an important trust and mission, by order of the great War Chief at Washington, westward to the mountain region, with a small party of well-armed and determined men, feeling entirely capable of defending ourselves; but we are not a war party, and our train is not intended for war purposes. Powder and shot we have, but no presents for the hostile Indians.
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97Author:  Aldrich Thomas Bailey 1836-1907Add
 Title:  Père Antoine's date palm  
 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: Near the Levee, and not far from the old French Cathedral, in New Orleans, stands a fine date-palm, thirty feet in height, growing out in the open air as sturdily as if its sinuous roots were sucking strength from their native earth.
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98Author:  Jones J. B. (John Beauchamp) 1810-1866Add
 Title:  The Winkles, or, The merry monomaniacs  
 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: Babbleton was an ancient village near the city of Philadelphia. It had a wharf where the steamboats landed, and a depot where the locomotives whistled. Hence, although the principal mansions were situated on commodious lots, and in many instances separated from each other by broad yards and close fences, it is not to be inferred there was ever a monotonous deficiency of noise and excitement in the place. It had its proud and its miserable, its vanities and its humiliations, its bank and its bakers, its millionaires and its milliners; and was not unfrequently the scene of some of those entertaining comedies of life, which have been considered in all enlightened countries worthy of preservation in veracious and impartial history. Such a record we have attempted to produce; and although the direct manner of narration adopted may offend the taste of the fastidious critic, yet the less acutely discerning reader may possibly deem himself compensated for the labor of perusal, by the reliable assurance of the anthenticity of the story, and the interest attending the occurrences flitting before his mental vision. “My Dear Aunt:—It becomes my melancholy duty to announce a sad calamity—an unexpected suicide—which must affect you deeply. This morning poor Jocko was found suspended from the eve of the portico, and quite dead. That he did it himself, must be evident from the fact that no human being would be likely to climb down to the edge of the roof. It seems that he had driven a large nail into the wood through the last link of his chain, and then sprang over, either dislocuting. his neck, or producing suffocation. I could not hear his struggles, from the distant chamber I occupied, or you should not have been called upon to lament his untimely end. Poor Jocko! As the weather is very warm, I will have his body taken down and packed in ice. It will keep, dear aunt, until I receive your instructions, in regard to the disposition you would have made of it. Every thing shall be done according to your orders. You need not hasten your return to the city. I am quite comfortable here, and the house is kept very quiet from morning till night. My love to mother, sister, uncle, all. “If I see so plainly the imprudence of such disgraceful matches in others, you may suppose I shall be careful to avoid falling into the like silly practices myself. It is true I intend to marry. My nuptials will be celebrated some time during the present year. But the man of my choice will be a gentleman of distinction—a genius of celebrity. You know him, Walter—Mr. Pollen, the poet. If he is poor—if he has been sometimes, as you informed me, without a shirt—that is no disgrace. How was it with Chatterton, Defoe, and even Milton himself? And what lady in the world would not have been honored by being the wife of a Chatterton, a Defoe, a Milton? Shame upon the ladies who permitted them to languish in poverty! I will set an example for the wealthy ladies to follow hereafter. Genius is the very highest kind of aristocracy, because it cannot be conferred by mortal man, nor taken away even by the detracting tongue of women. Farewell. Present my adieus to your mother and Lucy. We will not meet again, unless it be accidentally, and then it is probable there will be no recognition on my part, and I desire there shall be none on yours. You may say to Mr. Lowe that a visit from him would be agreeable to me I believe him to be a gentleman, and would have no objections to his society, if he could answer one or two questions satisfactorily. You may say to him that although I am resolved to marry, I don't expect to feel what the silly girls call a romantic passion for any man. I don't believe in any such nonsense. I want a partner at whist as much as any thing else. “My Dear Niece:—I send my Edith for you, and I desire that you will return with her, by the evening mail. She is discreet, and no one knows her in Babbleton. By accompanying her, your persecutor will not be able to trace you to your asylum. Wear a thick veil, so that he may not recognize your features when you go to the cars. You may safely confide in Edith. She has been my confidant for many years, as your mother knows. She was personally acquainted with the Great Unknown—Sir Walter—and is familiar with the plots and stratagems of villains. She reads for me every night, and has a romantic and literary disposition. Since I received your dear pathetic letter, I have been going over the `Children of the Abbey' again, and find my eyes continually suffused with the miseries of poor Amanda. My dear child! You remind me of her so much, that I am painfully impatient to clasp you to my heart! Do not delay a moment. My love to sister Edith. Tell her not to insist on my Edith having any refreshments, for she never takes any. “Dear Sir: Excuse my bad writing, for you know I write with my left hand, and hold the paper down with my right stump. I saw Col. Oakdale to-day, and he said you would be home to-night, therefore I write. “Here is news from Babbleton,” said Lucy, and narrated in my dear mother's merry vein. Listen, aunt:—“Griselda still keeps my poor brother a close prisoner, while she dashes about in her coach and four. But she has cut all her poor acquaintances, and of course I am blotted out of her books. She passes without calling, and without knowing how heartily I laugh at the ridiculous figure she makes. But she patronized our minister, Mr. Amble, and that is a charitable expenditure, because the money will certainly reach the poor of the parish. Mr. A. you know, has either nine or thirteen (I forget which) children of his own, and they must be provided for. I suppose it is because I could render no assistance, that he has not called on me lately—not, I believe, since my house was sold. Perhaps he did not hear I was the purchaser * * * Still I think Roland is love mad. But his passion is two-fold. He has laid regular siege to Virginia Oakdale, who is my guest, and opens his batteries once or twice every week, and then disappears most mysteriously. I presume he occupies his blue carriage on the alternate days. Virginia never refuses to see him; but the spirited girl laughs at his pretensions, and banters him in such a moeking manner that he must soon despair of making any progress. Why do you not treat him in the same way? Or why do you not marry him, and then have your revenge? It is so absurd to see men of fortune running after the girls, and vainly teasing them for a smile. Marry them, and they will run the other way. Walter is still at Washington, and has not yet received his appointment. I believe he has ceased writing to Virginia. What does it mean? More tomfoolery? Lowe has been absent some time—and I suppose you have seen him. Remember! * * * We had an exciting scene in the street the other day. Sergeant Blore, when stumping on his way to see me, was seized by Mrs. Edwards. She demanded his money—and he cried murder! He tripped her up with his wooden leg and made his escape. But it seems he sprained her ankle, and she has since threatened to bring “an haction” against him for “hassault” and battery! You see how husbands are served! Bill Dizzle gallants Patty O'Pan to church every Sunday. I wrote you how Patty mortally affronted the Arums and Crudles. She kept up till Bill and Susan beat a retreat. It has been a mystery to me how the impudent hussy obtained the means to perpetrate such an annoyance. Some of her finery must have cost a great deal of money, and no one ever supposed Lowe possessed a superabundance of it. By the way, I forgot to mention that Bell Arum has written home a precious budget of news, which her mother, as usual, has published to all her acquaintances. She says she saw you examining the register, and that you were in the habit of wandering about alone and unprotected. She says Mr. Lowe is likewise in the city; and if her ma would put that and that together, she would know as much as the writer, no doubt! And she says they have an invitation to the aristocratic Mrs. Laurel's parties, and that some of the British nobility of the highest rank are expected over this winter. But (she says) if L. W. and Mr. L. are to be met there, she is determined to expose them. “My impudent nephew Walter, who will persist in writing me, notwithstanding I have cast him off for sanctioning his uncle's marriage with that vulgar bonnet-maker (I forget her name), informs me that Mr. Pollen, the silly poet who abandoned my hospitality to borrow a few dirty dollars of the milliner, is now working himself to death in New York to earn a scanty living, which he might have had for nothing by remaining here and behaving himself. He is a fool—just like other poets who have genius, and therefore he ought not to be permitted to kill himself. Enclosed I send a check for a trifling sum payable to bearer, which, perhaps, with delicate management you may induce him to make use of for his own benefit. Perhaps he needs some new shirts. I have seen him twice without any—and I believe he has one of Walter's yet. Speaking of checks and of Walter, I gave my cast-off nephew one when he was on his way to that Babylonian rendezvous of demagogues, which, for some reason—or rather for the want of reason—he did not use. I suppose he gave it to some fool or other poorer than himself. But the cashier of the bank did not pay the money. There needed Walter's name on it, he said, written with his own hand, as it was drawn to his order, or something of the sort, which I did not understand, and did not choose to inquire about. Walter says Lucy is with you. Tell her I have five letters from Ralph Roland begging me to intercede for him. I believe him a knave—but if he writes me again I shall also believe him in earnest, and that the rascal is absolutely in love. It would be a better match than her uncle's, which she attended. “It must be for me,” said Walter. “Put it on the table. I will look at it when I have searched my pockets once more.” Not finding the check, he opened the letter and read as follows: “Misther Walther Wankle, Sir — I have sane Misthress Famble and mi busnes is faxd. She seed you at super and sez she wants to no you. She ses she liks yer lukes, and wud like to sarve you but ses Misther Famble is beging for a nother man. Don't be onasy she kin do mor in a dozzin husbins. Pleases anser this and lave at the barr for your obeydant sarvint “Would you deign to read the news here, if I promise not to be tedious? Well, I promise. The mortgage on our house and grounds has been paid. Will you facilitate me on that? You must not ask where the money came from, for that is a secret upon which to exercise your faculty of guessing. But that is not all. Colonel Oakdale's debt to Roland has been paid. That must be news for you. You would never guess who loaned him the money, and I will tell you, so that you may pour out your gratitude to him should your relations with the family of the senator—we have just heard of his election by the Legislature—ever become more intimate than they have been hitherto. It was John Dowly, whom every one supposed to be in indigent circumstances. Blessings on my old beau. Walter never slept more soundly, or enjoyed more pleasant dreams, than he did in prison. And he had an excellent appetite for breakfast, which was damaged, however, by the contents of the letters and papers brought in by his keeper.
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99Author:  Alcott Louisa May 1832-1888Add
 Title:  Hospital sketches and Camp and fireside stories  
 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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100Author:  Alcott Louisa May 1832-1888Add
 Title:  On Picket Duty, and Other Tales  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: WHAT air you thinkin' of, Phil?
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