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61Author:  Hale Sarah Josepha Buell 1788-1879Requires cookie*
 Title:  Northwood; or, Life north and south  
 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: Sidney Romilly, the eldest of a numerous family, was a native of New Hampshire. The local situation of the little village in which he was born, offered few temptations to the speculator, and the soil promised no indulgence to the idle; but it abundantly repaid the industrious cultivator. It was therefore inhabited, almost exclusively, by husbandmen, who tilled their own farms with their own hands, laboring actively six days in the week, and on the seventh, offering, to that Being who alone could crown their labors with success, the unfeigned homage of contented minds and grateful hearts. My Dearest Mother,—I now take my pen to inform you I am well, and hope this letter will find you enjoying the same blessing. We had a very uncomfortable journey, jolting along over the rough roads, up hill and down; but we reached the end of it in safety, which I take to be a special interposition of Providence, considering the great length of the way, and my being totally unused to traveling. Mr. Brainard has a fine house, the prettiest I have seen in Charleston; and I like the house well, and I should like the place very well if it were not for the black people—niggers they call 'em here. Oh! dear mother, you know how frightened I always was at a negro—how I used to run behind your chair when old Sampson came to the door, and always screamed when he offered to step in. But, mercy! here the negroes are as thick as bees; the streets are full of 'em. I am sure I did not imagine there were so many in the universe. When our carriage drove up to the gate, out bolted a great black fellow, and Mr. Brainard shook hands with him, and was as glad to see him as could be; but I trembled all over, for I began to remember the stories I had read of slaves murdering their masters and mistresses, and many such bloody things. I guess Mr. Brainard saw I was pale, for he told me not to be frightened at Tom, who was one of the best creatures living. But when we entered the hall, there stood a row of blacks, laughing till their mouths were stretched from ear to ear, to welcome us. They all crowded round my husband, and I was so frightened, thinking some of them might have knives in their hands to kill us, that I could not help shrieking as loud as I could; and the slaves ran away, and Mr. Brainard looked angry, and I hardly know what happened next, for I believe I fainted. I am sure if I had only known this was a negro country, I never would have come here. They have a great many parties and balls here. I don't go to the balls, for I never learned to dance, and I think they are sinful; but I go to all the parties, and dress just as rich and fine as I please. I have a new head-dress, the prettiest thing my eyes ever beheld; I wish you could see it. My husband buys me every thing I ask for, and if I did not eternally see them black people about me, I should be quite happy. Every single day I am urging Mr. Brainard to send them off. 2 He always tells me it is impossible, and would be cruelty to them, as they are contented and happy, and have no other home or country where they could be received. But I intend to tease him till he does. I don't care where the creatures go to, nor much what becomes of them, if they can only be out of my sight. Pray give my love to Betty Baily, and tell her I wish she would come and live with me, and then I should want no other help. I often tell my husband I could do my work alone, but he laughs, and says, “What a ridiculous thing it would be to see you in the kitchen.” And besides, he says, no white person will live long if they attempt to labor in this warm climate. What to do, I know not, but I am determined to get the black creatures away. My Dearest Mother—I received your kind letter of February first, and I should have answered it immediately, but I have had a world of trouble of late. I do not know how to tell you what I have discovered; but yet I must, that you may pray for me, that my faith may be strengthened, and that I may be kept from temptation. I have often heard you say, the children of professors were especially protected by divine grace; and I am sure I need such protection—for, don't you think Mr. Brainard is a pope, or a papist, I forget which they call 'em, and he goes to a chapel and calls it a meeting, when it is no more like our meetings than it is like a ball. I have been twice, but I am determined to go no more, and I say everything I can against it, for it is so different from our christian worship I am sure it must be wrong. I am sure you will be very much shocked to hear of this, and I was when I discovered it; and I have a thousand times wished myself in New England. But don't say a word about it—you know who I would not have hear of it for all the world. Your letter was the first consolation I have received since we parted. You have not then forgotten me; you will not then forget me, though my father has treated you so angrily. But he is my father, and has always been so kind, I must bear with his severity now without murmuring. He says I am too young and inexperienced to know what will most conduce to my own happiness; but I know my own heart, and feel that my affections can never be altered or divided. By your letter I perceive you judge it best to accept the proposal of Mr. Lee, and perhaps it is so. O! these cruel prejudices of my father, that make such a sacrifice necessary. Why should riches be thought so indispensable to happiness? I would rather live in poverty all my life, than have you exposed to the dangers of the seas to acquire wealth. Yet, if you think it best to accept your friend's offer, I will not urge your stay; only do not let time or distance blot Zemira from your memory or your heart. You need not bid me be faithful: I cannot be otherwise, for the idea of you is blended with every thought, every sentiment, and lesson you have taught me. And when I read over those passages in my books your pencil marked, I almost fancy I can hear your voice. I shall read them constantly during your absence; but what will remind you of My Dear Romilly,—When I tell you we reached home in safety, and are now enjoying excellent health, you will know that I, at least, am happy. But it is that kind of happiness which makes no figure in description. It is the quiet consciousness of peace, the calm security of reciprocated affection, in short, the `sober certainty of waking bliss.' And for much of this felicity we must thank you; certainly for the final reconciliation, without which Zemira's mind never would have been at rest. And how shall we requite your disinterestedness?—your heroism? We pray daily that God would bless you, and assuredly He will, if to obey His command and do as you would be done by is holy in His sight. Property you do not want; yet, I will acknowledge my selfishness, I have sometimes wished you did, that we might show how highly we rate the favors you have conferred. But gold cannot gain friendship, nor can it requite the sacrifices you made for me. I will tell you how I propose to reward you—even by furnishing you with wise precepts for the better guidance of your sublunary course. You, I presume, will allow that those who have done us the most essential and generous services, are always most willing to pardon our officiousness. The inference is obvious. I feel secure of your favor although I should harass you with my old saws by way of advice. My Dear Stuart—I have made a new acquaintance, and one from which I promise myself much pleasure; yet for fear you should call me romantic, I will describe the man and relate the accident which introduced him, and then I think you will allow there is a necessity—I hope not a fatal one—for the present intercourse. “Friend Stuart,—Frankford certainly has, as you intimated, his prejudices against America; still he is a reasonable man, and although admitting conviction slowly and only on the most irrefragable proofs, yet I think he is becoming not only tolerant but liberal in his estimation of our character and customs. Neither is it strange that the aristocratical spirit of the old world should be alarmed and revolt at the democratical influence which the new is so rapidly obtaining. We cannot expect those who pride themselves on an ancestry, whose pure blood has flowed through proud veins for many hundred years, will forget at once this fancied superiority, and look on what they call our plebeian origin, without feelings of contempt. “My ever Dear Nephew:—The sickness that oppresses me, and which is hurrying me to the grave, is on my heart. I am sick of the follies and vices of the world; I am miserable when reflecting on my own. I have longed and pined to write and confide to you all my troubles and griefs; but I could not persuade myself to damp the pleasures I hoped you were enjoying with your friends. My Dear Mr. Romilly:—Your uncle is no more; and his earnest request, must be my apology for addressing you, and detailing some of the unfortunate circumstances which have occurred to him since you left the city. It is an unpleasant office, and one I would gladly have been excused from performing; but I could not refuse Mr. Brainard, and I trust your good sense will not confound the narrator of evil tidings with the unpleasant intelligence he must communicate. My ever Dear Friend,—It is but a short time since I despatched you a packet so voluminous that it might undoubtedly claim the respectable name of folio, and I then promised I would not again intrude under, at least, a quarter; but I must write, for there are feelings impossible to be restrained when we are blessed with a friend to whom they may be communicated. “My dear Miss Redington,—I hardly dare write what necessity compels me; and yet I know, in my situation, sincerity is the most atoning virtue I can practice. Let me then spare all circumlocution, and briefly state that our connexion must, from this time be at an end. Circumstances which I cannot explain make it impossible I should ever visit New England again, or not till a distant period. I lament I ever saw you; I lament our engagement. But these reflections are now too late. Write not—forget me—or think me unworthy your affection. May heaven bless you. Farewell! My Dear Romilly,—This is the third letter I have written you since the misfortunes and decease of Mr. Brainard, your excellent uncle. To the two others I have received no answer: had they reached your hand you could not have neglected me, so I flatter myself; and I must believe they miscarried. To obviate all possibility of a like fate befalling this, I have engaged Mr. Tracy, who is on a tour to Boston, a friend of mine, and one well entitled to your confidence, to take a trip to New Hampshire and deliver it into your hands. Mr. Romilly,—Sir, we have traced Cox to New Orleans, and recovered the money. It is all safe in my hands, waiting the disposal you shall order. I hope it will be convenient for you to come here immediately; indeed, it is absolutely necessary if you intend to redeem the estate of your late uncle. Dunbar was a good man, but he has transferred the property to another; subject, however, to the articles of redemption he entered into with your uncle. “Sir—I have received your letter, and am glad of your good fortune; but I think it my duty to inform you our correspondence must be at an end. I know you will want me to reside at the South; but to go there and be a partaker in the sin of slavery is what I will not do. You can doubtless find, in Charleston, some fair lady more worthy your love, and more congenial to your manner of life than my education and principles would permit me to be. You need not write, for my resolution is taken.
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62Author:  Halpine Charles G. (Charles Graham) 1829-1868Requires cookie*
 Title:  Baked meats of the funeral  
 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: [January 1st, 1860.] My Dear Brady—Yours of the 16th, covering an invitation of the New York National Club, to pay honor to Generals Sherman and Thomas, has come to hand; but I cannot be with you, though the movement has all my sympathies. We had great difficulty in finding the right kind of tools at first; but they are now being discovered by experience: and in Sherman and Thomas, as you say, we have two of the keenest edge and finest mettle. Even had I time, why should I attend your festival? Things are all going well to-day; and it is only when disaster happens that the Secretary of War is asked after or remembered by an indignant public. THE SECESH THINK IF GRANT REMAINS IN POWER THEY ARE GONE. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of a communication from the Adjutant-General of the Army, dated June 13, 1862, requesting me to furnish you with the information necessary to answer certain Resolutions introduced in the House of Representatives, June 9, 1862, on motion of the Hon. Mr. Wickliffe of Kentucky— their substance being to inquire: “Sir:—While recently in command of the Department of the South, in accordance with the laws of war and the dictates of common sense, I organized and caused to be drilled, armed, and equipped a regiment of enfranchised bondmen, known as the 1st South Carolina Volunteers. “BIG THINGS AROUND—HUSH! HUSH!” “I am sorry to see such a disposition to condemn a brave old soldier, as General Hunter is known to be, without a hearing.
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63Author:  Harris George Washington 1814-1869Requires cookie*
 Title:  Sut Lovingood  
 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: “Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath.” “He's a fixin fur the heavings.” “He's a spreadin his tail feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready tu go up'ards.” “Wo, Shavetail.” “Git a fiddil; he's tryin a jig.” “Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove co'm didn't yu?” “Taint co'n, hits redpepper.” I mayn't git the chance tu talk eny tu yu, so when Wat gits home, an' axes enything 'bout the comb an' calliker, yu tell him yer mam foun the bundil in the road. She'll back yu up in that ar statemint, ontil thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu kill snap-beans.
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64Author:  Harte Bret 1836-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mliss  
 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: Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentler undulations, and the river grows less rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red mountain stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from the red road at sunset, in the red light and the red dust its white houses look like the outcroppings of quartz on the mountain-side. The red stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent, turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, and vanishing altogether within a hundred yards of the town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist in the road that the advent of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from the vehicle at the stage office the too-confident traveler is apt to walk straight out of town under the impression that it lies in quite another direction. It is related that one of the tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of these self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag, umbrella, New York Mercury, and other evidences of civilization and refinement, plodding along over the road he had just ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's Pocket. “Respected Sir:—When you read this I am run away. Never to come back. Never, never never. You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my Amerika's Pride (a highly-colored lithograph from a tocacco-box) to Sally Flanders. But don't you give anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dair to. Do you know what my oppinion of her, it is this, she is perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present from yours respectfully, “Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county seat. Our case is won. We leave here next week. “Dear Papa:—Please tell Mr. Gray that his protege is safe. Mr. Gray:—If you care a damn for Mliss, come and take care of her. The devil has got her, and his name is Wade. Dear Lissy:—Trust the hearer of this as you would the writer. We long for your return. Your suit is won. I would write more, but I do not know whose hands this letter may fall into. Regina sends her love. Your waiting friend, Dear Sister:—Just got a letter from Mr. Gray, telling me that I am wanted at home. Been wanting to come home for two months, but don't see just how to get away. Truth is, little Clytie is the prettest girl in Smith's Pocket, and I got a little sweet on her. Couldn't help it. That's the kind of fellow I am. Now, if you'll write to Clytie, and invite her to spend a few months with you, it'll be all right. Big brother'll go along to make sure it's all right. If you don't I'm afraid there'll be a row, and the boys up here are all crack shots Your erring brother,
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65Author:  Harte Bret 1836-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  Tales of the Argonauts, and other sketches  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Dear Steve, — I've been thinking over your proposition to buy Nichols's quarter-interest, and have concluded to go in. But I don't see how the thing will pay until you have more accommodation down there, and for the best class, — I mean my customers. What we want is an extension to the main building, and two or three cottages put up. I send down a builder to take hold of the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him; and you are to look after them as you would for one of us. “My dear Sir, — I do not know whether the bearer will suit you; but, unless the office of `devil' in your newspaper is a purely technical one, I think he has all the qualities required. He is very quick, active, and intelligent; understands English better than he speaks it; and makes up for any defect by his habits of observation and imitation. You have only to show him how to do a thing once, and he will repeat it, whether it is an offence or a virtue. But you certainly know him already. You are one of his godfathers; for is he not Wan Lee, the reputed son of Wang the conjurer, to whose performances I had the honor to introduce you? But perhaps you have forgotten it. “Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on Heavytree Hill on Christmas Day. Invite what friends you choose. “O Frank! — Don't you remember what we agreed upon anent the baby? Well, consider me as dead for the next six months, or gone where cubs can't follow me, — East. I know you love the baby; but do you think, dear boy, — now, really, do you think you could be a father to it? Consider this well. You are young, thoughtless, well-meaning enough; but dare you take upon yourself the functions of guide, genius, or guardian to one so young and guileless? Could you be the Mentor to this Telemachus? Think of the temptations of a metropolis. Look at the question well, and let me know speedily; for I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking up an awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like a maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once.
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66Author:  Holmes Mary Jane 1825-1907Requires cookie*
 Title:  Cousin Maude ; And, Rosamond  
 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 doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know the old place. Thar's a big dining-room run out to the South, with an expansion-table mighty nigh a rod long, and what's more, it's allus full, too, of city stuck-ups— and the way they do eat! I haint churned nary pound of butter since you went away. Why, bless yer soul, we has to buy. Do you mind that patch of land what the Doctor used to plant with corn? Well, the garden sass grows there now, and t'other garden raises nothin' but flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on purpose to tend 'em. He's writin' this for me. Thar's a tower run up in the North-east eend, and when it's complete, she's goin' to have a what you call 'em—somethin' that blows up the water—oh, a fountain. Thar's one in the yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's got one of Cary's rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin' crazy about, and every hot day she keeps John a turnin' the injin' to squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like a thunder-shower! Thar's a bath-room, and when them city folks is here some on 'em is a washin' in thar all the time. I don't do nothin' now but wash and iron, and if I have fifty towels I have one! But what pesters me most is the wide skirts I has to do up; Miss Canady wears a hoop bigger than an amberell. They say Miss Empress, who makes these things, lives in Paris, and I wish you'd put yourself out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to quit sendin' over them fetched hoops. Thar aint no sense in it! We've got jiggers in every chamber where the water spirts out. Besides turnin' the injin, John drives the horses in the new carriage. Dr. Canady looks poorly, and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but I knows the claws is thar. She's about broke him of usin' them maxims of his, and your poor marm would enjoy it a spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity him after a while. I do, and if things continners to grow wus, I shall just ask pra'rs for him in my meetin'. Elder Blossom is powerful at that. My health is considerable good, but I find I grow old.
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67Author:  Jones J. B. (John Beauchamp) 1810-1866Requires cookie*
 Title:  The War-path  
 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 dense fog hung over the placid surface of the Delaware River, and enveloped in its folds many of the ancient buildings of Burlington, then the capital of the colony of New Jersey. The stately mansion of the British governor, William Franklin, situated on the beautiful green bank so much admired at the present day, was wrapped in the vapour, and, as was often said of its occupant, seemed lost in a mist. Even the haunted tree in front of the governor's residence—the witches' sycamore—was reported by fearful pedestrians to have vanished, or at least to have become invisible. “Oh, my dear Julia! I have just learned, by a letter from Mr. Cameron, brought to my father by the dumb but faithful Skippie, that you have been seized by the Indians and carried a captive into the wilderness! But the letter says a great Indian-fighter, named Hugh McSwine, and a band of Scots, are in pursuit, and will certainly overtake your captors. This is startling intelligence, indeed, and distressing, though relieved somewhat by the comfortable assurance—which is sanctioned by the prophetic looks and decisive gestures of Skippie—that you will soon be restored to your friends. And Skippie, in two words, has told me to write this letter, making me understand, I scarcely know how, that it will certainly be delivered into your hands. He sets out on his return in the morning, and I am resolved to write all night!”
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68Author:  Trowbridge J. T. (John Townsend) 1827-1916Requires cookie*
 Title:  Martin Merrivale  
 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: 731EAF. Page 001. In-line Illustration. Image of a man and two children. Two other people in the background. “Dear brother Simeon: I don't think it advizble to trust the barer of this he is a wuthliss fellow I am nowin to the fact that he aint got a doler in the wrold I suppozed he would go rite to you to git bordid and so give him this letter to warn you aginst him I am well and hope you are injoin the same blessin. Your affectionate sister.
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69Author:  Trowbridge J. T. (John Townsend) 1827-1916Requires cookie*
 Title:  Neighbor Jackwood  
 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 the kitchen door of an old, weather-worn farm-house stood Mr. Abimelech Jackwood, filling his pipe for an after-dinner smoke, and looking up at the sky with an air of contemplative wisdom.
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70Author:  Phelps Elizabeth Stuart 1844-1911Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hedged in  
 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: “HOUSES in streets are the places to live in”? Would Lamb ever have said it if he had spent, as I did, half a day in, and in the region of, No. 19 Thicket Street, South Atlas? “And how, if it were lawful, I could pray for greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake.” John Bunyan provided you and me with a morning's discussion when he said that. Do you remember? Because I am writing to you, and because Nixy sits studying beside me, are reasons sufficient why I should recall the words on this particular occasion. I am crowded for time, but I write to tell you — for I would prefer that you should hear it from me — that we have at length identified and brought home Eunice's child. Whatever there is to tell you this time is the quiet close of a stormy epoch in our family history, — rich in wrecks, like all stormy things.
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71Author:  Warner Anna Bartlett 1824-1915Requires cookie*
 Title:  Dollars and cents  
 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 but a young thing, not yet “Standing with reluctant feet Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet”— when there came a change in our outward circumstances. During my first years, we had enjoyed what some of our ancestors had toiled for; and my father after each day's soaring and diving into philosophy and science walked about our garden in silk stockings and with a rose in his mouth,— at that time I was a little thing that the rose-bushes looked down upon. And I looked up to them, with admiring eyes that often went higher still, and took in the straw hat that Mr. Howard wore of an afternoon: certainly that hat was a miracle for all purposes of shade and adornment.
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72Author:  Warner Anna Bartlett 1824-1915Requires cookie*
 Title:  My brother's keeper  
 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 blustering December day,—no snow to lay the dust or to allay the cold with its bright reflections; and Winter himself seemed shivering, despoiled of his ermine cloak. “At a general court martial, whereof Colonel Thomas Parker was president, was tried Captain Charles Lewis, of the 29th regiment, on the following charge and specifications:
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73Author:  Evans Augusta J. (Augusta Jane) 1835-1909Requires cookie*
 Title:  Inez  
 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: “There is the bell for prayers, Florry; are you ready?” said Mary Irving, hastily entering her cousin's room at the large boarding-school of Madame —. “Santa Anna has crossed the Rio Grande with eight thousand men. I warn you of your danger. You can get horses now, for the Padre can not control your people. There are brave men in the Alamo, tell them of their danger. Again I say, fly quickly from San Antonio.
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74Author:  Evans Augusta J. (Augusta Jane) 1835-1909Requires cookie*
 Title:  Vashti, or, "Until death us do part"  
 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 CAN hear the sullen, savage roar of the breakers, if I do not see them, and my pretty painted bark — expectation — is bearing down helplessly upon them. Perhaps the unwelcome will not come to-day. What then? I presume I should not care; and yet, I am curious to see him, — anxious to know what sort of person will henceforth rule the house, and go in and out here as master. Of course the pleasant, peaceful days are at an end, for men always make din and strife in a household, — at least my father did, and he is the only one I know much about. But, after all, why borrow trouble? — the interloper may never come.” “I congratulate you, my young friend, on the correctness of your French themes, which I leave in the drawer of the library-table. When I return I will examine those prepared during my absence; and, in the interim, remain, “Dr. Grey: For God's sake come as quick as possible. I am afraid my mother is dying. “Edith, — No lingering vestige of affection, no remorseful tenderness, prompted that mission from which I have recently returned, and only the savage scourgings of implacable duty could have driven me, like a galley-slave, to my hated task. The victim of a horrible and disfiguring disease which so completely changed his countenance that his own mother would scarcely have recognized him, — and the tenant of a charity hospital in the town of —, I found that man who has proved the Upas of your life and of mine. During his delirium I watched and nursed him — not lovingly (how could I?) but faithfully, kindly, pityingly. When all danger was safely passed, and his clouded intellect began to clear itself, I left him in careful hands, and provided an ample amount for his comfortable maintenance in coming years. I spared him the humiliation of recognizing in his nurse his injured and despised wife; and, as night after night I watched beside the pitiable wreck of a once handsome, fascinating, and idolized man, I fully and freely forgave Maurice Carlyle all the wrongs that so completely stranded my life. To-day he is well, and probably happy, while he finds himself possessed of means by which to gratify his extravagant tastes; but how long his naturally fine constitution can hold at bay the legion of ills that hunt like hungry wolves along the track of reckless dissipation, God only knows.
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75Author:  Winthrop Theodore 1828-1861Requires cookie*
 Title:  Cecil Dreeme  
 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: Home! “I am not well. I cannot see you this morning. I will write again, — perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow. “Robert, good-bye! I could not see you face to face again, — I that have almost betrayed you with my sin.
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76Author:  Winthrop Theodore 1828-1861Requires cookie*
 Title:  Edwin Brothertoft  
 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: “Colonel Billop,” wrote Mr. Skaats, his agent and executor, “has been removed by an all-wise Providence. Under the present circumstances, Mr. Brothertoft, I do not wish to disturb you. But I should be glad to take possession at the Manor at your earliest convenience.
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77Author:  Winthrop Theodore 1828-1861Requires cookie*
 Title:  John Brent  
 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 write in the first person; but I shall not maunder about myself. I am in no sense the hero of this drama. Call me Chorus, if you please, — not Chorus merely observant and impassive; rather Chorus a sympathizing monitor and helper. Perhaps I gave a certain crude momentum to the movement of the play, when finer forces were ready to flag; but others bore the keen pangs, others took the great prizes, while I stood by to lift the maimed and cheer the victor. “We are hastening on. I can write you but one word. Our journey has been prosperous. Mr. Armstrong is very kind. My dear father, I fear, is shattered out of all steadiness. God guard him, and guide me! My undying love to your friend. “We sail at once for home. My father cannot be at peace until he is in Lancashire again. Don't forget me, dear friends. I go away sick at heart.
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78Author:  Winthrop Theodore 1828-1861Requires cookie*
 Title:  Life in the open air  
 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: MOUNT KATAHDIN. 754EAF. Illustration page. A view of the mountain from a lake. In the foreground are three figures in a small boat.
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79Author:  Woolson Constance Fenimore 1840-1894Requires cookie*
 Title:  Castle nowhere  
 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: NOT many years ago the shore bordering the head of Lake Michigan, the northern curve of that silver sea, was a wilderness unexplored. It is a wilderness still, showing even now on the school-maps nothing save an empty waste of colored paper, generally a pale, cold yellow suitable to the climate, all the way from Point St. Ignace to the iron ports on the Little Bay de Noquet, or Badderknock in lake phraseology, a hundred miles of nothing, according to the map-makers, who, knowing nothing of the region, set it down accordingly, withholding even those long-legged letters, “Chip-pe-was,” “Ric-ca-rees,” that stretch accommodatingly across so much townless territory farther west. This northern curve is and always has been off the route to anywhere; and mortals, even Indians, prefer as a general rule, when once started, to go somewhere. The earliest Jesuit explorers and the captains of yesterday's schooners had this in common, that they could not, being human, resist a crosscut; and thus, whether bark canoes of two centuries ago or the high, narrow propellers of to-day, one and all, coming and going, they veer to the southeast or west, and sail gayly out of sight, leaving this northern curve of ours unvisited and alone. A wilderness still, but not unexplored; for that railroad of the future which is to make of British America a garden of roses, and turn the wild trappers of the Hudson's Bay Company into gently smiling congressmen, has it not sent its missionaries thither, to the astonishment and joy of the beasts that dwell therein? According to tradition, these men surveyed the territory, and then crossed over (those of them at least whom the beasts had spared) to the lower peninsula, where, the pleasing variety of swamps being added to the labyrinth of pines and sand-hills, they soon lost themselves, and to this day have never found what they lost. As the gleam of a camp-fire is occasionally seen, and now and then a distant shout heard by the hunter passing along the outskirts, it is supposed that they are in there somewhere, surveying still. “Respected Sir, — I must see you, you air in danger. Please come to the Grotter this afternoon at three and I remain yours respectful, “Mr. Solomon Bangs: My cousin Theodora Wentworth and myself have accepted the hospitality of your house for the night. Will you be so good as to send tidings of our safety to the Community, and oblige, “E. Stuart: The woman Dorcas Bangs died this day. She will be put away by the side of her husband, Solomon Bangs. She left the enclosed picture, which we hereby send, and which please acknowledge by return of mail.
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80Author:  unknownRequires cookie*
 Title:  The arrow of gold, or, The shell gatherer  
 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 young man, about eighteen years of age, five feet ten inches high, with brown complexion, dark hazel eyes very bright, and black curling hair, left the Arrow Inn on the morning of the 27th, to go to St. James's Palace. He was an entire stranger in London; and, as he has not returned, and had considerable money in his purse, it is feared he has met with foul play, or is lost. He wore a snuff-colored Lincolnshire frock, blue kersey trowsers, and a brown seal-skin cap with a visor. He has a proud air, and is gentle-spoken. “Dear Dame Cresset: I lost my way—I was pressed in a man-of-war—I am now a prisoner. This man, Bolton, says he will give you this, if he escapes free. Take care of my things! I do not know the name of the ship—but I hope yet to escape, sooner or later. Farewell.
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