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61Author:  Bacon Delia Salter 1811-1859Add
 Title:  The Bride of Fort Edward  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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62Author:  Belknap Jeremy 1744-1798Add
 Title:  The Foresters  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: To perform the promise which I made to you before I began my journey, I will give you such an account of this, once forest, but now cultivated and pleasant country, as I can collect from my conversation with its inhabitants, and from the perusal of their old family papers, which they have kindly permitted me to look into for my entertainment. By these means I have acquainted myself with the story of their first planting, consequent improvements and present state; the recital of which will occupy the hours which I shall be able to spare from business, company and sleep, during my residence among them.
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63Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Add
 Title:  The Bandits of the Osage  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “`My dear son, God be with you! I am dying, and can never see you again on earth, but will in the land of spirits. My strength is failing—I have but a few minutes to live, and will devote them to you. You have often questioned me of your father. I have delayed answering you,—but the time has now come when it is necessary you should know all. God give me strength to pen, and you to read the secret of my life!—and Ronald, dear Ronald, whatever you do, do not reproach, do not curse my memory! I shall enter but little into detail, for time and strength will not permit. At the age of twelve I was left an orphan, and was taken in charge of some distant relatives of my mother, with whom I lived in easy circumstances, until the age of sixteen. They were not wealthy, and yet had enough wherewithal to live independent. They treated me with much affection, and life passed pleasantly for four years. At the age of sixteen, I accidentally became acquainted with Walter Langdon, only son of Sir Edgar Langdon, whose large estate and residence—for he was very wealthy— was but a few miles distant. He found opportunity and declared his attachment, but at the same time informed me that our relations on either side would be opposed to our union, and begged me to make no mention of it, but to prepare myself and elope with him; that when the ceremony was over, and no alternative, all parties would become reconciled. He was young, handsome, and accomplished—his powers of conversation brilliant. He plead with a warmth of passion I could not withstand—for know, Ronald, I loved him, with the ardent first love of a girl of sixteen, and I consented. Alas! Ronald, that I am forced to tell you more: this rash act was my ruin!
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64Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Add
 Title:  The Renegade  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: That portion of territory known throughout Christendom as Kentucky, was, at an early period, the theatre of some of the wildest tragedies, most hardy contested and bloody scenes ever placed on record. In fact its very name, derived from the Indian word Kan-tuck-kee, and which was applied to it long before its discovery by the whites, is peculiarly significant in meaning—being no less than “the dark and bloody ground.” History makes no mention of its being inhabited prior to its settlement by the present race, but rather serves to aid us in the inference, that from time immemorial it was used as a “neutral ground,” whereon the different savage tribes were wont to meet in deadly strife; and hence the portentious name by which it was known among them. But notwithstanding its ominous title, Kentucky, when first beheld by the white hunter, presented all the attractions he would have envied in Paradise itself. The climate was congenial to his feelings— the country was devoid of savages—while its thick tangles of green cane— abounding with deer, elk, bears, buffaloes, panthers, wolves and wild cats, and its more open woods with pheasant, turkey and partridges—made it the full realization of his hopes—his longings. What more could he ask? And when he again stood among his friends, beyond the Alleghanies, is it to be wondered at that his excited feelings, aided by distance, should lead him to describe it as the El Dorado of the world? Such indeed he did describe it; and to such glowing descriptions, Kentucky is doubtless partially indebted for her settlement so much in advance of the surrounding territory. “Dear Son:—If in the land of the living, return as speedily as possible to your afflicted and anxious parents, who are even now mourning you as dead. You can return in safety; for your cousin, whom you supposed you had fatally wounded, recovered therefrom, and publicly exonerated you from all blame in the matter. He is now, however, no more—having died of late with the scarlet fever. Elvira, his wife, is also dead. She died insane. As a partial restitution for the injury done you, your cousin has made you heir by will, to all his property, real estate and personal, amounting, it is said, to over twenty thousand dollars. Your mother is in feeble health, caused by anxiety on your account. For further information, inquire of the messenger who will bear you this.
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65Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Add
 Title:  The Trapper's Bride, Or, Spirit of Adventure  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It was in the autumn of 18— that I isited the city of New York for the first ime. I had long been desirous of seeing hat great city, the grand commercial and mercantile emporium of the western world: the London of America. This city is one of the oldest in the United States, and by far the largest in the Republic, and decidedly the most important in a business point of view. Its mercantile interests are greater and vastly more extended, than are those of any other city in the Union. Early in the history of this country it was founded by a colony of Dutch, a people then widely known for the spirit and energy with which they carried on mercantile pursuits, and more especially for their commercial operations. This spirit they brought with them to their new home: and, as the town grew in importance, and increased in wealth, they pushed their branches of business, which were found profitable to them, besides being more to their liking than any other pursuits in life: and in this way they gained an advance over the other settlements in the country, which they have ever since continued to hold. New York possesses by its location all the natural advantages for commercial pursuit. Its wide harbor, which affords a safe anchorage for the largest ships, looks out upon the boundless ocean, which is traversed at this time by its thousands of stout, staunch vessels. Its intercourse with foreign nations across the ocean is extremely easy from this circumstance, and its active citizens saw this advantage from the first; it was the strong inducement which led them to settle on that narrow neck of land upon which the city is built, and as I have said, early turned their attention to the subject of navigation, and to embark in the pursuits of commerce. As the country grew, and the population increased, foreign trade also became more profitable, and this city was the port that received the returning ships laden with the treasures and luxuries of foreign climes, and in turn sent them back freighted with the surplus productions of our own land, to be exchanged in distant countries. At the date of my story, the city had become large and wealthy. It had already secured the largest share of trade in foreign staples and commodities from other parts of our country, and merchants from other cities on the sea-board as well as inland cities and towns came here to purchase their stocks. Merchants from all parts of the country flowed to New York, as offering the best chance to do business profitably, and advantageously; and foreigners, also, who came to this country, were pretty sure to make this port on their arrival, and quite as sure to remain and engage in business in this enterprising and prosperous city. From successful business, many of the city merchants grew very wealthy, and retiring from active business, they built for themselves elegant mansions in which they resided in the bosom of their families, enjoying all the comforts and pleasures, both social and domestic, their amassed wealth could purchase for them; hence there grew up in this city, and very naturally too, an aristocracy of wealth, and with wealth an aristocracy of fashion; indeed this city soon became what in truth it has ever since continued to be, the source and fountain of the fashion. Here were to be seen the latest styles of female costume; here the fashionable bean got the cue for the approved and last method of the tie of his cravat, or the color and size of his coat buttons, the length and shape of his whiskers and moustaches. In fact, in this respect, New York is to America what Paris is to France; and here you will ever find a crowd devoted to the gay goddess whose temples are the milliners, the mantua-makers, tailors and barbers' shops.
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66Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  Calavar, Or, the Knight of the Conquest  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: In the year of Grace fifteen hundred and twenty, upon a day in the month of May thereof, the sun rose over the islands of the new deep, and the mountains that divided it from an ocean yet unknown, and looked upon the havoc, which, in the name of God, a Christian people were working-upon the loveliest of his regions. He had seen, in the revolution of a day, the strange transformations which a few years had brought upon all the climes and races of his love. The standard of Portugal waved from the minarets of the east; a Portuguese admiral swept the Persian Gulf, and bombarded the walls of Ormuz; a Portuguese viceroy held his court on the shores of the Indian ocean; the princes of the eastern continent had exchanged their bracelets of gold for the iron fetters of the invader; and among the odours of the Spice Islands, the fumes of frankincense ascended to the God of their new masters. He passed on his course: the breakers that dashed upon the sands of Africa, were not whiter than the squadrons that rolled among them; the chapel was built on the shore, and under the shadow of the crucifix was fastened the first rivet in the slavery of her miserable children. Then rose he over the blue Atlantic: the new continent emerged from the dusky deep; the ships of discoverers were penetrating its estuaries and straits, from the Isles of Fire even to the frozen promontories of Labrador; and the roar of cannon went up to heaven, mingled with the groans and blood of naked savages. But peace had descended upon the islands of America; the gentle tribes of these paradises of ocean wept in subjection over the graves of more than half their race; hamlets and cities were springing up in their valleys and on their coasts; the culverin bellowed from the fortress, the bell pealed from the monastery; and the civilization and vices of Europe had supplanted the barbarism and innocence of the feeble native. Still, as he careered to the west, new spectacles were displayed before him; the followers of Balboa had built a proud city on the shores, and were launching their hasty barks on the surges of the New Ocean; the hunter of the Fountain of Youth was perishing under the arrows of the wild warriors of Florida, and armed Spaniards were at last retreating before a pagan multitude. One more sight of pomp and of grief awaited him: he rose on the mountains of Mexico; the trumpet of the Spaniards echoed among the peaks; he looked upon the bay of Ulua, and, as his beams stole tremblingly over the swelling current, they fell upon the black hulls and furled canvas of a great fleet riding tranquilly at its moorings. The fate of Mexico was in the scales of destiny; the second army of invaders had been poured upon her shores. In truth, it was a goodly sight to look upon the armed vessels that thronged this unfrequented bay; for peacefully and majestically they slept on the tide, and as the morning hymn of the mariners swelled faintly on the air, one would have thought they bore with them to the heathen the tidings of great joy, and the good-will and grace of their divine faith, instead of the earthly passions which were to cover the land with lamentation and death.
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67Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  The Infidel, Or, the Fall of Mexico  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: The traveller, who wanders at the present day along the northern and eastern borders of the Lake of Tezcuco, searches in vain for those monuments of aboriginal grandeur, which surrounded it in the age of Montezuma. The lake itself, which, not so much from the saltness of its flood as from the vastness of its expanse, was called by Cortes the Sea of Anahuac, is no longer worthy of the name. The labours of that unhappy race of men, whose bondage the famous Conquistador cemented in the blood of their forefathers, have conducted, through the bowels of a mountain, the waters of its great tributaries, the pools of San Cristobal and Zumpango; and these, rushing down the channel of the Tula, or river of Montezuma, and mingled with the surges of the great Gulf, support fleets of modern argosies, instead of piraguas and chinampas, and expend upon foundering ships-of-war the wrath, which, in their ancient beds, was wasted upon reeds and bulrushes. With the waters, which rippled through their streets, have vanished the numberless towns and cities, that once beautified the margin of the Alpine sea; the towers have fallen, the lofty pyramids melted into earth or air, and the palaces and tombs of kings will be looked for in vain, under tangled copses of thistle and prickly-pear.
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68Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  The Infidel, Or, the Fall of Mexico  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Before sunrise on the following morning, many a feathered band of allies from distant tribes was pouring into Tezcuco; for this was the day on which the Captain-General had appointed to review his whole force, assign the several divisions to the command of his favourite officers, and expound the system of warfare, by which he expected to reduce the doomed Tenochtitlan. The multitudes that were collected by midday would be beyond our belief, did we not know that the royal valley, and every neighbouring nook of Anahuac capable of cultivation, were covered by a population almost as dense as that which makes an ant-heap of the `Celestial Empire,' at this day.
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69Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  Nick of the Woods, Or, the Jibbenainosay  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: When the soldier recovered his senses, it was to wonder again at the change that had come over the scene. The loud yells, the bitter taunts, the mocking laughs, were heard no more; and nothing broke the silence of the wilderness, save the stir of the leaf in the breeze, and the ripple of the river against its pebbly banks below. He glanced a moment from the bush in which he was lying, in search of the barbarians who had lately covered the slope of the hill, but all had vanished; captor and captive had alike fled; and the sparrow twittering among the stunted bushes, and the grasshopper singing in the grass, were the only living objects to be seen. The thong was still upon his wrists, and as he felt it rankling in his flesh, he almost believed that his savage captors, with a refinement in cruelty the more remarkable as it must have robbed them of the sight of his dying agonies, had left him thus bound and wounded, to perish miserably in the wilderness alone.
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70Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  The Adventures of Robin Day  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Sylla, the Roman dictator, is, as far as I know, the only great man on record who attributed his advancement to good luck; all other great men being modestly content to refer their successes in life to their own merits; insisting, with the philosophers, that there is not, in reality, any such thing as luck at all, good, bad, or indifferent, but that every man's fortune, whether happy or evil, is referable to his own agency, the direct result of his own wise or foolish actions. Such may be the fact, for aught I can say, (it is a comfortable doctrinef or the fortunate,) and I do not pretend to controvert it; but of one thing I am very certain, namely, that whether there be bad luck in the world or not, there is an abundance of those unhappy personages who are commonly considered its victims—that is to say, unlucky dogs; of which race I was undoubtedly born a member.
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71Author:  Bird Robert Montgomery 1806-1854Add
 Title:  The Adventures of Robin Day  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Much as I had reason to fear and detest this remarkable personage, Captain Brown, by whom I had been so basely defrauded and cheated into a participation in knavery, and who, I had cause from his own confessions, to believe was, or had once been, a noted pirate; yet my feelings at sight of him mingled something like satisfaction with my fear and resentment. I was so forlorn and helpless in the midst of embarrassment and danger, so much in want of a friend to counsel and assist me, that even Captain Hellcat's countenance appeared to me desirable: at such a moment, I could have accepted the friendship almost of Old Nick himself. He had done me a great deal of mischief, to be sure; but, in my present situation, it was scarce possible he could do me any more. From his courage and worldly experience, nay even from his good will—for I almost looked upon him as a friend, though a mischievous and dangerous one—much was to be expected: and, besides, our adventures together had established a kind of community of interests between us, at least to a certain extent, (were we not house-robbers and runaways together?) which, I thought, must ensure me his good offices, at this moment of difficulty and distress. I resolved, in a word, having no other way to help myself, to throw myself upon his friendship, and trust to him for rescue from the dangers that beset me.
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72Author:  Brown Charles Brockden 1771-1810Add
 Title:  Edgar Huntly, Or, Memoirs of a Sleep-walker  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Next morning I stored a small bag with meat and bread, and throwing an axe on my shoulder, set out, without informing any one of my intentions, for the hill. My passage was rendered more difficult by these incumbrances, but my perseverance surmounted every impediment, and I gained, in a few hours, the foot of the tree, whose trunk was to serve me for a bridge. In this journey I saw no traces of the fugitive.
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73Author:  Brown Charles Brockden 1771-1810Add
 Title:  Ormond, Or, the Secret Witness  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Stephen Dudley was a native of New-York. He was educated to the profession of a painter. His father's trade was that or an apothecary. But this son, manifesting an attachment to the pencil, he was resolved that it should be gratified. For this end Stephen was sent at an early age to Europe, and not only enjoyed the instructions of Fuzeli and Bartolozzi, but spent a considerable period in Italy, in studying the Augustan and Medicean monuments. It was intended that he should practise his art in his native city, but the young man, though reconciled to this scheme by deference to paternal authority, and by a sense of its propriety, was willing, as long as possible to postpone it. The liberality of his father relieved him from all pecuniary cares. His whole time was devoted to the improvement of his skill in his favorite art, and the enriching of his mind with every valuable accomplishment. He was endowed with a comprehensive genius and indefatigable industry. His progress was proportionably rapid, and he passed his time without much regard to futurity, being too well satisfied with the present to anticipate a change. A change however was unavoidable, and he was obliged at length to pay a reluctant obedience to his father's repeated summons. The death of his wife had rendered his society still more necessary to the old gentleman.
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74Author:  Brown Charles Brockden 1771-1810Add
 Title:  Arthur Mervyn, Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I was resident in this city during the year 1793. Many motives contributed to detain me, though departure was easy and commodious, and my friends were generally solicitous for me to go. It is not my purpose to enumerate these motives, or to dwell on my present concerns and transactions, but merely to compose a narrative of some incidents with which my situation made me acquainted.
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75Author:  Brown William Hill 1765-1793Add
 Title:  The Power of Sympathy, Or, the Triumph of Nature  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: You may now felicitate me— I have had an interview with the charmer I informed you of. Alas! where were the thoughtfulness and circumspection of my friend Worthy? I did not possess them, and am graceless enough to acknowledge it. He would have considered the consequences, before he had resolved upon the project. But you call me, with some degree of truth, a strange medley of contradiction— the moralist and the amoroso—the sentiment and the sensibility—are interwoven in my constitution, so that nature and grace are at continual fisticuffs.—To the point:—
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76Author:  Child Lydia Maria Francis 1802-1880Add
 Title:  Fact and Fiction  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: In very ancient times there dwelt, among the Phrygian hills, an old shepherd and shepherdess, named Mygdomus and Arisba. From youth they had tended flocks and herds on the Idean mountains. Their only child, a blooming boy of six years, had been killed by falling from a precipice. Arisba's heart overflowed with maternal instinct, which she yearned inexpressibly to lavish on some object; but though they laid many offerings on the altars of the gods, with fervent supplications, there came to them no other child. —Black and hevy is my hart for the news I have to tell you. James is in prison, concarnin a bit of paper, that he passed for money. Sorra a one of the nabors but will be lettin down the tears, when they hear o' the same. I don't know the rights of the case; but I will never believe he was a boy to disgrace an honest family. Perhaps some other man's sin is upon him. It may be some comfort to you to know that his time will be out in a year and a half, any how. I have not seen James sense I come to Ameriky; but I heern tell of what I have writ. The blessed Mother of Heaven keep your harts from sinkin down with this hevy sorrow. Your frind and nabor,
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77Author:  Irving Washington 1783-1859Add
 Title:  Tales of a Traveller  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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78Author:  Paulding James Kirke 1778-1860Add
 Title:  A Sketch of Old England  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I am now comfortably and quietly settled in lodgings, with an elderly lady, who has good blood in her veins; that is to say, if blood be an hereditary commodity, which some people doubt, but which I do not, for there are diseases bodily and mental in most of the old families here that have descended through half-a-score of wealthy generations. She claims descent from Tudors and Plantagenets to boot, and combines the conflicting claims of both York and Lancaster. Though too well bred to boast, she sometimes used to mention these matters, until one day I advised her, in jest, to procure a champion to tilt against young parson Dymoke for the broom at the ensuing coronation. The good old soul took the joke ill, and I was sorry for it. What right had I to ridicule that which, to her, was an innocent source of happiness? I despise the cant of sentiment, but I promise never to do so again.
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79Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Add
 Title:  The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Just out of the little village of Essex, in New England, and just at the entrance of a rustic bridge, there is a favourite resting-place for loiterers of all ages. One of a line of logs that have been laid down to enable passengers at high water to reach the bridge dry-shod, affords an inviting seat under the drooping limbs of some tall sycamores. There the old sit down to rest their weary limbs, and read with pensive eye the fond histories that memory has written over the haunts of their secluded lives. There, too, the young pause in their sports, and hardly know why their eyes follow with such delight the silvery little stream that steals away from them, kissing the jutting points of the green meadows, and winding and doubling its course as if, like a pleased child, it would, by any pretext, lengthen its stay;—nor, certainly, why no island that water bounds will ever look so beautiful to them as that little speck of one above the bridge, with its burden of willows, elders, and clematis; of a summer evening, their every leaf lit with the firefly's lamp;—nor why their eye glances from the white houses of the village street, glimmering through the trees, and far away over the orchards and waving grain of the uplands, and past the wavy line of hills that bound the horizon on one side, to fix on the bald gray peaks of that mountain wall whose Indian story the poet has consecrated. Time will solve to them this why. “Honoured Sir—As father and I have concluded to leave to-morrow, will be much obliged if you will send in your bill this afternoon, if convenient. As, from all that's passed, sir, you may conclude that I ain't in circumstances to pay down, I would make bold to say that you need not scruple, as I have a large sum of money by me, given to me by my best friend, father and Susan excepted. Father sends his respectful duty to you, sir, and I mine, with many thanks; but neither money nor thanks can pay your kindness; and daily, respected sir, shall I ease my heart by remembering you in my prayers at the throne of grace, where we must all appear alike poor and needy, but where may you ever come with a sure foundation of hope, through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. “My good friend Charlotte—I shall preface my answer to your note with letting you a little into my professional affairs. I do not make it a rule to attend the poor gratuitously, for many reasons; but principally because I have observed that what is got for nothing is seldom valued. I only take care to charge them according to their ability to pay. You, my child, are an exception to most of my patients—you have given me a lesson of meek and cheerful submission that is inestimable—I am your debtor, not you mine. Besides, strictly, I have no doctor's account against you. I have prescribed no medicine, and given you no advice that any man of sense and experience might not have given; therefore, my good girl, I have no claim on that `large sum of money,' which, God bless your `best friend' for having given you. But forget not, my friend, your promise to remember me in your prayers; I have much faith in the `prayers of saints.' My parting regards to your good father, and please deliver the accompanying parcels as directed. They are from my son and daughter, who hastily join me in esteem for you and yours. God bless you, my dear child. “My dear Susan—It is a long time since I have written to you; but I have been in much perplexity and anxiety, and have been waiting to see daylight. We have failed, Finley and I, as might have been expected; neither of us having any experience in the business we undertook. As soon as I found we could not meet our notes, I made a thorough examination into our affairs, and found we could just pay our debts and no more. So to-morrow we close the concern. I have many times regretted I did not take Charlotte's advice, and not enter into a business for which I was not qualified. I would now gladly return to my trade, but confinement to business, and anxiety, have had an unfavourable effect on my health, and I am more than ever troubled with that old pain in my breast. I sometimes think, Susan, a sight of your sunny face would cure me; that and all good things I trust will come; in the meantime, patience. In prosperity and adversity, my heart ever turns towards my dear Essex friends, who must believe me their friend and brother, “Dear Susan—My prospects, since the breakup last spring, are much improved; but particulars in my next. All I want to know is, whether you will share my lot with me? Pray write by return of post, and believe me now, as you well know I have ever been, though I never put it into words before, your friend and true lover, “P. S.—Dear Harry—I wrote this letter last evening, and shall send it; for why should I, if I could, conceal my real feelings from you? Since we were playfellows at school, I have loved you best, and you only, Harry; for the time to come, I must love you only as a brother. Oh, how strange it is, that the black and the white threads are always twisted together in human life. Last evening I was so happy writing this letter; but, when I went into the bedroom, Lottie's face was covered with tears; and she spoke of our separation, and all flashed upon me at once. What could she and father do without me? They do now their full part towards keeping the family together, but they can neither of them bring in any thing, and they would be obliged to look to the town for support. Is not that awful to think of? So you see, dear Harry, I cannot leave them—our path is plain, and, as dear Lottie would say, may we have grace to walk therein. It is very dark now, Harry; but, if we only try to do right, the day will soon break, and grow brighter and brighter. Please don't say one word to persuade me off my resolution, for we are weak creatures at best, and we should stand together, and strengthen and uphold one another. Above all, don't say a word about my reasons to father and Lottie; and believe me, dear Harry, not a bit less your affectionate friend because I can't forsake them. “Dearest Susan—Forsake `father and Lottie!' that you never shall. When I wrote my last, it was only to get that blessed little word yes from you, for I must make sure of my title before I laid out the future. One thing only I am a little hurt at. Could you think I could leave out Charlotte in my plans?—a dear sister, counsellor, and friend she has ever been to me—and your good father, who so much needs some one to care for him? Ah, Susan, I have had my reflections too; and I think our path is plain before us, and, with good resolution on our part, and Charlotte's prayers to help us, we shall have grace to walk therein. But I must tell you all, and then look for your final answer. “My Dear Father: — On the bed of death, and with my little girl, who will soon be an orphan, beside me, I write this. My hand is stiff, and a racking cough interrupts me. I can write but a few lines at a time. Till last week I hoped to get well, consumption is so flattering.
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80Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Add
 Title:  Tales of City Life  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It is about the middle of November— a bright, soft day, when the genial spirit of the year looks back with one of his farewell smiles. His warm breath has spread a silver haze over the rugged hill sides. The mountain tops are shining —the dried leaves bitten off by the frost, turn round and round, and drop without a sound. A rather narrow, brisk stream runs rapidly, descending as it goes, till it reaches the rear of a one story house, where, being set back by a dam below, it seems like a plate of burnished steel from which a soft vapor is rising. Around its edges is a thin coating of ice, indicating the cold of the preceding night. The house stands on the declivity of a hill that slopes gradually from the road, (a hundred yards from it,) with one end to the river, the other to the road, and fronting south. Behind it is a little garden patch, which, in its winter adversity, shows signs of being cared for and loved; some plants being carefully tied up, and a few covered with old boxes and barrels. There are some other signs of refinement, not too common about the humble dwellings of our country parts; vines trained about the low door, and rose bushes so nicely fitted around the old windows, that they seem to have come to stay there of their own accord. Neatness, that good angel of an humble home, keeping all right with her ever-rustling wings, hover round this pretty dwelling. A small woodpile is laid up as if by mathematical rule. No litter of any kind is any where to be seen, and one wonders what the splendid cock, with his pedestrian harem, can find to make them pick so busily around the sunny doorway. “Dear mother, and father,—Don't feel too bad. I shall be on my way to New York when you get this. Miss Emma Gardner has lent me ten dollars, and what clothes I shall want. Father can't go; and you can't leave father, mother; and I—I can't stay. Father, you will keep up mother's spirits, won't you? I know it will all come right. “Dear father, and mother, and Ruth,— I have got into some trouble. I ask of you all not to feel anxious or distressed. I expect (expect was erased, and hope substituted,) “to get out well, but if I don't, I shall still keep `right side up,' as father would say. Now be calm, mother, dear. Just before we locked up last night, I observed a stranger come into the shop; the doors were closed, and all the clerks called into the middle of the shop, away from the counters. Otis Jackson was standing close to me at the time we were spoken to. I heard him mutter, `d—n it,' but I had not the least thought of what was coming. Mr. Brown stood one side of the stranger, Mr. Wilson the other. Mr. Brown spoke: `We have been missing,' says he, `fine goods for the last month; a shawl was taken last week; two yards of costly lace, and one of the five dollar pocket handkerchiefs are gone to-day. We have a police man here, and you must all be searched. One of you must be guilty. I am sorry for the innocent, but no disgrace will rest upon them — do your duty, Rushton.' The policeman began the search. Some of our young men laughed and joked; I could not, I was afraid it would prove to be Otis. He was the fourth searched, nothing was found on him. My turn came next; the things were found in my coat pocket, atop of my handkerchief and every thing, just as if they had been put there. How the truth is to be found out, I don't know, but I feel as if it would. All I ask is, that father will keep up mother's spirits, and dear Ruth, only think how you would all feel if I had taken the things. I shall write daily, so don't be anxious.
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