| | 501 | Author: | unknown | Add | | | Title: | Tales of Glauber-Spa  | | | | 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 | | | | Description: | "I am quite delighted with this place, now that I
have got over that bad habit of blushing and trembling,
which Mrs. Asheputtle assures me is highly indecent
and unbecoming. She says it is a sign of a bad conscience
and wicked thoughts, when the blood rushes
into the face. I wish you knew Mrs. Asheputtle. She
has been all over Europe, and seen several kings of the
old dynasties, who, she says, were much more difficult
to come at than the new ones, who are so much afraid of
the canaille, that they are civil to everybody. Only
think, how vulgar. Mrs. Asheputtle says, that she
knew several men with titles; and that she is sure, if
she had not been unfortunately married before, she
might have been the wife of the Marquis of Tête de
Veau. The marquis was terribly disappointed when
he found she had a husband already; but they made
amends by forming a Platonic attachment, which means
—I don't know really what it means—for Mrs. Asheputtle,
it seemed to me, could not tell herself. All I know
is, that it must be a delightful thing, and I long to try it,
when I am married—for Mrs. Asheputtle says it won't
do for a single lady. What can it be, I wonder? "One of the great disadvantages of foreign travel is,
that it unfits one for the enjoyment of any thing in one's
own country, particularly when that country is so every
way inferior to the old world. It is truly a great misfortune
for a man to have too much taste and refinement.
I feel this truth every day of my life; and could almost
find in my heart to regret the acquirement of habits
and accomplishments that almost disqualify me for a
citizen of this vulgar republic, which, I am sorry to
perceive, seems in a fair way of debauching the whole
world with her pernicious example of liberty and
equality. If it were not for Delmonico and Palmo, the
musical soirées, and a few other matters, I should be the
most miserable man in the world. Would you believe
it, my dear count, there is not a silver fork to be seen in
all the hotels between New-York and Saratoga? And
yet the people pretend to be civilized! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 502 | Author: | unknown | Add | | | Title: | A quarter race in Kentucky | | | | 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 | | | | Description: | Nothing would start against the Old Mare; and after
more formal preparation in making weight and posting
judges than is customary when there is a contest, "the
sateful old kritter" went off crippling as if she was not
fit to run for sour cider, and any thing could take the
shine out of her that had the audacity to try it. The
muster at the stand was slim, it having been understood
up town, that as to sport to-day the races would prove
a water-haul. I missed all that class of old and young
gentlemen who annoy owners, trainers, and riders,
particularly if they observe they are much engaged,
with questions that should not be asked, and either
can't or should not be answered. The business folks
and men of gumption were generally on the grit, and
much of the chaff certainly had been blown off. Dinner kin be had On the FoLLowin Tums at my
HousE to Day priv8s thirty seven cents non comeishund
ophisers 25 comeishund frEE i want you awl to ete
dancin to beGin at won erclock awl them what dont
wish to kevort will finD cards on the shelf in the
cubberd licker On the uzual Tums | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 505 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | 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! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 506 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 507 | Author: | Cary
Alice
1820-1871 | Add | | | 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, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 508 | Author: | Cary
Alice
1820-1871 | Add | | | 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 | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 509 | Author: | Jacobs
Harriet A.
(Harriet Ann)
1813-1897 | Add | | | 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, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 510 | Author: | Cary
Alice
1820-1871 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 512 | Author: | Cary
Alice
1820-1871 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 514 | Author: | Child
Lydia Maria Francis
1802-1880 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 515 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 517 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | 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 | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 518 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | 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! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 519 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 520 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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