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121Author:  Osborne, William HamiltonRequires cookie*
 Title:  After Death — What  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: As Spalding — superannuated, possibly, but jaunty still — trotted nimbly down the aisle between the rows of desks, glances of welcome, murmurs of surprise, greeted him. He had become a stranger; the office force had not seen him for full two years. He nodded right and left, chuckled, as was his wont, and here and there stretched out a hand. Plainly he was glad to greet the Interstate Company once again, and that concern returned the compliment.
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122Author:  Oskison, John M.Requires cookie*
 Title:  "Only the Master Shall Praise."  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: ON the cattle ranges of the Indian Territory ten years ago he was known as "the Runt," because he was several inches shorter than the average puncher. His other title of "Hanner" had been fastened upon him by a ludicrous incident in his youth. "Hanner the Runt" was a half-breed Cherokee cow-boy, who combined with the stoicism of the Indian something of the physical energy and mental weakness of his white father. One of his shoulders was knocked down a quarter of a foot lower than the other, two ribs had been "caved in" on his left side, and a scar high up on his cheek-bone indicated a stormy life. It was a matter of speculation in the cow-camps as to the number of times Hanner had been thrown from horses and discharged by his employers; he would have been called the foot-ball of fate had these cow-boys been modern and college-bred.
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123Author:  Oskison, John M.Requires cookie*
 Title:  'The Quality of Mercy': A Story of the Indian Territory  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: MISS VENITA CHURCHFIELD took up eagerly the fresh, neatly folded copy of the "Sachem" which a small half-breed Indian boy, with the singular little war-whoop that invariably announced his weekly delivery, had just thrown across the picket-fence. Going indoors, she smiled at the three columns of cattle-brands displayed on splotchy black cuts of steers, and was irritated anew that Efferts, the editor, should continue to print them. They occupied a considerable share of the four pages devoted to keeping the little prairie town of Black Oak informed of the world's doings in and outside of that small corner of the Indian Territory.
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124Author:  PlatoRequires cookie*
 Title:  Crito  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: Scene: — The Prison of Socrates
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125Author:  PlatoRequires cookie*
 Title:  The Republic of Plato  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: The scene is laid in the house of Cephalus at the Piraeus; and the whole dialogue is narrated by Socrates the day after it actually took place to Timaeus Hermocrates, Critias, and a nameless person, who are introduced in the Timaeus.
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126Author:  PlinyRequires cookie*
 Title:  Pliny's Epistles in Ten Books: Volume 1, Books 1-6  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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127Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Assignation  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: Ill-fated and mysterious man! — bewildered in the brilliancy of thine own imagination, and fallen in the flames of thine own youth! Again in fancy I behold thee! Once more thy form hath risen before me! — not — oh not as thou art — in the cold valley and shadow — but as thou shouldst be — squandering away a life of magnificent meditation in that city of dim visions, thine own Venice — which is a star-beloved Elysium of the sea, and the wide windows of whose Palladian palaces look down with a deep and bitter meaning upon the secrets of her silent waters. Yes! I repeat it — as thou shouldst be. There are surely other worlds than this — other thoughts than the thoughts of the multitude — other speculations than the speculations of the sophist. Who then shall call thy conduct into question? who blame thee for thy visionary hours, or denounce those occupations as a wasting away of life, which were but the overflowing of thine everlasting energies?
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128Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Balloon Hoax  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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129Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  Berenice  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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130Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Colloquy of Monos and Una  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: UNA. 'Born again?'
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131Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: EIROS. Why do you call me Eiros?
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132Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Man of the Crowd  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: It was well said of a certain German book that 'es lasst sich nicht lesen' — it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking them piteously in the eyes — die with despair of heart and convulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.
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133Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  A Descent into the Maelstrom  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to speak.
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134Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Domain of Arnheim  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: From his cradle to his grave a gale of prosperity bore my friend Ellison along. Nor do I use the word prosperity in its mere worldly sense. I mean it as synonymous with happiness. The person of whom I speak seemed born for the purpose of foreshadowing the doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley and Condorcet — of exemplifying by individual instance what has been deemed the chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of Ellison I fancy that I have seen refuted the dogma, that in man's very nature lies some hidden principle, the antagonist of bliss. An anxious examination of his career has given me to understand that, in general, from the violation of a few simple laws of humanity arises the wretchedness of mankind — that as a species we have in our possession the as yet unwrought elements of content — and that, even now, in the present darkness and madness of all thought on the great question of the social condition, it is not impossible that man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions, may be happy.
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135Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  Eleonora  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: I am come of a race noted for vigour of fancy and ardour of passion. Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence — whether much that is glorious — whether all that is profound — does not spring from disease of thought — from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their grey visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awaking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless or compassless, into the vast ocean of the 'light ineffable' and again, like the adventurers of the Nubian geographer, ' aggressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi'.
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136Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hop-Frog  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: I never knew any one so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the surest road to his favour. Thus it happened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine; but certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terris.
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137Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Island of the Fay  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: 'La musique,' says Marmontel, in those 'Contes Moraux' 1 which, in all our translations, we have insisted upon calling 'Moral Tales' as if in mockery of their spirit — 'la musique est le seul des talents qui jouissent de lui-même; tous les autres veulent des témoins.' He here confounds the pleasure derivable from sweet sounds with the capacity for creating them. No more than any other talent, is that for music susceptible of complete enjoyment, where there is no second party to appreciate its exercise. And it is only in common with other talents that it produces effects which may be fully enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the raconteur has either failed to entertain clearly, or has sacrificed in its expression to his national love of point, is, doubtless, the very tenable one that the higher order of music is the most thoroughly estimated when we are exclusively alone. The proposition, in this form, will be admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its sake, and for its spiritual uses. But there is one pleasure still within the reach of fallen mortality — and perhaps only one — which owes even more than does music to the accessory sentiment of seclusion. I mean the happiness experienced in the contemplation of natural scenery. In truth, the man who would behold aright the glory of God upon earth must in solitude behold that glory. To me, at least, the presence — not of human life only, but of life in any other form than that of the green things which grow upon the soil and are voiceless — is a stain upon the landscape — is at war with the genius of the scene. I love, indeed, to regard the dark valleys, and the grey rocks, and the waters that silently smile, and the forests that sigh in uneasy slumbers, and the proud watchful mountains that look down upon all — I love to regard these as themselves but the colossal members of one vast animate and sentient whole — a whole whose form (that of the sphere) is the most perfect and most inclusive of all; whose path is among associate planets; whose meek handmaiden is the moon; whose mediate sovereign is the sun; whose life is eternity; whose thought is that of a God; whose enjoyment is knowledge; whose destinies are lost in immensity; whose cognizance of ourselves is akin with our own cognizance of the animalculae which infest the brain — a being which we, in consequence, regard as purely inanimate and material, much in the same manner as these animalculae must thus regard us.
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138Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  King Pest  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: About twelve o'clock, one night in the month of October, and during the chivalrous reign of the third Edward, two seamen belonging to the crew of the Free and Easy, a trading schooner plying between Sluys and the Thames, and then at anchor in that river, were much astonished to find themselves seated in the tap-room of an ale-house in the parish of St Andrews, London — which ale-house bore for sign the portraiture of a 'Jolly Tar'.
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139Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  Landor's Cottage  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: During a pedestrian tour last summer, through one or two of the river counties of New York, I found myself, as the day declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was pursuing. The land undulated very remarkably; and my path, for the last hour, had wound about and about so confusedly, in its effort to keep in the valleys, that I no longer knew in what direction lay the sweet village of B—, where I had determined to stop for the night. The sun had scarcely shone — strictly speaking — during the day, which, nevertheless, had been unpleasantly warm. A smoky mist, resembling that of the Indian summer, enveloped all things, and, of course, added to my uncertainty. Not that I cared much about the matter. If I did not hit upon the village before sunset, or even before dark, it was more than possible that a little Dutch farmhouse, or something of that kind, would soon make its appearance — although, in fact, the neighbourhood (perhaps on account of being more picturesque than fertile) was very sparsely inhabited. At all events, with my knapsack for a pillow, and my hound as a sentry, a bivouac in the open air was just the thing which would have amused me. I sauntered on, therefore, quite at ease — Ponto taking charge of my gun — until at length, just as I had begun to consider whether the numerous little glades that led hither and thither were intended to be paths at all, I was conducted by one of the most promising of them into an unquestionable carriage-track. There could be no mistaking it. The traces of light wheels were evident; and although the tall shrubberies and overgrown undergrowth met overhead, there was no obstruction whatever below, even to the passage of a Virginian mountain wagon — the most aspiring vehicle, I take it, of its kind. The road, however, except in being open through the wood — if wood be not too weighty a name for such an assemblage of light trees — and except in the particulars of evident wheel-tracks — bore no resemblance to any road I had before seen. The tracks of which I speak were but faintly perceptible, having been impressed upon the firm, yet pleasantly moist surface of — what looked more like green Genoese velvet than anything else. It was grass, clearly — but grass such as we seldom see out of England — so short, so thick, so even, and so vivid in colour. Not a single impediment lay in the wheel-route — not even a chip or dead twig. The stones that once obstructed the way had been carefully placed — not thrown — along the sides of the lane, so as to define its boundaries at bottom with a kind of half-precise, half-negligent, and wholly picturesque definition. Clumps of wild flowers grew everywhere, luxuriantly, in the interspaces.
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140Author:  Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849Requires cookie*
 Title:  Mellonta Tauta  
 Published:  1994 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
 Description: Now, my dear friend — now, for your sins, you are to suffer the infliction of a long gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I am going to punish you for all your impertinences by being as tedious, as discursive, as incoherent and as unsatisfactory as possible. Besides, here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloon, with some one or two hundred of the canaille, all bound on a pleasure excursion (what a funny idea some people have of pleasure!), and I have no prospect of touching terra firma for a month at least. Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the time to correspond with one's friends. You perceive, then, why it is that I write you this letter — it is on account of my ennui and your sins.
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