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141Author:  Melville Herman 1819-1891Requires cookie*
 Title:  Pierre, or, The ambiguities  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Dates, my old boy, bestir thyself now. Go to my room, Dates, and bring me down my mahogany strong-box and lockup, the thing covered with blue chintz; strap it very carefully, my sweet Dates, it is rather heavy, and set it just without the postern. Then back and bring me down my writing-desk, and set that, too, just without the postern. Then back yet again, and bring me down the old camp-bed (see that all the parts be there), and bind the case well with a cord. Then go to the left corner little drawer in my wardrobe, and thou wilt find my visiting-cards. Tack one on the chest, and the desk, and the camp-bed case. Then get all my clothes together, and pack them in trunks (not forgetting the two old military cloaks, my boy), and tack cards on them also, my good Dates. Then fly round three times indefinitely, my good Dates, and wipe a little of the perspiration off. And then—let me see—then, my good Dates—why what then? Why, this much. Pick up all papers of all sorts that may be lying round my chamber, and see them burned. And then—have old White Hoof put to the lightest farm-wagon, and send the chest, and the desk, and the camp-bed, and the trunks to the `Black Swan,' where I shall call for them, when I am ready, and not before, sweet Dates. So God bless thee, my fine, old, imperturbable Dates, and adieu! “The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with amazement. The fabric is excellent—the finest broadcloth of genius. We have just started in business. Your pantaloons—productions, we mean—have never yet been collected. They should be published in the Library form. The tailors—we mean the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap. Now—before the gloss is off—now is the time for the library form. We have recently received an invoice of Chamois—Russia leather. The library form should P be a durable form. We respectfully offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth—we mean a sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:—you cashing the seamstresses'—printer's and binder's bills on the day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will greatly oblige,— “Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer. My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however, that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair— “Official duty and private inclination in this present case most delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now by the action of the Committee on Lectures become professionally obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our Committee on Lectures, I hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection. “This morning I vowed it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;—now, when still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, suspect. Grief,—deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in never afterward writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee the more. “Sir:—You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while passing through our press the sheets of a blasphemous rhapsody, filched from the vile Atheists, Lucian and Voltaire. Our great press of publication has hitherto prevented our slightest inspection of our reader's proofs of your book. Send not another sheet to us. Our bill for printing thus far, and also for our cash advances, swindled out of us by you, is now in the hands of our lawyer, who is instructed to proceed with instant rigor. “Thou, Pierre Glendinning, art a villainous and perjured liar. It is the sole object of this letter imprintedly to convey the point blank lie to thee; that taken in at thy heart, it may be thence pulsed with thy blood, throughout thy system. We have let some interval pass inactive, to confirm and solidify our hate. Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a liar;—liar, because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title for a man; which in itself is the compend of all infamous things.
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142Author:  Miller Joaquin 1837-1913Requires cookie*
 Title:  Unwritten history  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: 645EAF. Page 017. In-line image. Two snow-capped mountains stand in the background. In the foregrouns several pine trees stand.
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143Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Doctor Johns  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: IN the summer of 1812, when the good people of Connecticut were feeling uncommonly bitter about the declaration of war against England, and were abusing Mr. Madison in the roundest terms, there lived in the town of Canterbury a fiery old gentleman, of near sixty years, and a sterling Democrat, who took up the cudgels bravely for the Administration, and stoutly belabored Governor Roger Griswold for his tardy obedience to the President in calling out the militia, and for what he called his absurd pretensions in regard to State sovereignty. He was a man, too, who meant all that he said, and gave the best proof of it by offering his military services, — first to the Governor, and then to the United States General commanding the Department. “Dear Father, — I have come away from school. I don't know as you will like it much. I walked all the way from Bolton, and my feet are very sore; I don't think I could walk home. Captain Saul says he will take me by the way of New York. I can go and see Aunt Mabel. I will tell her you are all well. “I opened the Within to see who the boy was; and This is to say, I shall take him Aboard, and shall be off Chatham Red Quarries to-morrow night and next day morning, and, if you signal from the dock, can send him Ashore. Or, if this don't Come in time, my berth is Peck Slip, in York. “My dear Sir, — I am sorry that I threw `Daboll' in your face as I did, and hope you will forgive the same. “My dear Johns,” (so his letter runs,) “I had counted on surprising you completely by dropping in upon you at your parsonage, (so often in my thought,) at Ashfield; but circumstances have prevented. Can I ask so large a favor of you as to bring my dear Adèle to meet me here? If your parochial duties forbid this utterly, can you not see her safely on the river-boat, and I will meet her at the wharf in New York? But, above all, I hope you will come with her. I fancy her now so accomplished a young lady, that there will be needed some ceremony of presentation at your hands; besides which, I want a long talk with you. We are both many years older since we have met; you have had your trials, and I have escaped with only a few rubs. Let us talk them over. Slip away quietly, if you can; beyond Adèle and your good sister, can't you conceal your errand to the city? Your country villages are so prone to gossip, that I would wish to clasp my little Adèle before your towns-folk shall have talked the matter over. Pray ask your good sister to prepare the wardrobe of Adèle for a month or two of absence, since I mean she shall be my attendant on a little jaunt through the country. I long to greet her; and your grave face, my dear Johns, is always a welcome sight.”
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144Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Doctor Johns  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: AUTUMN and winter passed by, and the summer of 1838 opened upon the old quiet life of Ashfield. The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household duties, or with her stately visitings. The Doctor's hat and cane in their usual place upon the little table within the door, and of a Sunday his voice is lifted up under the old meeting-house roof in earnest expostulation. The birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard has shown once more its wondrous glory of bloom. But all these things have lost their novelty for Adèle. Would it be strange, if the tranquil life of the little town had lost something of its early charm? That swift French blood of hers has been stirred by contact with the outside world. She has, perhaps, not been wholly insensible to those admiring glances which so quickened the pride of the father. Do not such things leave a hunger in the heart of a girl of seventeen which the sleepy streets of a country town can but poorly gratify? “My dear Johns, — I shall again greet you, God willing, in your own home, some forty days hence, and I shall come as a repentant Benedick; for I now wear the dignities of a married man. Your kind letter counted for a great deal toward my determination; but I will not affect to conceal from you, that my tender interest in the future of Adèle counted for a great deal more. As I had supposed, the communication to Julie (which I effected through her brother) that her child was still living, and living motherless, woke all the tenderness of her nature. I cannot say that the sudden change in her inclinations was any way flattering to me; but knowing her recent religious austerities, I was prepared for this. I shall not undertake to describe to you our first interview, which I can never forget. It belongs to those heart-secrets which cannot be spoken of; but this much I may tell you, — that, if there was no kindling of the old and wayward love, there grew out of it a respect for her present severity and elevation of character that I had never anticipated. At our age, indeed, (though, when I think of it, I must be many years your junior,) a respect for womanly character most legitimately takes the place of that disorderly sentiment which twenty years ago blazed out in passion. “Mon cher Monsieur,” — in this way she begins; for her religious severities, if not her years, have curbed any disposition to explosive tenderness, — “I have received the letter of our child, which was addressed to you. I cannot tell you the feelings with which I have read it. I long to clasp her to my heart. And she appeals to you, for me, — the dear child! Yes, you have well done in telling her that I was unworthy (méchante). It is true, — unworthy in forgetting duty, — unworthy in loving too well. O Monsieur! if I could live over again that life, — that dear young life among the olive orchards! But the good Christ (thank Him!) leads back the repentant wanderers into the fold of His Church.
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145Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Dream life  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: —“My friend Clarence will I trust beheve me, when I say that his letter was a surprise to me. To say that it was very grateful, would be what my womanly vanity could not fail to claim. I only wish that I was equal to the flattering portrait which he has drawn. I even half fancy that he is joking me, and can hardly believe that my matronly air should have quite won his youthful heart. At least I shall try not to believe it; and when I welcome him one day, the husband of some fairy, who is worthy of his love, we will smile together at the old lady, who once played the Circe to his senses. Seriously, my friend Clarence, I know your impulse of heart has carried you away; and that in a year's time, you will smile with me, at your old penchant for one so much your senior, and so ill-suited to your years, as your true friend, —“Dear Madge,—May I not call you thus, if only in memory of our childish affections;—and might I dare to hope that a riper affection which your character has awakened, may permit me to call you thus, always?
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146Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Fudge doings  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I MUST confess that I feel diffident in entering upon the work which I have taken in hand. Very few know what it is to assume the position that I now occupy; viz., endeavoring to entertain the public with a record of the observations, fancies, history, and feelings of one's own family. Many people do this in a quiet way; but I am not aware that it has heretofore been undertaken in the unblushing manner which I propose to myself. “Mr. Fudge will much consult his own advantage in abstaining from the imposition of any more of his drunken and impertinent fooleries upon the society of my daughter. “My dear boy,” she says, “I hope you are quite well, and have got over the cold in the head you spoke of. It is charming weather in New-York, and old Truman Bodgers is dead; died aboard the Eclipse, which burnt up two weeks ago, and a great many valuable lives lost, which we regret very much, making true the words of the Psalmist, which I hope you read, that in the middle of life death comes and overtakes us. He has left considerable property, which your father says will be divided between Aunt Fleming and myself, which will make a pretty sum for you by-and-by, being eighty thousand dollars, as Solomon says, in all. “Cruel! cruel! et vous, mon cher! And can you think that I would suffer your blood to flow under the hands of that monstre, whom I will not name? No! no! I know all. I have detained him, but only for a little time, perhaps. Will you fly?
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147Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Fudge doings  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I SHALL open this volume with a few observations upon an individual, who may possibly have important relations with the Fudge family: I refer to Mr. Blimmer, of Blimmersville. Mr. Blimmer has a very snug office, full of diagrams of Blimmersville. Indeed, the plots, sites, buildings, and accounts, of that prospective town may be said to fill up the office. There is, among other charts, a beautiful lithograph of Blimmersville, very attractive, with a proposed church, and a proposed clergyman's cottage; both of them highly picturesque, highly Gothic, and highly flattering to the proposed Christian feeling of the township—much more flattering, indeed, than such buildings are apt to be in earnest. “My Dear Washington:—I cannot pay longer your frequent drafts upon me. My affairs are not in so good case as at last writing. Practise economy, and make arrangements to return speedily, when I hope you will enter immediately upon some sound business-calling. “My Dear Washy:—I have very much to tell you. We are terribly disturbed; you have heard of Mr. Bodgers' death, and how he left no will, as any one can find. Your father was made administrator, with Mr. Bivins, and things were going very well, as we thought, and Kitty would have had a handsome slice, which would have made her perhaps to be considered as a match for you, my dear son, although she is a cousin, when, on a sudden, Mr. Quid, the father of the young gentleman you know, called on Mr. Fudge, and, showing him some old papers he has, which I suppose are testimonials, made a claim for the whole of the property, and what it all is, I don't know; and your father is anxious, besides that; the bank is doing badly, and our expenses with you and Wilhe are heavy. “My Dear Madam:—Duty compels me to inform you that the claims of Mr. Quid upon the estate of your deceased kinsman, Truman Bodgers, Esq., of which I have already given you brief advisement, are very strong. He has shown to me, in connection with my legal adviser, papers which appear to establish, beyond doubt, the rights of his son, as heir at law. Deeply distressing as this event must be to both branches of the Bodgers family, I see no resource. I would advise you, therefore, to limit your expenses accordingly, as the usual annuity, which I believe you have been in the habit of receiving through the generosity of Mr. Bodgers, will now be cut off. I trust you will bear the reverse with resolution. “My Dear Jemima:—I should be very ungrateful for all your kindness if I forgot to write you, as I promised I would, and to tell you all about my country home, which I am so glad to welcome again. “Letitia, ma Chère Letitia:—After our sudden parting last summer, so very provoking as it was, I 5* have been pining away in the Avenue. I am well enough to be sure, and take a drive every day upon Broadway with mamma; and the Count is civil and attentive as usual, and the Spindles are as jealous as ever (which is some comfort), yet somehow it seems very dull. Papa has a terribly long face; more than all, when I ask him for money. Mamma says he is disturbed about his coal-stocks, and business, and all that. What a horrid thing business is! It made us come away from the Springs just as a good set was forming about mamma; and there's no hope, I fear, of getting it together again. How is it, dear Letitia, that people will be very kind, and chatty, and attentive at the Springs, and then never come near you in town? I should love to live at Saratoga, that is, provided the Count and you, and the rest were there, and the set was good. “Mr. Blimmer's compliments to Mr. Quid, and begs to advise him that the instalments now due on lots Numbers seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, etc., in the town of Blimmersville, are still unpaid: he also begs to advise Mr. Quid (hoping he will not take offence) of his (Blimmer's) natural reluctance to place in the hands of so entire a stranger the original document intrusted to him by a certain deceased party; he believes, however, that the writing which he had the honor to place in Mr. Quid's hands, was a true copy of the same; and, in the event of pending negotiations being happily matured, he (Blimmer) would have no objection to add to it the original instrument.
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148Author:  Mitchell Donald Grant 1822-1908Requires cookie*
 Title:  Seven stories, with basement and attic  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: IN an out of the way corner of my library are five plethoric little note-books of Travel. One of them, and it is the earliest, is bound in smart red leather, and has altogether a dapper British air; its paper is firm and evenly lined, and it came a great many years ago (I will not say how many) out of a stationer's shop upon Lord street in Liverpool. A second, in stiff boards, marbled, and backed with muslin, wears a soldierly primness in its aspect that always calls to mind the bugles, and the drums, and the brazen helmets of Berlin—where, once upon a time, I added it to my little stock of travelling companions. A third, in limp morocco, bought under the Hotel de l'Ecu at Geneva, shows a great deal of the Swiss affection of British wares, and has borne bravely the hard knapsack service, and the many stains which belonged to those glorious mountain tramps that live again whenever I turn over its sweaty pages. Another is tattered, dingy—the paper frail, and a half of its cover gone; yet I think it is a fair specimen of what the Roman stationers could do, in the days when the Sixteenth Gregory was Pope. The fifth and last, is coquettish, jaunty—as prim as the Prussian, limp like the Genevese, and only less solid than the English: it is all over French; and the fellows to it may very likely have served a tidy grisette to write down her tale of finery, or some learned member of the Institute to record his note-takings in the Imperial Library. “You must have thought I treated you very scurvily. Annie thought it best however that I should not call at your lodgings. We had been privately married a year before. Though I ought not to say it, the colonel's return to life was something of a damper to me; but he knows it all now, and is thoroughly reconciled. I can show him a rent-roll from my little ventures hereabout, that is larger than his colonel's pay. We are all at Clumber Cottage—happy of course.
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149Author:  Myers P. Hamilton (Peter Hamilton) 1812-1878Requires cookie*
 Title:  The miser's heir, or, The young millionaire  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Extraordinary as was the intelligence contained in your kind letter of the first of March, I have that to communicate in return which I think you will acknowledge to be still more astounding. So anxious am I to tell you speedily all that I think I have discovered, and which your letter has been the principal means of revealing, that I must hasten to my story without the preface or introduction which its important character would seem to demand.
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150Author:  Neal John 1793-1876Requires cookie*
 Title:  True womanhood  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: On a cold, bright clear day, in the troubled winter of 1857-8, when the great city of New York seemed to be struck with paralysis, and the “boldest held their breath” for awhile, a large crowd were gathered just outside of the Park; while, on the opposite side of the way, there was another and yet larger collection, filling the street and side-walks, and surging and struggling about the open doors of a theatre. “Dear Elizabeth, — I hope to be at home to-day. Be of good cheer. The gentleman who hands you this — Mr. Winthrop Fay — is my legal adviser just now. He may desire to see Julia by herself. Whatever he advises, you will be safe in doing. On the card of Mr. Fay was written: “You may look for me within the hour; and it may be well for Miss Parry and Mr. Maynard to be prepared for a short drive.
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151Author:  Parkman Francis 1823-1893Requires cookie*
 Title:  Vassall Morton  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: “Macknight on the Epistles, — that's the name of the book?” Sir: I am a native of the United States, who, for the past four years, have been a prisoner in the Castle of Ehrenberg, confined for no offence, political or otherwise, but on a groundless suspicion. I escaped by the assistance of a soldier in the garrison, and have made my way thus far in the dress of a peasant. I am anxious to reach Genoa, or some other port beyond the power of Austria, but am embarrassed and endangered by my ignorance of the routes and the state of the country. Information on these points, and the means of communicating with an American consul, are the only aid of which I am in necessity; and I take the liberty of applying to you in the hope of obtaining it. By giving it, you will oblige me in a matter of life and death. The people of the country cannot be trusted; but I may rely securely on the generosity of an English gentleman. Dear M.: Uncle Sam in a deuse of a hurry. Ordered to the island this afternoon. Off for Mexico to-morrow. Sorry not to see you, but haven't a minute to spare. Good luck. — Au revoir. Dear Sir: You cannot have forgotten some interviews and correspondence which formerly passed between us concerning a person who soon after was unfortunate enough to fall under the notice of the Austrian police. Nothing has since been heard of him, and it is commonly believed here that he is dead. It is my desire to have this opinion confirmed; and having found you honorable and efficient on another occasion, I cannot doubt that I shall find you so in this. May I beg your services in the following particulars? I heard all. I have learned, at last, to know you. These were your bad dreams! This was the cloud that overshadowed you! No wonder that your eye was anxious, your forehead wrinkled, and your cheek pale. To have led that brave and loyal heart through months and years of anguish! — to have buried him from the light of day! — to have buried him in darkness and despair, if despair could ever touch a soul like his! And there he would have been lost forever, if you had had your will, — if a higher hand had not been outstretched to save him. One whom you dared not meet face to face; one as far above your sphere as the eagle is above the serpent to which he likened you! You have taught me how sin can cringe and cower under the anger of a true and deeply outraged man. That I should have lived to hear my husband called a villain! — and still live to tell him that the word was just! My husband! You are not my husband. It was not a criminal, a traitorous wretch, whom I pledged myself to love and honor. You have insnared me; you have me, for a time, safely entangled in your meshes. The same cause which led me to this yoke must withhold me from casting it off. I cannot imbitter my father's dying moments. I cannot bring distress and horror to his tranquil death bed. For his sake, I will play the hypocrite, and stoop to pass in the world's eye as your wife. For the few weeks he has to live, I will lodge, if I must, under your roof; I will sit, if I must, at your table; but when my father is gone, let the world impute to me what blame it will, I will leave you forever. You need not fear that I shall expose your crimes. If he could spare you, it does not become me to speak. Live on, and make what atonement you may; but meanwhile there is a gulf between us wider than death.
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152Author:  Roe Edward Payson 1838-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  Barriers burned away  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: From its long sweep over the unbroken prairie, a heavier blast than usual shook the slight frame house. The windows rattled in the casements, as if shivering in their dumb way in the December storm. So open and defective was the dwelling in its construction, that eddying currents of cold air found admittance at various points—in some instances carrying with them particles of the fine, sharp, hail-like snow that the gale was driving before it in blinding fury. “Dear Mother:—I arrived safely, and am very well. I did not, yesterday, find a situation suited to my taste, but expect better success to-day. I am just on the point of starting out on my search, and when settled will write you full particulars. Many kisses for yourself and the little girls. Your affectionate son, “My dear Wife:—Perhaps before this reaches you, our best friend, our human saviour, will be in heaven. There is a heaven, I believe as I never did before; and when Mrs. Fleet prays the gate seems to open, and the glory to stream right down upon us. But I fear now that not even her prayers can keep him. Only once he knew her; then he smiled and said, “Mother, it is all right,” and dropped asleep. Soon fever came on again, and he is sinking fast. The doctor shakes his head and gives no hope. My heart is breaking. Marguerite, Mr. Fleet is not dying a natural death; he has been slain. I understand all his manner now, all his desperate hard work. He loved one above him in wealth—none could be above him in other respects —and that one was Miss Ludolph. I suspected it, though, till delirious, he scarcely ever mentioned her name. But now I believe she played with his heart—the noblest that ever beat—and then threw it away, as it were a toy instead of the richest offering ever made to a woman. Proud fool that she was; she had done more mischief than a thousand such frivolous lives as hers can atone for. I can write no more—my heart is breaking with grief and indignation.” “Would Miss Ludolph be willing to come and see a dying woman? “I have been compelled to supply your place in your absence: therefore your services will be no longer needed at this store. Inclosed you will find a check for the small balance still due you.
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153Author:  Roe Edward Payson 1838-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  From jest to earnest  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: ON a cloudy December morning, a gentleman, two ladies, and a boy, stepped down from the express train at a station just above the Highlands on the Hudson. A double sleigh, overflowing with luxurious robes, stood near, and a portly coachman with difficulty restrained his spirited horses while the little party arranged themselves for a winter ride. Both the ladies were young, and the gentleman's anxious and almost tender solicitude for one of them seemed hardly warranted by her blooming cheeks and sprightly movements. A close observer might soon suspect that his assiduous attentions were caused by a malady of his own rather than indisposition on her part. IT is a common impression that impending disasters cast their shadows before; and especially in the realm of fiction do we find that much is made of presentiments, which are usually fulfilled in a very dramatic way. But the close observer of real life, to a large degree, loses faith in these bodings of ill. He learns that sombre impressions result more often from a defective digestion and disquieted conscience than any other cause; and that, after the gloomiest forebodings, the days pass in unusual sereneness. Not that this is always true, but it would almost seem the rule. Perhaps more distress is caused by those troubles which never come, but which are feared and worried over, than by those which do come, teaching us, often, patience and faith. “Mr. Hemstead, I sincerely ask your forgiveness for my folly, which you cannot condemn as severely as I do. Though unworthy, indeed, of your friendship and esteem, can you believe that I am not now the weak, wicked creature that I was when we first met? But I have not the courage to plead my own cause. I know that both facts and appearances are against me. I can only ask you, Who told His disciples to forgive each other, `seventy times seven'? “My Friend: “I am in receipt of your splendid book. It is full of valuable information, not only to beginners but to those of the ripest experience. In fact, it is the most elegant in its illustrations and execution, comprehensive in its investigations, and judicious in its teachings, of any work on the same subject ever published in our country. More than this, it is a fine illustration of what industry, intelligence, and devotion can accomplish. I give it a hearty welcome. Success to `Success with Small Fruits.'
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154Author:  Roe Edward Payson 1838-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  Opening a chestnut burr  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: `SHALL I ever be strong in mind or body again?” said Walter Gregory with irritation as he left the sidewalk and crowded into a Broadway omnibus. “Mr. Gregory:—I think your course toward Mr. Hunting to-day, was not only unjust, but even ungentlemanly. You cannot hurt his feelings without hurting mine. I cannot help feeling that your hostility is both unreasonable and implacable. In sadness and disappointment,
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155Author:  Roe Edward Payson 1838-1888Requires cookie*
 Title:  What can she do?  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: IT was a very cold blustering day in early January, and even brilliant thronged Broadway felt the influence of winter's harshest frown. There had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from the sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window sills, miniature avalanches suddenly descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air was here and there loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying masses of clouds, the rear guard of the storm that the biting northwest wind was driving seaward. “In your request and reproaches, I see the influence of another mind. Left to yourself you would not doubt me. And yet such is my love for you, I would comply with your request were it not for what passed that fatal evening. My feelings and honor as a man forbid my ever meeting your sister again till she has apologized. She never liked me, and always wronged me with doubts. Elliot acted like a fool and a villain, and I have nothing more to do with him. But your sister, in her anger and excitement, classed me with him. When you have been my loved and trusted wife for some length of time, I hope your family will do me justice. When you are here with me you will soon see why our marriage must be private for the present. You have known me since you were a child. I will be true to my word and will do exactly as I agreed. I will meet you any evening you wish on the down boat. Awaiting your reply with an anxiety which only the deepest love can inspire, I remain “I am going, Edith, to meet Mr. Van Dam, as he told me. I cannot—I will not believe that he will prove false to me. I leave his letter, which I received to-day. Perhaps you never will forgive me at home; but whatever becomes of poor little Zell, she will not cease to love you all. I would only be a burden if I stayed. There will be one less to provide for, and I may be able to help you far more by going than staying. Don't follow me. I've made my venture, and chosen my lot. “Mother, Edith, farewell! When you read these sad words I shall be dead. I fear death—I cannot tell you how I fear it, but I fear that dreadful gulf which daily grows nearer more. I must die. There is no other resource for a poor, weak woman like 16 me. If I were only strong—if I had only been taught something—but I am helpless. Do not be too hard upon poor little Zell. Her eyes were blinded by a false love; she did not see the black gulf as I see it. If God cares for what such poor forlorn creatures as I do, may He forgive. I have thought till my brain reels. I have tried to pray, but hardly knew what I was praying to. I don't understand God—He is far off. The world scorns us. There is none to help. There is no other remedy save the drug at my side, which will soon bring sleep which I hope will be dreamless. Farewell! “Miss Edith Allen: You need not fear that I shall offend again by either writing or speaking such rash words as those which so deeply pained you this morning. They would not have been spoken then, perhaps never, had I not been startled out of my self-control—had I not seen that you suspected me of evil. I was very unwise, and I sincerely ask your pardon. But I meant no wrong, and as you referred to my sister, I can say, before God, that I would shield you as I would shield her. “Guilliam:—You cannot know where I am. You cannot know what has happened. You could not be such a fiend as to cast me off and send me here to die—and die I shall. The edge of the grave seems crumbling under me as I write. If you have a spark of love for me, come and see me before I die. Oh, Guilliam, Guilliam! what a heaven of a home I would have made you, if you had only married me. It would have been my whole life to make you happy. I said bitter words to you—forgive them. We both have sinned—can God forgive us? I will not believe you know what has happened. You are grieving for me—looking for me. They took me away while you were gone. Come and see me before I die. Good-bye. I'm writing in the dark —I'm dying in the dark—my soul is in the dark— I'm going away in the dark—where, O God, where?
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156Author:  Sargent Epes 1813-1880Requires cookie*
 Title:  Peculiar  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: IT is a small and somewhat faded room in an unpretending brick house in one of the streets that intersect Broadway, somewhere between Canal Street and the Park. A woman sits at a writing-table, with the fingers of her left hand thrust through her hair and supporting her forehead, while in her right hand she holds a pen with which she listlessly draws figures, crosses, circles and triangles, faces and trees, on the blotting-paper that partly covers a letter which she has been inditing. DEAR HENRY: You kindly left word for me to write you. I have little of a cheering nature to say in regard to myself. We have moved from the house in Fourteenth Street into a smaller one nearer to the Park and to Mr. Charlton's business. His complaints of his disappointment in regard to my means have lately grown more bitter. Your allowance, liberal as it is, seems to be lightly esteemed. The other day he twitted me with setting a snare for him by pretending to be a rich widow. O Henry, what an aggravation of insult! I knew nothing, and of course said nothing, as to the extent of your father's wealth. I supposed, as every one else did, that he left a large property. His affairs proved to be in such a state that they could not be disentangled by his executors till two years after his death. Before that time I was married to Mr. Charlton. “To Carberry Ratcliff, Esq.: — Sir: By the time this letter reaches you I shall be out of your power, and with my freedom assured. Still I desire to be at liberty to return to New Orleans, if I should so elect, and therefore I request you to name the sum in consideration of which you will give me free papers. A friend will negotiate with you. Let that friend have your answer, if you please, in the form of an advertisement in the Picayune, addressed to “To Estelle: For fifty dollars, I will give you the papers you desire. “What shall I call thee? Dearest? But that word implies a comparative; and whom shall I compare with thee? Most precious and most beloved? O, that is not a tithe of it! Idol? Darling? Sweet? Pretty words, but insufficient. Ah! life of my life, there are no superlatives in language that can interpret to thee the unspeakable affection which swells in my heart and moistens my eyes as I commence this letter! Can we by words give an idea of a melody? No more can I put on paper what my heart would be whispering to thine. Forgive the effort and the failure. “Judge Onslow, late of Mississippi, and his son saved themselves by swimming. Among the bodies they identified was that of Mrs. Berwick of New York, wounded in the head. From the nature of the wound, her death must have been instantaneous. Her husband was badly scalded, and, on recognizing the body of his wife, and learning that his child was among the drowned, he became deeply agitated. He lingered till the next day at noon. The child had been in the keeping of a mulatto nurse. Mr. Burgess of St. Louis, who was saved, saw them both go overboard. It appears, however, that the nurse, with her charge in her arms, was seen holding on to a life-preserving stool; but they were both drowned, though every effort was made by Colonel Hyde, aided by Mr. Quattles of South Carolina, to save them. “To Perdita: I shall not be able to see you again to-day. Content yourself as well as you can in the company of Mozart and Beethoven, Bellini and Donizetti, Irving and Dickens, Tennyson and Longfellow. The company is not large, but you will find it select. Unless some very serious engagement should prevent, I will see you to-morrow. “Dear Brother: I have called, as you requested, on Mr. Charlton in regard to his real estate in New Orleans. Let me give you some account of this man. He is taxed for upwards of a million. He inherited a good part of this sum from his wife, and she inherited it from a nephew, the late Mr. Berwick, who inherited it from his infant daughter, and this last from her mother. Mother, child, and father — the whole Berwick family — were killed by a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi some fifteen or sixteen years ago. “Will you come and dine with me at five to-day without ceremony? Please reply by the bearer. “I thank you for all the hospitality I have received at your hands. Enclosed you will find my hotel bill receipted, also five dollars for the use of such dresses as I have worn. With best wishes for your mother's restoration to health and for your own welfare, I bid you good by. “Stricken down by a death-wound, I write this. When it reaches you, my son, you will be the last survivor of your family. The faithful negro who bears this letter will tell you all. You may rely on what he says. This crafty, this Satanic Slave Power has — I can use the pen no longer. But I can dictate. The negro must be my amanuensis.” “This Slave Power, which, for many weeks past, has been hunting down and hanging Union men, has at last laid its 14 * U bloody hand on our innocent household. Should you meet Colonel A. J. Hamilton,* * Late member of Congress from Texas. In his speech in New York (1862) he said: “I know that the loyalists of Texas have died deaths not heard of since the dark ages until now; not only hunted and shot, murdered upon their own thresholds, but tied up and scalded to death with boiling water; torn asunder by wild horses fastened to their feet; whole neighborhoods of men exterminated, and their wives and children driven away.” It is estimated by a writer in the New Orleans Crescent (June, 1863), that at least twenty-five hundred persons had been hung in Texas during the preceding two years for fidelity to the Union. The San Antonio (Texas) Herald, a Rebel sheet of November 13th, 1862, taunted the Unionists with the havoc that had been made among them! It says: “They (Union men) are known and will be remembered. Their numbers were small at first, and they are becoming every day less. In the mountains near Fort Clark and along the Rio Grande their bones are bleaching in the sun, and in the counties of Wire and Denton their bodies are suspended by scores from black-jacks.” Such are the shameless butchers and hangmen that Slavery spawns! he will tell you something of what the pro-slavery butchers have been doing. “The scoundrels have cut the telegraph wires, and we can't communicate with the forts. I leave here at once to engage a boat for the pursuit. Shall go in her myself. You must do this one thing for me without fail: Take up your abode at once, this very night, in my house, and stay there till I come back. Use every possible precaution to prevent another escape of that young person of whom I spoke to you. Do not let her move a step out of doors without you or your agents know precisely where she is. I shall hold you responsible for her security. I may not be back for a day or two, in which case you must have my wife's interment properly attended to. “Dear Mr. Vance: On leaving you at the Levee I drove straight for the stable where my horses belonged. I passed the night with my friend Antoine, the coachman. The next day I went to your house, where I have stayed with those kind people, the Bernards, ever since. “Do not think me fanciful, Mr. Vance, but the moment I set eyes on this young woman the conviction struck me, She is the lost Clara for whom we are seeking. The coincidence of age and the fact that I have had the search of her on my mind, may fully explain the impression. May. But you know I believe in the phenomena of Spiritualism. Belief is not the right word. Knowledge would be nearer the truth. “My dear little Granddaughter: This comes to you from one to whom you seem nearer than any other she leaves behind. She wishes she could make you wise through her experience. Since her heart is full of it, let her speak it. In that event, so important to your happiness, your marriage, may you be warned by her example, and neither let your affections blind your reason, nor your reason underrate the value of the affections. Be sure not only that you love, but that you are loved. Choose cautiously, my dear child, if you choose at all; and may your choice be so felicitous that it will serve for the next world as well as this. “Poor Peek, — rather let me say fortunate Peek! He fell nobly, as he always desired to fall, in the cause of freedom and humanity. His son, Sterling, is now with me; a bright, brave little fellow, who is already a great comfort and help.” “My dear Cousin: I received last night your letter from Meade's headquarters. 'T was a comfort to be assured you escaped unharmed amid your many exposures.
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157Author:  Sigourney L. H. (Lydia Howard) 1791-1865Requires cookie*
 Title:  Lucy Howard's journal  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Wednesday, August 1st, 1810.
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158Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The cassique of Kiawah  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Suppose the day to be a fine one — calm, placid, and without a cloud — even such a day as frequently comes to cheer us in the benign and bud-compelling month of April; — suppose the seas to be smooth; at rest, and slumbering without emotion; with a fair bosom gently heaving, and sending up only happy murmurs, like an infant's after a late passion of tears; suppose the hour to be a little after the turn of noon, when, in April, the sun, only gently soliciting, forbears all ardency; sweetly smiles and softly embraces; and, though loving enough for comfort, is not so oppressive in his attachments as to prompt the prayer for an iceberg upon which to couch ourselves for his future communion; supposing all these supposes, dear reader, then the voyager, running close in for the land — whose fortune it is to traverse that portion of the Atlantic which breaks along the shores of Georgia and the Carolinas — beholds a scene of beauty in repose, such as will be very apt to make him forgetful of all the dangers he has passed!
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159Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  Charlemont, or, The pride of the village  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: The stormy and rugged winds of March were overblown — the first fresh smiling days of April had come at last — the days of sunshine and shower, of fitful breezes, the breath of blossoms, and the newly-awakened song of birds. Spring was there in all the green and glory of her youth, and the bosom of Kentucky heaved with the prolific burden of the season. She had come, and her messengers were everywhere, and everywhere busy. The birds bore her gladsome tidings to “Alley green, Dingle or bushy dell of each wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side—” nor were the lately-trodden and seared grasses of the forests left unnoted; and the humbled flower of the wayside sprang up at her summons. Like some loyal and devoted people, gathered to hail the approach of a long-exiled and well-beloved sovereign, they crowded upon the path over which she came, and yielded themselves with gladness at her feet. The mingled songs and sounds of their rejoicing might be heard, and far-off murmurs of gratulation, rising from the distant hollows, or coming faintly over the hilltops, in accents not the less pleasing because they were the less distinct. That lovely presence which makes every land blossom, and every living thing rejoice, met, in the happy region in which we meet her now, a double tribute of honor and rejoicing. “Dear Barnabas: The strangest adventure — positively the very strangest — that ever happened to a son of Murkey's, will keep me from the embraces of the brethren a few weeks longer. I am benighted, bewildered, taken with art-magic, transmuted, transmogrified, not myself nor yet another, but, as they say in Mississippi, `a sort of betweenity.' Fancy me suddenly become a convert to the bluest presbyterianism, as our late excellent brother Woodford became, when he found that he could not get Moll Parkinson on any other terms — and your guess will not be very far from the true one. I am suddenly touched with conviction. I have seen a light on my way from Tarsus. The scales have fallen from my eyes. I have seen the wickedness of my ways, and yours too, you dog; and, having resolved on my own repentance, I am taking lessons which shall enable me to effect yours. Precious deal of salt will it need for that! Salt river will fall, while its value rises. But the glory of the thing — think of that, my boy! What a triumph it will be to revolutionize Murkey's! — to turn out the drinkers, and smokers, and money-changers; to say, `Hem! my brethren, let us pay no more taxes to sin in this place!' There shall be no more cakes and ale. Ginger shall have no heat i' the mouth there; and, in place of smoking meats and tobacco, give you nothing but smoking methodism! Won't that be a sight and a triumph which shall stir the dry bones in our valley — ay, and bones not so dry? There shall be a quaking of the flesh in sundry places. Flam will perish in the first fit of consternation; and if Joe Burke's sides do not run into sop and jelly, through the mere humor of the thing, then prophecy is out of its element quite. “Sir: If I understood your last assurance on leaving you this day, I am to believe that the stroke of my whip has made its proper impression on your soul — that you are willing to use the ordinary means of ordinary persons, to avenge an indignity which was not confined to your cloth. If so, meet me at the lake with whatever weapons you choose to bring. I will be there, provided with pistols for both, at any hour from three to six. I shall proceed to the spot as soon as I receive your answer. “I will meet you as soon as I can steal off without provoking suspicion. I have pistols which I will bring with me.
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160Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Requires cookie*
 Title:  The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: The district of Orangeburg, in South Carolina, constitutes one of the second tier (from the seaboard) of the political and judicial divisions or districts of that state. It is a vast plain, with a surface almost unbroken, in the southern and western portions, by elevations of any sort. In this region, it is irrigated by numerous watercourses, rivers, and creeks, that make their way through swamps of more or less width and density. These are all thickly covered with a wild and tangled forest-growth, skirted with great pines, and dwarf-oaks, to say nothing of a vast variety of shrub-trees; the foliage of which, massed together by gadding vines, usually presents, in midsummer, the appearance of a solid wall, impervious to sight and footstep. “These, old Sinkeler, are to signify that ef you don't surrender up our friend and brother officer and sodger, Leftenant Joel Andrews sometimes called `Hell-fire Dick,' of his royal majesty's regiment of loyal rangers, third company of foragers, we'll have your heart's blood out of your body, and thar shant be stick or stone standing of your big house after we've gone through it. These is to say to you that you must give him up to the barrer of dispatches, in hafe an hour after you reads 'em, or you may expeck the eternal vengeance of all consarned. “If he of H— D— [Holly-Dale] is honest, and will speak the truth, giving proof as he promises, he shall have the guaranty which he seeks. I will give him the meeting. See to the arrangemeuts for it as soon as possible. We have reached that stage of the game, when the loss of a pawn may be that of a castle; when the gain, even of a pawn, may enable us to give check-mate to a king! “Let him of H. D. know that I see no reason to depart from our arrangement as originally made. “I shall take the liberty, my dear Captain Porgy, of bringing with me a couple of additional guests, in General Greene and Colonel Lee, knowing that your provision will not only be ample, but that the taste which usually presides over your banquets will give to our friends from Rhode Island and Virginia such a notion of the tastes of Apicius and Lucullus, as certainly never yet dawned upon them in their own half-civilized regions. Your own courtesy will do the rest and will, I trust, sufficiently justify the confidence with which I have insisted upon their coming.
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