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201Author:  Hawthorne Nathaniel 1804-1864Requires cookie*
 Title:  Twice-told tales  
 Published:  2006 
 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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202Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Requires cookie*
 Title:  Kate Beaumont  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: IN the good old times before the Flood, in the times which our retired silver-gray politicians allude to when they say, “There were giants in those days,” the new, commodious, and elegant steamship Mersey set out on her first voyage across the Atlantic.
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203Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far South-west  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: The first of October, of the year of our Lord 1845, found me a guest of the Tremont House, in the goodly city of Galveston, Texas. An invalid guest, I may add—for I had been confined to my room for some days, suffering much pain from a couple of flesh wounds received in a recent skirmish with a party of Texan brigands, somewhere between my present abode and the river Brazos, while in the act of making my escape with some friends from the head-quarters of a notorious villain, counterfeiter, etcetera, known as Count D'Estang. The reader who has been so fortunate, or unfortunate, (I leave him to decide which,) as to peruse a portion of my narrative, under the title of “Viola,” will readily understand to what I allude; but in order to refresh his memory with the past events of my career, and also give those before whom I may now appear for the first time an inkling of what has already been recorded of my adventures, I will here transcribe a letter, which about this period I wrote home to my worthy parent in Virginia: “In my last, dated at New Orleans, you will recollect I made some mention of a very eccentric travelling companion, by the name of Harley, who, having been introduced to me one night at a ball in Swansdown, renewed acquaintance on the boat at Louisville, and kept me company down the river; and I think I also added, that we had in contemplation a trip to Mexico, merely to gratify curiosity and have some adventures. Well, we have not been to Mexico as yet—but we have had some adventures notwithstanding. If memory serves me right, I told you there was a certain mystery about my friend—for even then I regarded him as such—which I had not been able to fathom; but this has since been explained away, and I now know his whole history. “I have just received a letter from home, which requires my presence there immediately. My poor father has been taken suddenly ill, and is not expected to recover. I shall leave to-day for Macon, via Savannah, taking Viola with me, to whom I now expect my friends to be reconciled, since the blood of the St. Auburns is not in her veins. As I cannot fix on any time for my return, you had better not wait for me; but write to Macon, and keep me advised of your whereabouts. It grieves me to part with so dear a friend—but necessity compels me. Can you not come to Macon? Think of it seriously—I will assure you of a cordial reception. Dear Viola, with tearful eyes, sends her love to you. Do not fail to write, and keep me advised of your doings; and believe me, my dear Harry, “Pardon my seeming uncourteousness of last night! I was agitated, and troubled, but not without cause. After what has already passed between us, I think it no more than right that I should, to some extent, give you the explanation you desired. This cannot be done in the presence of a third party; and I must entreat you not to mention aught of last night's interview to any one! Destroy this as soon as read!
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204Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Requires cookie*
 Title:  The phantom of the forest  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Probably no region of the globe ever presented more attractions to the genuine hunter and lover of the backwoods, than the territory known as Kentucky previous to its settlement by the race that now holds possession of its soil. Its location, happily intermediate between the extremes of heat and cold, afforded a most congenial climate; its surface was diversified by steep hills and deep valleys, stupendous cliffs and marshy levels, dense woods and flowery glades, immense caverns and tangled brakes, large streams and wonderful licks; and hither came all the beasts of the forest, to roam in unrestrained freedom through wilds seldom trod by human feet, and gay-plumed songsters from every region swept along the balmy air and made the sylvan retreats ring with their silvery strains. When first discovered by the white man, no human beings claimed ownership of this enchanting land. The red man of the North, and the red man of the South, came here to hunt and fight; but the victor bore off his spoils, and the vanquished went back in dismay, and neither put up his wigwam on the neutral ground. For years after its discovery by the white man, Kentucky could not boast a hundred of the race within its borders; but then the tide of emigration set in strongly toward this western land of promise, and a few years more beheld its broad surface dotted here and there with the rude fortresses and dwellings of incipient civilization. Every step forward, however, was marked with blood. The red man was jealous of the white, and there was for a long period an almost continuous, fierce, and sanguinary struggle for the mastery; while the midnight yells, the wailing shrieks and the burning homes, too often proclaimed the horrid work of death and desolation.
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205Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  The adopted daughter  
 Published:  2002 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: BY ALICE CAREY, AUTHOR OF “CLOVERNOOK,” “LYRA,” ETC. “Miss Pridore,—A conversation with your brother this afternoon, in which my father's misfortunes were the subject of ridicule, will make it necessary for me to forego the pleasure of seeing you at his birth-night party. Your friend,
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206Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  The bishop's son  
 Published:  2002 
 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 sunshine was hot between the April showers, and the rude, rickety door-stones (they could hardly be called door-steps) of the old farmhouse to which, they led, were wet and dry almost at the same moment, happening at the moment in which our story opens, to be dry; the fickle clouds had scattered, and the sun was shining with pretty nearly midsummer heat. It was about noon-day, and the young girl who had been busy all the morning digging in the flower-beds that lay on either side a straight path running from the front door to the front gate, suddenly tossed aside her bonnet, and flung herself down on the steps. She was tired, and rather lay than sat; and a pleasant picture she made, her flushed cheek on her arm, the cape, lately tied at her throat, drawn carelessly to her lap, her tiny naked feet sunken in the grass, and all her fair neck and dimpled shoulders bare. “My sweet Sister Fairfax: When I was under your hospitable roof, a day or two since,” (he had not been under the roof at all, remember), “I had the rashness to make a proposal to your little daughter which I have not the courage to carry out without your permission. But to come at once to the head and front of my offending, I proposed to take her to see our unfortunate brother, Samuel Dale, of whom, by the way, I hear sad accounts. It seemed to me that it might gratify the childish fondness she appears to feel for him, and do no harm, but you, of course, are the best judge of this, and on second thoughts I have been led to distrust my first impulse; but the little darling has a strange power upon me, and I could not see her suffering without at least seeking to relieve it. If you approve of my suggestion I will report myself for duty in a day or two, so soon as I shall be well enough, and, as I am in the skilful hands of Dr. Allprice, I entertain the most sanguine hopes. If you do not approve, pray forgive me, and believe me, in the deepest penitence, “My sweet Kate: — To prove to you that your memory has been fondly cherished all these years, I return to you a little souvenir that is dearer to me than the `ruddy drops that visit this sad heart.' Suffer no harm to come to it, but let me have it back; I will hold it for a talisman, `and call upon it in a storm, and save the ship from perishing some time.' “I am off a little sooner than I expected, dear Sam,” he said, “and cannot well spare the money to pay the note that will be handed you with this; please arrange it for me and add one more to my many obligations. I will be back at farthest in six weeks, and then we will square up, once for all, I hope. Everything looks bright for me as a May morning. By the way, Kate is charmed with you; she comes near making me jealous! Always and always your affectionate
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207Author:  Jacobs Harriet A. (Harriet Ann) 1813-1897Requires cookie*
 Title:  Incidents in the life of a slave girl  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I was born a slave; but I never knew it till six years of happy childhood had passed away. My father was a carpenter, and considered so intelligent and skilful in his trade, that, when buildings out of the common line were to be erected, he was sent for from long distances, to be head workman. On condition of paying his mistress two hundred dollars a year, and supporting himself, he was allowed to work at his trade, and manage his own affairs. His strongest wish was to purchase his children; but, though he several times offered his hard earnings for that purpose, he never succeeded. In complexion my parents were a light shade of brownish yellow, and were termed mulattoes. They lived together in a comfortable home; and, though we were all slaves, I was so fondly shielded that I never dreamed I was a piece of merchandise, trusted to them for safe keeping, and liable to be demanded of them at any moment. I had one brother, William, who was two years younger than myself — a bright, affectionate child. I had also a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable woman in many respects. She was the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, who, at his death, left her mother and his three children free, with money to go to St. Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the Revolutionary War; and they were captured on their passage, carried back, and sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my grandmother used to tell me; but I do not remember all the particulars. She was a little girl when she was captured and sold to the keeper of a large hotel. I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and was so faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it was for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of property. She became an indispensable personage in the household, officiating in all capacities, from cook and wet nurse to seamstress. She was much praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so famous in the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining them. In consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked permission of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the household work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she would clothe herself and her children from the profits. Upon these terms, after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her midnight bakings, 2 assisted by her two oldest children. The business proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, which was saved for a fund to purchase her children. Her master died, and the property was divided among his heirs. The widow had her dower in the hotel, which she continued to keep open. My grandmother remained in her service as a slave; but her children were divided among her master's children. As she had five, Benjamin, the youngest one, was sold, in order that each heir might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. There was so little difference in our ages that he seemed more like my brother than my uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors. Though only ten years old, seven hundred and twenty dollars were paid for him. His sale was a terrible blow to my grandmother; but she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work with renewed energy, trusting in time to be able to purchase some of her children. She had laid up three hundred dollars, which her mistress one day begged as a loan, promising to pay her soon. The reader probably knows that no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding; for, according to Southern laws, a slave, being property, can hold no property. When my grandmother lent her hard earnings to her mistress, she trusted solely to her honor. The honor of a slaveholder to a slave! “$300 Reward! Ran away from the subscriber, an intelligent, bright, mulatto girl, named Linda, 21 years of age. Five feet four inches high. Dark eyes, and black hair inclined to curl; but it can be made straight. Has a decayed spot on a front tooth. She can read and write, and in all probability will try to get to the Free States. All persons are forbidden, under penalty of the law, to harbor or employ said slave. $150 will be given to whoever takes her in the state, and $300 if taken out of the state and delivered to me, or lodged in jail. “Dear Grandmother: I have long wanted to write to you; but the disgraceful manner in which I left you and my children made me ashamed to do it. If you knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you would pity and forgive me. I have purchased freedom at a dear rate. If any arrangement could be made for me to return to the south without being a slave, I would gladly come. If not, I beg of you to send my children to the north. I cannot live any longer without them. Let me know in time, and I will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever place best suits my uncle's convenience. Write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter,
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208Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hagar  
 Published:  2002 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Fragments of clouds, leaden and black and ashen, ran under and over each other along the sky, now totally and now only in part obscuring the half moon, whose white and chilly rays might not penetrate the rustic bower within which sat two persons, conversing in low and earnest tones. But, notwithstanding the faintness of the moonlight, enough of their dresses and features were discernible to mark them male and female, for the dull skirts of night had now scarcely overswept the golden borders of twlight. The long and dense bar that lay across the west, retained still some touch of its lately crimson fires. “Dear Fren—This is Sunday, and deuced hot and uncomfortable. I have been lying under a maple by the mill-stream—my line thrown out a little way below, and a new book in hand—one of those bewildering productions which are making so much noise—of course you understand: that strange combination, the latest of Warburton's works. I have never forgotten that sermon—so full of eloquent warning to the sinner—so luminous with hope, comforting to the afflicted: the very words seemed leaning to the heart; and how well I remember his saying, `Oh, she was good, and in her life and her death alike beautiful! knowing her goodness, shall it be to us a barren thing? shall we not also shape our lives into beauty? shall we not wash and be clean?' But a truce to sermonizing. My coat is threadbare, and my pockets empty, but as soon as opportunity occurs I mean to do something. When I left the house Nancy had her bonnet on to go to church, but the discovery of a hole in her stocking obliged her to wait, and as the children had used the darning yarn for a ball, and she had dropped her thimble in the well, I fear she must be disappointed. And William too—poor fellow! I left him waiting patiently, and looking much as if he had dressed himself forty years ago, and never undressed since.
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209Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Married, not mated; or, How they lived at Woodside and Throckmorton Hall  
 Published:  2002 
 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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210Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Pictures of country life  
 Published:  2002 
 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 rain had fallen slowly and continuously since midnight —and it was now about noon, though a long controversy among the hands had decided the time, finally to be three o'clock; no one among the dozen of them had a watch, except Lem Lyon, the most ill-natured, the least accommodating of all the work-hands on the farm, and no man ventured to inquire of him, for he was more than ordinarily unamiable to-day, and lay on the barn-floor apart from his work-mates, with a bundle of oat-straw for his pillow, and his hat pulled over his eyes, taking no part in the discussion about the time, and affecting to hear nothing of it. “I have so many things to say, and am so little used to writing, that I don't know how to begin; but as I promised to keep a sort of journal of every day's experience, I suppose I may as well begin now, for this is the second night of my being here. You can't imagine what a nice ride we had in the open wagon, so much pleasanter than being shut up in a coach—it was such a pleasure to see the stout horses pull us along, and trotting or walking just as Uncle Wentworth directed: I say uncle, because I like Mr. Wentworth, and wish all the time he was some true relation. The straw in the wagon smelled so sweet, sweeter than flowers, it seemed to me; and when we got into the real country everything looked so beautiful, that I laughed all the time, and Uncle Wentworth said folks would think he had a crazy girl. I was very much ashamed of my ignorance, for I thought all country people lived in holes in the ground, or little huts made of sticks, and that cows and horses and all lived together; but we saw all along the road such pretty cottages and gardens, and some houses indeed as fine as ours. I kept asking Uncle Wentworth what sort of place we were going to, for I could not help fearing it was a very bad place; but he only laughed, and told me to wait and see. A good many men were at work in fields of hay—some cutting and some tossing it about—and I kept wishing I was among them, they seemed so merry, and the hay was so sweet. In some places were great fields of corn, high as my head, with grey tassels on the tops of it. I thought men were at work there too, it shook so; but Uncle Wentworth said it was only the wind. And back of the fields, and seeming like a great green wall between the earth and the sky, stood the woods. I mean to go into them before long, but I am a little afraid of wild beasts yet; though uncle says I will find no worse thing than myself there. We met a good many carriages, full of gayly dressed people coming into town; and saw a number of young ladies dressed in bright ginghams, tending the flowers in front of the cottages, sometimes at work in the gardens, indeed, so my dresses will be right in the fashion. In one place we passed a white school-house, set right in the edge of the woods; and when we were a little by, out came near forty children, some girls as big as I, and a whole troop of little boys, all laughing, and jumping, and frolicking, as I never heard children laugh. I asked Uncle Wentworth if it were proper? and he said it was their nature, and he supposed our wise Father had made them right. Some of the boys ran and caught hold of the tail of our wagon and held there, half swinging and half riding, ever so long. Pretty soon uncle stopped the horses, and asked a slim, pale-faced girl, who was studying her book as she walked to ride; and thanking him as politely as anybody could do, she climbed up, right behind the horses, and sat down by me, and spoke the same as though she had been presented. She had a sweet face under a blue bonnet, but was as white, and looked as frail, as a lily. After she was seated, she looked back so earnestly, that I looked too, and saw the schoolmaster come out of the house and lock the door, and cross his hands behind him as he turned into a lane that ran by, which seemed to go up and up, green and shady as far as I could see. I could only see that his cheeks were red, and that he had curls under his straw hat. The girl kept looking the way he went; but if it were he she thought of, he didn't turn to look at her. Close by a stone-arched bridge, from under which a dozen birds flew as we rattled over it, Uncle Wentworth stopped the horses, and the young lady got out, and went through a gate at the roadside; and I watched her walking in a narrow and deep-worn path that was close by the bank of a run, till she turned round a hill, and I could not see her any more; but I saw a lively blue smoke, curling up over the hill-top, and in the hollow behind, Uncle Wentworth said she lived.
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211Author:  Catherwood Mary Hartwell 1847-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  A woman in armor  
 Published:  2002 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: 494EAF. Page 009. In-line Illustration. Decorative chapter heading. Bust of a boy surrounded by ivy.
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212Author:  Child Lydia Maria Francis 1802-1880Requires cookie*
 Title:  Autumnal leaves  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “What a remarkably pretty girl Mrs. Barton has for a nursery maid,” said Mrs. Vernon to her daughter. “Forgive me for venturing to call you so. I am compelled to depart for Italy to-morrow; and that must be my excuse. I have reflected much upon the subject, and young as I am, I feel that it is my duty not to refuse the eligible situation my relatives have procured for me. It has given me great pain to come to this conclusion; but I console myself with the reflection that some day or other, I shall be free to follow my own inclinations. I can never forget you, never cease to love you; and I cannot part without saying farewell, and conjuring you to cherish the memory of the blissful moments we have passed together. Do ask Mrs. Barton to allow me an hour's interview with you this evening. She and your mother can both be present, if they think proper. They will see by this 3 request that my views are honourable, and my professions sincere.
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213Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  A book for an hour  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: CONTAINING A MORAL. “ `Gentlemen,—What the mischief do you suppose you want with a post-office at Baldwin's Ranch? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there, you could'nt read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass through with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice substantial jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. Gentlemen,—You will have to go to the State Legislature about that speculation of yours—Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just as they would with one of your silvermines out there—they would try to make all the world believe it was “wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You close your petition with the words: `And we will ever pray.' I think you had better—you need to do it. “ `Gentlemen,—George Washington, the revered Father of his Country, is dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! for ever. He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time as this you speak of water-lots! —what a lot was his! “ `Gentlemen,—It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right too, and Dawson's on the left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's, and onward thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it and compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still futher information upon the subject, from to time, as you may desire it and the Post Office Department be enabled to furnish it to me.
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214Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mark Twain's (burlesque) autobiography and first romance  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: TWO or three persons having at different times intimated that if I would write an autobiography they would read it when they got leisure, I yield at last to this frenzied public demand, and herewith tender my history:
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215Author:  Twain Mark 1835-1910Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mark Twain's sketches, new and old  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: 503EAF. Page 017. In-line image of Mark Twain standing at the counter of a jeweler. The jeweler is examining Twain's watch with a magnifying glass, as Twain looks on uncomfortably. “`Gentlemen: What the mischief do you suppose you want with a post-office at Baldwin's Ranche? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there, you couldn't read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass through, with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice, substantial jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. “`Gentlemen: You will have to go to the State Legislature about that speculation of yours— Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just as they would with one of your silver mines out there—they would try to make all the world believe it was “wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You close your petition with the words: “And we will ever pray.” I think you had better—you need to do it. “`Gentlemen: George Washington, the revered Father of his Country is dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! forever. He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time as this, you speak of water-lots!—what a lot was his! “`Gentlemen: It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right, too, and Dawson's on the left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's and onward thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it, and compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still further information upon the subject, from time to time, as you may desire it and the Post-office Department be enabled to furnish it to me. Whereas, The Constitution guarantees equal rights to all, backed by the Declaration of Independence; and
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216Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Doctor Vandyke  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: A man was sitting in a house on Gloucester Street, in Williamsburg, Virginia, about a hundred years ago, busy at a very singular employment. “My dear Lord: I have the honor to say that I have received your note of yesterday, informing me of your desire to return to Scotland, but I trust 'tis not essential to your plans, or required by circumstances, that this departure should be so very sudden. 'Twill subject me, I fear, to serious inconvenience, as I highly appreciate your services, my lord, and should with difficulty supply your place. “My Lord: You have twice, with great courtesy, expressed your good-wishes, in bidding me farewell—it is I who go from Williamsburg the first, now: and I can do no less than reciprocate your lordship's obliging sentiments, and express the hope that you may enjoy health and happiness, whether in Virginia or in Scotland. “Sir: May I beg you to do me the honor to visit me at my house between the hour of noon and one o'clock to-day? An affair of a very extraordinary character renders your presence desirable, and I beg that you will not fail to be present at the hour named. “I am about to leave Virginia forever; but, before I go, I must see you once more, or die of despair. I cannot enter Rivanna, as one of the wedding-guests, and witness your marriage. That would kill me, or drive me to some act of madness which would but make you still more unhappy. Devise some other means—at the hour and spot you fix, I will be present. “I cannot escape from the company until to-morrow night — my wedding-night. Come, then, to the oak-tree— where—that day—O me!
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217Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Ellie, or, The human comedy  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Sir: You were guilty of an offence and an insult toward me this morning, which your blood or my own will answer. I told you as much, and I now repeat, that nothing but the amplest satisfaction will suffice. You shall learn, sir, that I am not to be thwarted with impunity—and Captain Tarnish, the bearer of this note, will make the arrangements for the meeting. Should you refuse, as I expect, I will publish your name as coward! coward! coward! mark me, sir! “Mr. Sansoucy will very much oblige me by releasing me from my promise to accompany him to the opera to-night. I feel as if I should not be able to enjoy it.
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218Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Fairfax, or, The master of Greenway Court  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: ON an evening of October, in the year 1748, the slopes of the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap were all ablaze with the red light of the sinking sun. “Mr. Falconbridge:—After much doubt I address you, to warn you, as a friend, against allowing your affections to be ensnared by Miss B. Argal. I have no right, sir, to pry into your matters, and maybe I will get no thanks, but your courtesy to me makes it impossible for me to see you duped. Captain Wagner will not speak out—he says that he has already said more than he had a right to—and I will, therefore, do so myself. The paper which I put in this letter will tell you all. The poor young man was a distant relative of mine, and died at my house. He wrote the paper just before his death. I will add no more, except that I have no private grudge against Miss Argal, and so remain, “I am about to commit suicide. Before putting an end to my miserable life, I will relate the circumstances which impel me to the act. My mind is perfectly sane, my memory good—I will speak calmly. This is my history: “The poor young man was found dead when we ran at the explosion of his pistol. This paper was lying on the table. Mr. Harley Austin returned it to me, not wishing to keep it; he has since left the country.” “I desire, and if necessary require that the prisoner Powell may be treated with all respect, and especially brought to Court without hand-cuffs.
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219Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hammer and rapier  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: On the night of the 17th of July, 1861, a man, standing upon the earthworks at Manassas, was looking toward Centreville. “If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg,” wrote Lincoln, “and the tail of it on the Plank Road between Fredericksburg and Chancellorville, the animal must be very slim somewhere—could you not break him?
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220Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  Henry St. John, gentleman, of "Flower of Hundreds," in the county of Prince George, Virginia  
 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 is a beautiful May morning, in the year 1774. I desire to be informed why you have not written to me, madam? Has that odious domestic tyrant, Mr. Willie, forbidden you to correspond with your friends? You may inform him, with my compliments, that I regard him in the light of a monster, an ogre, an eastern despot, else he would not keep the dearest girl in the world down at that horrid old house in Glo'ster—if it is so fine—when her friends are dying to see her. “Give my love to Mr. Willie, and write soon, my precious Kate. How I love you! Won't you come soon? Do, there's a dear! Vanely's looking beautiful with green leaves, and I long to see you, to hear your dear, kind laugh, and kiss you to my heart's content! Tom Alston said, the other day, that I reminded him frequently of you. I could have run and kissed him, I assure you. “I thought I should have died of laughing, Kate! He drove up to the door in his little sulky, with the pretty bay trotter, and got out with as easy and careless an air as if nothing at all had happened on his last visit. I think he is the most delightfully cool personage I've ever known, and were I one of the medical profession, I should prescribe for the spleen or melancholy, a single dose of Mr. Thomas Alston! His demeanor to sister Helen all day was really enchanting. The most critical observer could not have discerned a shade of embarrassment on his part. At first she was very much put out, but I believe she ended by laughing—at least I saw her smile. He inquired how Miss Helen had been since he had last the pleasure of seeing her; he was happy to say that his own health and spirits had been excellent! “I am just getting into the saddle for Williamsburg, but write to say that Serapis won the purse. He was nearly distanced the first heat, but won the two others over every horse upon the ground. He's worth a thousand pounds. “Sir:—The accompanying verses are sent to you by a Country Girl, who hopes they will meet your Approval. Your Correspondent withholds her Name from Fear of the Criticks, whom she truly detests. They're an odious Set! are they not, Mr. Purdie? A Portion of the Effusion may make you laugh, Sir. I offer you a Salute to bribe you in Favour of my Verses; but observe, Sir! 't is only when you find me out! That I'm resolved you shall never do. All I shall say is, that I've the Honour to be humble Cousin to a very high Military Functionary of this Colony, who honours me with his Esteem! Now do print my effusion, dear, good Mr. Purdie. I like you so much because you are a true Friend to the Cause of Liberty. We've sealed up all our Tea, and I'd walk with bare Feet on hot Ploughshares before I'd drink a drop of the odious Stuff! “Papa bids me write to your lordship, and say that you need not trouble yourself to engage apartments for us at Mrs. White's, on the night of assembly, as Mr. Burwell has invited us all to stay with him at his town residence, and I know somebody who's as glad as glad can be, for she'll see her dear Belle-Bouche—Miss Burwell once, but now unhappily a victim on the altar of matrimony.† † Ibid., No. XV. “Well, Tom, I've got my quietus. You've the pleasure of hearing from a young gentleman who's just been discarded! “Your letter really astonished me, my dear boy—it did, upon my word. You will permit me to observe that you are really the most unreasonable and exacting of all the lovers that I've read of, from the time of Achilles to the present hour. “I send you the contents of your memorandum, as far as I could procure the articles, and am sorry to hear that you are indisposed. I trust 't is but trifling. I might beg your pardon for detaining Dick, and for sending an inferior quality of hair powder, but I have been too much troubled to have my right wits about me. “Most beloved of friends, and estimable of gentlemen, but also most superstitutious of correspondents, and strangest of Sancti Johannes! I have perused thy letter with abundant laughter, and return unto thee my most grateful thanks for dissipating a catarrh which has troubled me this fortnight! “Your letter, my dear friend, was scarcely different from what I expected. I was perfectly well aware of the fact that my account of the singular influence I experienced would excite rather laughter than sympathy, and I even add that your reply contained less of banter than I expected. “I HAVE followed your advice, and made the journey which you suggested, carrying with me the letter, and intending to add what you advised me to add to my address. “Is it wrong for me to write to you? We were cousins once, with some affection for each other—I at least for you. I do not add that we have ever been any thing more, for that would doubtless wound and offend you. I would not wound or offend you; I am too unhappy to think of reproaches. Once I might have given way to my passionate temperament, and uttered wild words; now I have no such words to utter. I acquiesce in all you do and say, and scarcely dare to write these lines—to my cousin, as it were. “I have received your strange letter, in which you speak of our union, and your plans in making additions to you residence, suggested, you say, by myself. It was not my intention to make such suggestions, and I hope the addition will be stopped. At least I do not wish you to indulge the hope that I shall ever become its inmate. “'Tis so long since I've written to my Kate that she must almost have forgotten me. But you will not think, my dear, that this silence has proceeded from forgetfulness; that is not possible toward the dearest girl in the world. “Doncastle's Ordinary, New Kent, May 4, 1775. Received from the Hon. Richard Corbin, Esq., his Majesty's Receiver-General, 330l., as a compensation for the gunpowder lately taken out of the public magazine by the Governor's order, which money I promise to convey to the Virginia delegates at the general congress, to be, under their direction, laid out in gunpowder for the colony's use, and to be stored as they shall direct until the next colony convention or general assembly, unless it shall be necessary, in the meantime, to use the same in the defense of this colony. It is agreed that, in case the next convention shall determine that any part of the said money ought to be returned to his Majesty's said Receiver-General, that the same shall be done accordingly. “How long it seems now since I've written to my own dear Kate! I received, more than three weeks since, your kind, sweet letter, and only my unhappiness has prevented me from replying. You may not consider this a good reason, but it is true. When we suffer little sorrows, and are sad only, then we fly to our friends and unbosom ourselves, and the act brings us consolation. This is not the case, I think, when we are deeply wounded, as I am. I ask only silence and quiet, for nothing relieves me, not even writing to my Kate! “In my last letter, dear Kate, I told you I was coming hither in search of some color for my cheeks. I am sorry to say I've not found it. I think the air's not as wholesome to me as that of Prince George, and in a day or two I shall set out on my return to Vanely. “I have looked everywhere to find you, friend, having, by a strange chance, received what I know is of importance to you. 'Tis a letter which, with this, I entrust to my child, having an instant call away; my foot is in the stirrup. 'T will reach you in time, however, I do not doubt, for 20* Blossom has the unerring instinct of affection, to which I trust. “The words which you are about to read come from one who has been guilty of deception, treachery, forgery and robbery, and therefore at first you may not give credit to my statements. Before I have finished what I design writing, however, you will give implicit credence to what I say. ... “God bless you, my dear child! and grant that we may again meet, in your native country, as freemen; otherwise, that we never see each other more, is the prayer of ... “I conjure you as you value the liberties and rights of the community of which you are a member, not to lose a moment, and in my name, if my name is of consequence enough, to direct the commanding officer of your troops at Annapolis, immediately to seize the person of Governor Eden; the sin and blame be on my head. I will answer for all to the Congress.... God Almighty give us wisdom and vigor in this hour of trial.
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