| | 221 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The silver bottle, or, The adventures of "Little Marlboro" in search of his father  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 `Little Marlboro'.' That is my name, I may as well say at once. I
dare say there are better names, and I dare say there are much worse names;
but good or bad my name is Little Marlboro', and neither more nor less than
Little Marlboro'! But let me begin at the beginning! for as I intend to write
a true and veracious history of my life, I wish to start fair with my reader,
giving and taking no advantage in the outset. I am stranger to you! You may never behold me again, yet I am
about to cast myself upon your heart! I am about to entrust to you what is
dearer to me than life—my infant child! Circumstances of the most painful
character, which I cannot at present control and which may bind me till death
releases me from this sad world, compel me to deny myself longer the blessed
privilege of a mother. I must separate from my child, perhaps never more to
clasp it to my bleeding bosom. I have been three days seeking somewhere to
leave it,—alas, to leave it among strangers—unknowing and unknown. But
no where could I desert it hitherto. The hour of delay cannot be extended.
Providence I feel has brought me to your roof. Your heart is kind—for your
voice and face are kindly and benevolent. I have had repeated to me your
language at the table, and my heart has confidence in you. To you, then,
dear madam, I entrust my little boy—my babe! my heart's idol. God forgive
me, if I am committing a crime. But it is not mine to choose. I must part
with my babe. I shall leave it in the bed. With it you will also find a package
of its clothing. Take my child, cherish it tenderly for the poor mother's
sake who is denied the trust, she now makes over to you with a broken heart.' Sir,—I have seen an advertisement this morning in one of the papers offering
a reward of one hundred dollars for any information touching a device of an
eagle treading upon a serpent. Although I do not covet the reward, I desire to
serve you, if I can do so. Your advertisement brought to my recollection, a
carriage which I painted twenty years ago (for I am by occupation a painter)
on which I painted this very device, as I find on referring to my book where I
keep patterns of every thing I have ever done in that way. The carriage was a
double barouche, light yellow, and highly burnished. Trusting this little information
I can give you may be of some service, I remain, I DEPARTED from Boston in the Acadia Steamship the Monday following the
close of the First Series of my narration, and arrived here in safety three days
ago. I have already stated that by the generosity of my kind foster-mother,
Dame Darwell, I was amply provided with means to prosecute my search. According
to my promise the reader shall now hear of my progress in a series of
letters which I shall transmit to them in recompense for their indulgence in following
me thus far in my narrative*
*We have thought best to give the letters as they are, instead of bringing them into a
narrative form.
. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 222 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Alice May, and Bruising Bill | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | I write to avail myself of my privilege and duty as your betrothed
wife, to throw myself, at a crisis which has just occured in my life,
upon your love! A certain Count Bondier is persecuting me with
his attentions, and althogh I have in every way, not absolutely to
insult him, shown him my repugnance to his suit, and also distinctly
and firmly declined his addresses, yet he pursues them encouraged by
my father, who is warmly in favor of an alliance with his powerful
family through me. My father has just left me with the menace that
unless I will consent to marry him at the end of three months, that
he will immure me in a convent, which God knows is to be prefered.
I have asked and obtained six weeks to decide. This letter will reach
you in two. It will take three for you to reach here. I need not ask
you to fly—for my love tells me you will soon be here to claim your
own lover's bride. I have just heard something that has frozen my blood! I write, I
know not what! Do not come! I am lost to you forever! `I know not how to address you. `Dear Edward,' was flowing
from my pen—but I am unworthy to give you any endearing title. In
my last letter—it was a wild—strange one—but I was nearly mad
when I wrote it—I told you that events had transpired that rendered
it necessary for your honor and happiness that you should forget me!
I left all in mystery. But reflection has come to my aid—reason has
returned, and after hours of terrible insanity I can think and write
calmly. I did intend, Edward, to keep the dreadful secret forever
locked up in my own bosom. But this is pride; and with pride I
have no more to do. It would be cruel to you, whom my soul loves!
Oh, if I could forget—but no! I must live and remember. How
shall I relate my shame. I have sat down to do it that I might relieve
your mind from suspense, and show you I have not lightly trifled with
your love for me; for too well I know how fondly you love me. Alas,
that your noble heart had not been bestowed upon a worthier object.
But I will no longer avoid the painful subject. In three hours—tonight
at midnight I fly from my home, leaving no trace of my flight.
Before I take this step I wish you, Edward, to do me justice. Therefore
do I now write to you. You saw me first at the boarding schools
and knew me as the daughter of an opulent southern planter. You
offered me your noble love, and in return I gave you my heart. Oh,
the happiness of that hour when I first learned that you regarded me
with favor—that you loved me! But I cannot dwell upon these days
of happiness fled forever. Alas, why has heaven made me to be accursed!
Let me speak of more recent events. Let me explain to
you the meaning of the dark language of my last letter. I told you
that the only alternative of my union with the Count was to be immured
in a convent for life. I entreated you to fly to my rescue, ere
the time given me by my father for deciding between the two, elapsed.
This letter was followed in two days by another recalling my request,
and telling you that an event had occurred which rendered it necessary
that we should meet no more, that I was going to fly and hide
from the world, for I was unworthy your love or slightest regard. It
is this letter which now I am on the eve of flight I feel it my duty to
explain; then farewell forever, and forget that I have ever lived. Oh,
how can I relate my shame to him whose approbation and love I regard
next to Heaven's? But I must to my painful duty. I learn from your mother that you are out of employnent,
and from your late employer that you are an excellent printer.
I have a relative who is the editor and publisher of a literary
paper in New York who wants a partner who is a practical printer.
But little capital is required, with which if you would like the situation
(which is a profitable one and for which I think you are calculated)
I herewith make the offer of it. Pray let me hear from you tonight
that I may write to my relative. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 223 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Charles Blackford, or, The adventures of a student in search of a profession | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | `If this Republic shall escape the catastrophe that terminated the career of
every one of its predecessors in ancient and modern days, it must be by the
prevalence of more just and liberal views in regard to the distinctions assigned
to BIRTH, MONEY, and OCCUPATION. The people must be made to see and to
feel that the LAW OF REPUTATION, as now observed, has a false basis—that there
can be no such thing as personal merit without virtue and usefulness—and
that no branch of industry which contributes to the general comfort is intrinsically
degrading. We have, even among the working classes a scale of merit
graduated by occupation, and that fixes, to some extent, the merit of individuals.
It is a relic of the absurd prejudices of Europe, by which Aristocracy and
Monarchy are upheld, and shows that, although we are as a nation free, the
marks of the old servitude are not yet obliterated.'—Walter Forward. Dear Blackford:—I have been thinking of you and your request and unpleasant
situation, every turn of the coach-wheel to this place. Your case has
undergone my thorough mental survey, and I am convinced I treated your
confidence and trust in me very unhandsomely. I have no wish to excuse myself,
though I might do so. The truth is I have been very often applied to by
students to lend money and seldom refusing, I have been sometimes trifled with
and imposed upon, not that I could suspect any such thing of you! Twice before
your application this morning I had two fellows ask me for money, which
for certain reasons I declined lending; your request was, therefore, unhappily
timed and in the hurry of departure I did not give it that consideration,
which your own character and my respect for you, should have challenged
for it. Pardon me, if I gave you offence, or by my refusal added to your mortifying
position. I would now, in some degree, atone for my indifference to
your request, and beg leave to enclose you a bank note for $50, assuring you I
shall not need it; and I pray you will oblige me by never bringing it to my recollection
again. Wishing you a happy deliverance from all your difficulties, I
beg leave hastily to subscribe myself, `My Dear Sir,—I write to lessen the weight of my obligation to you, by offering
you any service that is in my power. If, in your outset in life, I can do
any thing for you, you will confer upon me an infinite kindness, by naming it
with the same frankness with which I propose to serve you. The ladies join
me, in an invitation for you to dine with us this afternoon, at Hare Hall, where
you will see none but those whom you have already met with. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 224 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Fleming Field, or, The young artisan | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 soft, roseate haze of an autumnal sunset was just deepening
into the obscurity of twilight, as a young man came forth from
the door of a humble dwelling that stood in a narrow court not
far from Cornhill. The air was mild, and not a breath moved the
scarlet leaves of the maple that overshadowed the lowly roof of the
house. There was a little yard in front between the step and the
court, which was ornamented by a few shrubs and plants, and by
each side of the door stoop were three or four pots of geraniums and
rose-trees. These were green and fragrant, and the former were in
flower, thus betraying careful nurture, while all else in the yard was
feeling the first touch of autumn. The two round plats of closely
shaven grass, not larger than a chaise wheel, with the circular paths
around them, were strewn and filled with dead leaves, which rustled
to the tread of the youth, as he passed with a quick step from the
door to the latticed gate. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 225 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Forrestal, or, The light of the reef | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 loftier turrets of the Moro Castle were still
sheathed with gold, from the reflection of the setting
sun, while its embrasures and bastions lower down —
its walls, still lower — and the harbor and town, far
beneath, lay in the soft shadows of the first tremulous
twilight. A moment more, and the last sunbeam disappeared,
like a blaze suddenly extinguished, from the
topmost pinnacle of the cloud-capped fortress; and the
simultaneous roar of a heavy piece of ordnance, from
the platform of the Castle, told the world of Havana
that the sun had set. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 226 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Harry Harefoot | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Our story opens on one of those singularly beautiful
mornings which the coast of New-England
presents in the month of August, when the fogs,
having for some time resisted the unclouded splendor
of the sun's rays, begin to lift and break, and
roll seaward in majestic volumes, ascending as
they move, until they rest in the calm blue bosom
of heaven. My Dear Son Harry,—Your last letter gave
us all at home a great deal of joy. I was gratified
at your affectionate remembrance of me in
sending the pretty cap, and I gave your love to
little Emma Cutter, as you desired. She is knitting
for you a purse she wants me to send you
with our first package. I am happy to find you
are so well pleased with your place, my son, and
that Mr. Cushing is so well satisfied with you.
You have only now, my dear boy, to do your duty
to be respected. Never consider any thing beneath
you which you are required by Mr. Cushing
or the upper clerks to perform. Pride has
ruined many young men who set out in life as
prosperously as you have. Try and cultivate a
kind demeanor, pleasing manners, and a frank and
unsuspicious bearing; but as true politeness proceeds
from grace in the heart, you must first cultivate
that. Do not omit reading in the little
Bible I wrote your name in, once a day, nor never
neglect committing yourself in prayer to your
heavenly Father when you go to bed nor thanking
Him in grateful adoration when you rise up.
Seek humbly his guidance through the day, and
you will have it. There is no real good or true
happiness that does not first originate in duty to
our Maker. Avoid profane speech, impure language,
and telling impure anecdotes, for they
corrupt the heart. Spend your evenings at home
in reading or writing, and your Sabbaths in the
fear of God, going twice to church. Never
break the Sabbath on any pretence! Let it be a
holy day to you through life. Avoid the society
of all young men whose character you do not
know to be good; but it is best to have few companions
and but one or two friends. Have no
desire to go to the play, to parties, to frolies, and
other scenes of temptation, and never without
permission from Mr. Cushing, who is now to be
in our place to you. Above all, my son, never
touch a drop of wine. O that I could impress,
as with a seal, this caution upon your heart—engraft
it upon your mind. The sword has slain
its thousands, but wine its tens of thousands.
You must bear with me, Henry, for giving you
such a grave letter of advice, but I have your
welfare closely united to my heart, and I know
that you are surrounded with temptations, and
that you need not only a mother's love, but God's
arm to guard and detend you. One thing more,
Henry. You have, I know, a fondness for the society
and admiration of young ladies. This at
home in our quiet village was, perhaps well
enough, as it improves the manners of youths to
associate early in life with respectable young females.
But in Boston there are, I blush to say,
classes of females here unknown, who, with lovely
countenances, and wearing alluring smiles, are
dangerous for young men to know. `Their
house,' saith the seventh of Proverbs. where she
is described, `is the way to hell, going down to
the chamber of death. Let not thine heart incline
to her ways, go not astray in her paths. For
she hath cast down many wounded; yea, many
strong men have been slain by her.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 228 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Marie, or, The fugitive | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 autumnal moon had already been risen a full hour, as a horseman
drew rein upon the summit of a hill which commanded a prospect of the domes
and towers of the city towards which he was journeying. He paused a moment
as he attained the brow of the eminence over which his road wound, to survey
the scene spread out before him. I have decided on my course. Flight is my only safety.—
Farewell forever! Do not attempt to seek out my retreat! It will be in vain.
I fly to bury my woe in the grave—my infamy from the eyes of the world—to
save the honor and spare the sacrifice of a noble heart and love devoted as it is
pure! For my sake spare him and be kind, I do not ask your forgiveness for
I feel that I am the only one wronged!—wronged, alas—how deeply wronged!
Blame not her! She but did a duty sacred and imperative! Censure not—
curse not as I have heard thee curse the insensible dead! Deep is the injury
that thou hast done, irreparable and which naught but death can heal. To this
I fly, not seeking it by my own hand, oh, no! my poor breaking heart will
soon bring it me! Farewell. I address you at New York as you desired me in your
letter from Mahon. For that kind letter I send you my warmest thanks. It is
like yourself and breathes that noble affection which has made you the idol of
my heart. The days, weeks and months seem very long for I count them by
the throbbings of my heart, which is my only measure of time while you are
absent from me I think my father is now reconciled to our union, and I heard
him speak with great commendation and a sort of pride, that gratified me very
much, of your courage and noble forgetfulness of self, in saving the lives of the
three English officers and that of those of the Prince and Princess di Luzzi,
in the squall which struck their boat after it left the frigate for the shore.—
The papers are full of it, though you make no mention of it yourself. This,
too, is so like you. I cannot be too grateful to Heaven for your preservation
at such a time of imminent peril and confusion, and also for placing it in your
power to do so noble an act; for your fame and praises are mine, dear Bertrand! `Madness! This is unendurable! I have no patience to complete this letter!
I feel as if I could fly to him this moment. Poor Marie! Noble and true Marie!
If that de Rosselau does not answer for all this—but, patience. I must
read more and know all before I can stir a step! Oh, that I could embrace the
contents of the remainder of the letter at a glance of thought.' —`I did not leave my room till the next morning, nothwithstanding my
father came repeatedly at the door to summon me; but pleading illness I refused
to admit him or obey his commands. He threatened me; but I would gladly
have been locked up in the darkest and loneliest room of the villa than have
met de Rosselau. But believing in the morning that he had gone, for I had
been told so by my maid, I went out to breakfast. I found him standing with
my father in the breakfast-room. My first impulse was to fly. My next and
best was to remain and chill him by my manner. I had before found this most
successful, and I now assumed this bearing; and during breakfast I neither
saw nor heard him speak. His chair might as well have been empty, for I
took no notice that any one occupied it. My father was very angry and the
breakfast passed off gloomily; but I felt that I was the victorious one. `I beg you will not refuse to read with your beautiful
eyes (Bertrand. The devil confound him!) the few profound sentiments of
my heart, I have the honor to give expression to in consideration of the deep
passion I entertain for you. Be assured, Madamoisille, that it has never been
my felicitous fate to meet with one of your divine sex who has succeded in
imprisoning my heart so completely as you have done! Yes, admirable Marie!
(the foul fiend take him!) I have had but one thought since I beheld you, and
that is to make myself agreeable to you, that I may win that cruel heart which
already has captivated mine. I assure you I have taken no offence at your
proud and cold indifference, but on the contrary, your coldness has increased
the flame of my devotion! May I hope that my sincerity may meet at least
with some degree of grace from you, for you are too beautiful to be a tyrant!
(I'll make him eat this letter!) It is my highest ambition to make you the
Countess de Rosselau, a rank to which some of the haughtiest beauties I say
it without vanity, of dear enchanting Paris have aspired to in vain! At your
feet, where I have already laid my heart, I am desirous of laying the honors of
my name and rank. Your father's consent I have been so fortunate as to obtain,
and I only await your condescension to my suit, trusting that I shall not
have sued in vain. Your devoted and humble lover, who kisses your hand with
the profoundest adoration, `I took no notice of this note, Bertrand, and indeed should have sent it back
unopened, but I wished to know what it was he had to say, and to ascertain, if
possible, how far this persecution was to be carried; for I had made up my
mind to escape from it by flight, I knew not whither, if he should continue it. `What I am now to add, my dear Edward,' said the maiden in her letter, will
show you how fully matured was the conspiracy against my happiness and
peace, planned between my misguided father and this unfeeling Baron de Rosselau.
After he had entered my room, and locked the door as I have already
said in the beginning of my letter, he sat for a few moments in silence as if not
knowing in what way to open the subject upon his mind. At length he raised
his eyes and said, `After half an hour's weeping for you as well as for me, dear Bertrand, I
resolved I would write to you the whole that had transpired, knowing that you
were soon to be back from the Mediterranean, and hoping that my letter may
find you in New York in time for you to fly to rescue from a two fold danger
her who lives only for you. I have, therefore, been sitting up half the night
writing the foregoing, while my father believes that I sleep. Two days more
remain. Vague ideas of flight enter my mind—but I ask myself whither shall
I fly? How should I escape from my father's careful watch, or the no less
watchful scrutiny of de Rosselau' I shall soon decide upon something. I will
close my long letter now, for the morning dawns, and my father will soon be
here to unlock my door and ask me if I have changed my mind and am ready
for the sacrifice. I shall secretly despatch this letter to the office by my faithful
servant Moses. I will not seal it till I can send it away, and will add a
postscript telling you what I decide upon. `P. S.—Four o'clock, P. M. I shall make no apology for this communication. I address you
upon a subject of the deepest interest to me. I am not ignorant of your aspirations
to the hand and fortune of my daughter; nor am I ignorant that you have
been successful in inspiring in her bosom a temporary regard for you. Whatever
may have been my former forbearance in suffering this attachment to go
on unchecked, circumstances, not at all affecting your character, sir, render it
necessary that I request you to terminate all further views in relation to a union
with her. This is her desire as well as my own; and it is not therefore necessary
to inform you that all letters which you may have the imprudence to address
to her will be returned, and that my doors will be closed to any visits
that have Marie for their object. `What can this mean?' he exclaimed in astonishment. `Marie to address me
thus. This is certainly her hand-writing, and at the end of it' (and here he
rapidly ran over the pages of the letter to the close) and here is her signature
`Marie.' What can this mean? It is signed simply `Marie' without one
word of affection. Nay. It is `your unfortunate and lost, Marie.' What fearful
news have I now to hear. She can be lost to me only by being the wife of
this baron Can it——Oh, can it be possible that she has——but I
will not drive myself mad by anticipation. I will hasten to learn the worst.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 229 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Norman, or, The privateersman's bride | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 readers of the nautical romance entitled `Freemantle, or the
Privateersman,' to which the present story is a sequel, will remember
that the narrative closed with the landing of Freemantle and the passengers
of the Indiaman at the villa of Colonel Hood, while the Indiaman
stood on towards the port of Boston. The disabled and defeated
corvette at the same time, it will be remembered, was making the best
of her way towards Halifax, closely followed off soundings by the Privateer,
which then had orders to put back into port. I heard of your illness at Macao. I could not remain there while
you where perhaps dying among strangers. I am here without your
door—protected by an unperceptible disguise. I have come to nurse
you. Do not be alarmed for my safety. I am disguised as a Ceylonese
clerk. I pray you send for me to come in that I may be with you.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 230 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Rafael | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was towards the close of a summery afternoon in October, 1840, that the
U. S. schooner of war, Dolphin, was riding at anchor in the port of Key-West.
Around her were several ships, brigs and schooners which a gale of the preceding
night had driven in for shelter. One of them was the packet ship on
which I had taken passage sixteen days before at New York for New Orleans;
and as she had lost her fore-topmast and received some other injuries which it
would take some days to repair, I accepted the invitation of the lieutenant
commanding the armed schooner to take a three days cruise with him across
the channel to Cuba. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 231 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Scarlet Feather, or, The young chief of the Abenaquies | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 young chieftain Natanis stood in front of his hunting-lodge leaning
upon his bow. Tall and noble in person, and in his attitude commanding,
yet graceful, he looked like a young Apollo just returned from the chase.
At his feet lay a doe with a freshly oozing wound in her soft white breast,
and upon the ground by his side crouched, panting, a huge black wolf-dog. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 232 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The clipper-yacht, or, Moloch, the money-lender! | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 a mid-summer's evening so long ago as the year 1803, a King's Yacht
was laying at anchor in the river Thames, a cable's length below the tower of
London. The twilight was still early, the glow of sunset yet diffusing a rich
blush over the warm, hazy skies. The confused hum of the vast city rolled
over the water mingled with the deep tones of a bell from some distant tower.
A thin, dreamy-looking mist enveloped like a veil of gauze the thousand masts
that densely crowded the piers, and half-obscured the spires and turrets
scarce less numerous. Above the place where the yacht lay, there stretched,
in majestic arches, the series of noble bridges that span the Thames, their
avenues thronged with multitudes passing and repassing on foot and in carriges.
The sound of feet and wheels in their ceaseless passage fell upon the
ear louder than the roar of the opposed current of the river, as it rushed like
the rapids of a mountain stream between the strong arches beneath. `May it please your majesty, it is with regret I have to inform your majesty
that in consequence of an accident which last night occurred to the yacht
by the carelessness of a coal-barge skipper, whereby my bowsprit was carried
away and other damage done which it will take three or four days to repair,
it is out of my power to render obedience to your majesty's commands last
night received. I await your majesty's further pleasure. I shall depart in one hour for the Tower
and go on board, or rather, be taken, en masque as the prisoner of state, on
board the yacht with my party of Police-men! Sir John informs me that the
repairs are already completed, and that the schooner will be ready to sail, down
the river with the first turn of the tide. Then getting Tudor to anchor under
the guns of the frigate at the mouth, we can dictate our own terms to him!—
Tudor has not yet been on board; but I have ascertained that he made his appearance
at the Bank at noon and called for the draft holding the amount in
notes in his open pocket-book. The cashier who suspects nothing, voluntarily
informed me as I entered the banking-house, that he had come to take up the
draft, not knowing that it was paid already. `When I told him that your grace
had taken it up in person,' said the banker to me, `he said that it was all very
well; that you had given him the funds to take it up, as he was coming into
town, not expecting to be in London yourself!' The writer has positive evidence that the plot you have arranged
for the purpose of banishing your son from England, is known to him through
means of a letter taken from your table to-day. In a word, the person who
returned the letter to you was no other than your son, lord Tudor, disguised
as a peasant. He returned the letter to lull all suspicions of his having learned
the contents. His object in being in disguise near your palace was to get
early intelligence respecting the fate of the forged draft your grace held! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 233 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The cruiser of the mist | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | 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 one of those brilliant mornings peculiar
to the early autumnal days, when
the atmosphere is like chrystal in transparency,
and the skies are turgid with their
leepest blue, two persons stood together
upon an eminence that commanded the
Bay of Raritan and a wide expanse of the
ocean horizon to the eastward. “The pirate schooner known as
`The Cruiser of the Mist,' is at this moment
off Sandy Hook laying to! Ride to
the head of the island with all haste, and
take a boat to the sloop-of-war Franklin.
Tell the captain, if he gets underweigh at
once, he may capture her! Delay not a
moment, if you love your country or your
brother, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 234 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The knights of seven lands | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | At the close of a summer's day, sometime near the end of the fourteenth
century, a party of young knights, seven in number, were returning to their
several countries from attending a great tournament held in the lists of the
Moorish palace of the Alhambra, then occupied by John, king of Castile.
This tournament was held in honor of the nuptials of the Prince with the
Infanta, and from its magnificence had drawn together the flower of the
chivalry of many lands. The company of knights alluded to, consisted of
one of Spain, whose castle lay northward, near the Pyrennees; one of
France; one of England; one of Germany; one of Rome; of a Scottish
knight, and a knight of Venice, all journeying homeward from the jousts,
with their esquires and retinues. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 235 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The seven knights, or, Tales of many lands | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | At the close of a summer's day, sometime near the end of the fourteenth
century, a party of young knights, seven in number, were returning to their several
countries from attending a great tournament held in the lists of the Moorish
palace of the Alhambra, then occupied by John, king of Castile. This tournament
was held in honor of the nuptials of the Prince with the Infanta, and from
its magnificence had drawn together the flower of the chivalry of many lands.
The company of knights alluded to, consisted of one of Spain, whose castle lay
northward, near the Pyrennees; one of France; one of England; one of Germany;
one of Rome; of a Scottish knight, and a knight of Venice, all journeying
homeward from the jousts, with their esquires and retinues. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 238 | Author: | Flint
Timothy
1780-1840 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Francis Berrian, or, The Mexican patriot | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | In the autumn of this year I set out from Massachusetts
for the remote regions of the southwest on the
Spanish frontier, where I reside. When I entered the
steam-boat from Philadelphia to Baltimore, having taken
a general survey of the motley group, which is usually
seen in such places, my eye finally rested on a young
gentleman, apparently between twenty-five and thirty,
remarkable for his beauty of face, the symmetry of his
fine form, and for that uncommon union of interest,
benevolence, modesty, and manly thought, which are
so seldom seen united in a male countenance of great
beauty. The idea of animal magnetism, I know, is
exploded. I, however, retain my secret belief in the
invisible communication between minds, of something
like animal magnetism and repulsion. I admit that this
electric attraction of kindred minds at first sight, and
antecedent to acquaintance, is inexplicable. The world
may laugh at the impression, if it pleases. I have,
through life, found myself attracted, or repelled at first
sight, and oftentimes without being able to find in the
objects of these feelings any assignable reason, either
for the one or the other. I have experienced, too,
that, on after acquaintance, I have very seldom had
occasion to find these first impressions deceptive. It is
of no use to inquire, if these likes and dislikes be the
result of blind and unreasonable prejudice. I feel that
they are like to follow me through my course. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 239 | Author: | Flint
Timothy
1780-1840 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The Shoshonee Valley | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | At Length the south breeze began once more to
whisper along the valley, bringing bland airs, spring
birds, sea fowls, the deep trembling roar of unchained
mountain streams, a clear blue sky, magpies and orioles,
cutting the ethereal space, as they sped with
their peculiar business note, on the great instinct errand
of their Creator to the budding groves. The
snipe whistled. The pheasant drummed on the fallen
trunks in the deep forest. The thrasher and the
robin sang; and every thing, wild and tame, that had
life, felt the renovating power, and rejoiced in the retraced
footsteps of the great Parent of nature. The
inmates of William Weldon's dwelling once more
walked forth, in the brightness of a spring morning,
choosing their path where the returning warmth had
already dried the ground on the south slopes of the
hills. The blue and the white violet had already
raised their fair faces under the shelter of the fallen
tree, or beneath the covert of rocks. The red bud
and the cornel decked the wilderness in blossoms; and
in the meadows, from which the ice had scarcely disappeared,
the cowslips threw up their yellow cups
from the water. As they remarked upon the beauty
of the day, the cheering notes of the birds, the deep
hum of a hundred mountain water-falls, and the exhilarating
influence of the renovation of spring, William
Weldon observed in a voice, that showed awakened
remembrances—`dear friends, you have, perhaps,
none of you such associations with this season,
as now press upon my thoughts, in remembrances
partly of joy and sadness. Hear you those million
mingled sounds of the undescribed dwellers in the
spring-formed waters? How keenly they call up the
fresh recollections of the spring of my youth, and my
own country! The winter there, too, is long and severe.
What a train of remembrances press upon me!
I have walked abroad in the first days of spring.—
When yet a child, I was sent to gather the earliest
cowslips. I remember my thoughts, when I first dipped
my feet in the water, and heard these numberless
peeps, croaks, and cries; and thought of the countless
millions of living things in the water, which seemed
to have been germinated by spring; and which appeared
to be emulating each other in the chatter of
their ceaseless song. How ye return upon my
thoughts, ye bright morning visions! What a fairy
creation was life, in such a spring prospect! How
changed is the picture, and the hue of the dark brown
years, as my eye now traces them in retrospect.—
These mingled sounds, this beautiful morning, these
starting cowslips, the whole present scene brings back
1*
the entire past. Ah! there must be happier worlds
beyond the grave, where it is always spring, or the
thoughts, that now spring in my bosom, had not been
planted there.' Minister of Jesus—A wretch in agony implores you
by Him, who suffered for mankind, to have mercy
upon him. He extenuates nothing. The vilest outrage
and abandonment were his purpose. He confesses,
that he deserves the worst. His only plea is,
that he was ruined by the doting indulgence of his
parents. Luxury and pleasure have enervated him,
and he has not the courage to bear pain. Death is
horror to him, and Oh, God! Oh, God!—the terrible
death of a slow fire. Christ pitied his tormentors.
Oh! let Jessy pity me. The agony is greater, than
human nature can bear. Oh! Elder Wood, come,
and pray with, and for `They have unbound my hands, and furnished me
with the means of writing this. They are dancing
round the pile, on which I am to suffer by fire. My
oath, that I would possess thee, at the expense of
death and hell, rings in my ears, as a knell, that would
awaken the dead. Oh God! have mercy. Every
thing whirls before my eyes, and I can only pray, that
you may forget, if you cannot forgive | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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