| | 161 | Author: | Cummins
Maria S.
(Maria Susanna)
1827-1866 | Add | | | Title: | El Fureidîs  | | | | 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 sun was setting over that far-famed Eastern land,
which, when the Most High divided unto the nations their
inheritance, He gave unto his chosen people,—that land
which the leader of Israel's hosts saw from afar, though he
entered not in,—that land immortalized as the paradise of
our earthly parents, the Canaan of a favored race, the birthplace
and the tomb of prophets, the scene of Jehovah's
mightiest works, the cherished spot whence the dayspring
from on high has visited us, the blessed soil which the
feet of the Prince of Peace have trod. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 162 | Author: | Curtis
George William
1824-1892 | Add | | | Title: | The Potiphar papers | | | | 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 surely unnecessary to call the attention
of so astute an observer, and so austere a critic,
as yourself, to the fact that the title of the leading
essay in this little volume (of which, permit
me to say, you are so essential an ornament) is
marked as a quotation; and a quotation, as you
will very well remember, from the lips of our
friend, Mrs. Potiphar, herself. If gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy common
sense, what a fine thing our society would
be! If to lavish money upon objets de vertu,
to wear the most costly dresses, and always to
have them cut in the height of the fashion; to
build houses thirty feet broad, as if they were
palaces; to furnish them with all the luxurious
devices of Parisian genius; to give superb banquets,
at which your guests laugh, and which
make you miserable; to drive a fine carriage
and ape European liveries, and crests, and coats-of-arms;
to resent the friendly advances of your
baker's wife, and the lady of your butcher (you
being yourself a cobbler's daughter); to talk
much of the “old families” and of your aristocratic
foreign friends; to despise labour; to
prate of “good society;” to travesty and parody,
in every conceivable way, a society which we
know only in books and by the superficial
observation of foreign travel, which arises out
of a social organization entirely unknown to us,
and which is opposed to our fundamental and
essential principles; if all this were fine, what
a prodigiously fine society would ours be! My dear Caroline,—Lent came so frightfully
early this year, that I was very much afraid
my new bonnet à l'Impératrice would not be out
from Paris soon enough. But fortunately it arrived
just in time, and I had the satisfaction
of taking down the pride of Mrs. Crœsus, who
fancied hers would be the only stylish hat in
church the first Sunday. She could not keep
her eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved,
and so calmly looking at the Doctor, that she
was quite vexed. But, whenever she turned
away, I ran my eyes over the whole congregation,
and would you believe that, almost without
an exception, people had their old things?
However, I suppose they forgot how soon Lent
was coming. As I was passing out of church,
Mrs. Croesus brushed by me: It certainly is not papa's fault that he doesn't
understand French; but he ought not to pretend
to. It does put one in such uncomfortable situations
occasionally. In fact, I think it would be
quite as well if we could sometimes “sink the
paternal,” as Timon Crœsus says. I suppose
every body has heard of the awful speech pa
made in the parlor at Saratoga. My dearest
friend, Tabby Dormouse, told me she had heard
of it every where, and that it was ten times as
absurd each time it was repeated. By the by,
Tabby is a dear creature, isn't she? It's so nice
to have a spy in the enemy's camp, as it were,
and to hear every thing that every body says
about you. She is not handsome,—poor, dear
Tabby! There's no denying it, but she can't
help it. I was obliged to tell young Downe so,
quite decidedly, for I really think he had an
idea she was good-looking. The idea of Tabby
Dormouse being handsome! But she is a useful
little thing in her way; one of my intimates. My Dear Mrs. Downe,—Here we are at last!
I can hardly believe it. Our coming was so sudden
that it seems like a delightful dream. You
know at Mrs. Potiphar's supper last August in
Newport, she was piqued by Gauche Boosey's
saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way: I hear and obey. You said to me, Go, and I
went. You now say, come, and I am coming,
with the readiness that befis a slave, and the
cheerfulness that marks the philosopher. I am very anxious that you should allow me
to receive your son Frederic as a pupil, at my
parsonage, here in the country. I have not lived
in the city without knowing something about
it, despite my cloth, and I am concerned at the
peril to which every young man is there exposed.
There is a proud philosophy in vogue
that every thing that can be injured had better
be destroyed as rapidly as possible, and put out
of the way at once. But I recall a deeper and
tenderer wisdom which declared, “A bruised
reed will he not break.” The world is not
made for the prosperous alone, nor for the
strong. We may wince at the truth, but we
must at length believe it,—that the poor in
spirit, and the poor in will, and the poor in
success, are appointed as pensioners upon our
care. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 164 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Miss Ravenel's conversion from secession to loyalty | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 shortly after the capitulation of loyal Fort Sumter
to rebellious South Carolina that Mr. Edward Colburne
of New Boston made the acquaintance of Miss Lillie
Ravenel of New Orleans. “My dear Colonel,” it ran, “I am sorry that I can give
you no better news. Waldo and I have worked like Trojans,
but without bringing anything to pass. You will
see by enclosed copy of application to the Secretary, that
we got a respectable crowd of Senators and Representatives
to join in demanding a step for you. The Secretary is all
right; he fully acknowledges your claims. But those
infernal bigots, the Sumner and Wilson crowd, got ahead
of us. They went to headquarters, civil and military. We
couldn't even secure your nomination, much less a senatorial
majority for confirmation. These cursed fools mean
to purify the army, they say. They put McClellan's defeat
down to his pro-slavery sentiments, and Pope's defeat to
I
McClellan. They intend to turn out every moderate man,
and shove in their own sort. They talk of making Banks
head of the Army of the Potomac, in place of McClellan,
who has just saved the capital and the nation. There
never was such fanaticism since the Scotch ministers at
Dunbar undertook to pray and preach down Cromwell's
army. You are one of the men whom they have black-balled.
They have got hold of the tail-end of some old
plans of yours in the filibustering days, and are making the
most of it to show that you are unfit to command a brigade
in `the army of the Lord.' They say you are not the
man to march on with old John Brown's soul and hang
Jeff. Davis on a sour apple-tree. I think you had better
take measures to get rid of that filibustering ghost. I have
another piece of advice to offer. Mere administrative
ability in an office these fellows can't appreciate; but they
can be dazzled by successful service in the field, because
that is beyond their own cowardly possibilities; also because
it takes with their constituents, of whom they are the
most respectful and obedient servants. So why not give
up your mayoralty and go in for the autumn campaign?
If you will send home your name with a victory attached
to it, I think we can manufacture a a public opinion to
compel your nomination and confirmation. Mind, I am
not finding fault. I know that nothing can be done in
Louisiana during the summer. But blockheads don't know
this, and in politics we are forced to appeal to blockheads;
our supreme court of decisions is, after all, the twenty
millions of ignorami who do the voting. Accordingly, I
advise you to please these twenty millions by putting yourself
into the fall campaign. “My dear Lillie,” began the first; and here she paused
to kiss the words, and wipe away the tears. “We have
had a smart little fight, and whipped the enemy handsomely.
Weitzel managed matters in a way that really
does him great credit, and the results are one cannon,
three hundred prisoners, possession of the killed and
wounded, and of the field of battle. Our loss was trifling,
and includes no one whom you know. Life and
limb being now doubly valuable to me for your sake, I
am happy to inform you that I did not get hurt. I am
tired and have a great deal to do, so that I can only scratch
you a line. But you must believe me, and I know that
you will believe me, when I tell you that I have the heart
to write you a dozen sheets instead of only a dozen sentences.
Good bye, my dear one. “My dear Doctor,—I have had the greatest pleasure
of my whole life; I have fought under the flag of my
country, and seen it victorious. I have not time to write
particulars, but you will of course get them in the papers.
Our regiment behaved most nobly, our Colonel proved
himself a hero, and our General a genius. We are encamped
for the night on the field of battle, cold and hungry,
but brimming over with pride and happiness. There
may be another battle to-morrow, but be sure that we shall
conquer. Our men were greenhorns yesterday, but they
are veterans to-day, and will face any thing. Ask Miss
Ravenel if she will not turn loyal for the sake of our gallant
little army. It deserves even that compliment. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 166 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Playing the mischief | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | JOSEPHINE MURRAY was one of those
young women whom every body likes
very much on a first acquaintance. “My dear Friend”—her epistle ran—
“Why did you not take the kind trouble to
tell me all that with your own kind lips?
It would have been so much more friendly
on your part, and I should have understood
every thing so much better, and without the
worry of long pondering over it. I do hope
that you will call to see me soon, if only to
assure me that you are not annoyed. Cordially,
your friend, “My dear Uncle” (he read),—“I can
not tell you how keenly I regret that any
difference should have arisen between us. I
assure you that I set the very highest value
upon the good opinion and friendship of
yourself and my dear, excellent, generous
aunt. To recover your consideration and
kindness I would do more than for any other
object which I can conceive. I feel all
this the more deeply because I hear that
your wife is ill. Is it possible that I have
been in any way the cause of her sickness?
If so, it would comfort me very much to be
allowed to see her, and to tell her of my regret
and my lasting affection. Could she
grant me this favor, and could you sanction
it? Do pray have the goodness to let me
know whether this may be. Very affectionately,
your niece, “My dear Josie” (he wrote her),—“You
have not received me for two days past.
May I ask, in all kindness, if you have tired
of me? I must remember that your situation
has changed since the day I was happy
enough to secure the promise of your hand,
and the gift, as I then trusted, of your heart.
You were then in moderate circumstances;
you, perhaps, stood in need of a protector.
Now you are rich, and can suffice for yourself,
and can do without me. Do not, I earnestly
beg of you, suppose that I wish to get
free from my engagement, or that I could
part with you, even at your desire and for
your good, without great suffering. I only
wish to be kind, to be honorable, and to show
myself truly loving. For this reason alone,
and for the sole purpose of sacrificing myself,
if need be, to your happiness, I set you free
from your engagement. But to-morrow I
shall call again, shall beg to see a lady who
is now as much above me in fortune as in all
things else, and shall renew my offer of marriage.
Very respectfully and very lovingly,
yours, “My dearest Friend,—How could you
so misjudge me? Be sure you keep your
promise to come and see me. Those who know Mr. Drummond intimately,
and those who have had the startling good
fortune to listen to him in his moments of
épanchement, can imagine how he blasphemed
over this letter. One comment, however, is
sufficiently decorous for quotation, and sufficiently
keen to be worthy of it. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 167 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | Seacliff, or, The mystery of the Westervelts | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | 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 exactly a year since I had said good-bye to Mr.
and Mrs. Westervelt, and to the two Misses Westervelt,
in Switzerland. “I write this at the earnest request of my daughter,
who is a friend of yours, and who wishes me to interfere
between you and the slanders of a certain young man who is
in the habit of visiting your country-house. My child has
repeated some of these falsehoods to me, while others are
of so shocking a nature that she declares she will never utter
them to a human being. I will not state a single one of the
vile fictions here, because I do not wish to pain you, and also
because your character is so pure that you will never find it
necessary to contradict them. Your friends will do that for
you. But even if the slanders are not worth your notice,
the slanderer ought to be punished. Of course, you will
simply exclude him from your society, without explaining
the reason to him or to any one else. The less said in
such matters, the sooner they are over. His name is Fitz
Hugh. “Dear Grandchild,—Mr. Louis Fitz Hugh has called on
me and requested your hand in marriage. I am pleased
with his statements, as well as his appearance; and, from
what I can learn concerning him, I infer that you have made
a good choice and shown your usual discretion. Your father
having left me to decide concerning the acceptance of Mr.
Fitz Hugh's suit, I take pleasure in saying that I see no
sufficient objection to it, and that I shall be happy to welcome
him into our family. I must inform you, however, that his
income is small, and that, if you marry him, you must make
up your mind to economy. But this will be all the better for
you. I should despise a girl who would draw back from a
marriage on this account. Economy is not only a virtue, but
a talent; and you ought to be proud to show that you are
capable of it. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “Dear Sir,—I find that my son has not yet turned out that
rascally Somerville, and dares not do it. I beg and insist
that you take immediate measures to send him adrift, even if
you and the gardener have to kick him off. He is such a
notorious, dirty rogue that his mere presence is enough to
ruin the name of a decent family; and, in addition, I find
that he has set afloat some scandalous stories concerning my
son's wife. Oust him instanter. Break his bones if necessary.
I will pay all damages. My son, by my desire, will
be at Seacliff to-morrow, and will support you with his authority,
whatever that may amount to. “I wish you in the first place to believe that I love you
from the bottom of my heart, and that never, never since our
marriage have I been unfaithful to you in deed or thought.
I declare this to you most solemnly, as if with my dying
breath; and I will repeat it to you at the last great day; and
God knows that it is the truth. Do not, I beg of you, believe
one word that Mr. Somerville may say against my honor as
a wife. I have sins enough to answer for, but not that one. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 168 | Author: | De Forest
John William
1826-1906 | Add | | | Title: | The Wetherel affair | | | | Published: | 2002 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | YOUNG Mr. Edward Wetherel and his more mature friend Mr. Frank
Wolverton were on the after promenade deck of the steamer Elm City,
bound from New York to New Haven. “My dear, dear friend,” she began, “what shall I say to you? We must
wait, and you must have patience; can't you? I hope and believe that you
trust me, notwithstanding that you cannot see me. You may confide in me
thoroughly. I have thought this matter all over, and, my dear, dear friend, I
have prayed over it, and it seems to me that I have received some light upon
it. When I remember how we were allowed to meet, and to learn to believe
in each other, until it was too late to disbelieve, it seems to me that we were
led by a mighty hand, a hand reaching from the other world. I think so with
frequent trembling, and yet with prevailing cheerfulness. And so I shall keep
my promise to you, in spite of your good uncle's warning. My dear, dear
friend, the friend that has come nearest to my heart of any on earth, if you
have not been always a good man heretofore, you must be a good man henceforward
for my sake, as well as for far greater motives. I will not write any more,
for perhaps I ought not. But I could not help writing this. What I have to
ask you, then, is to have patience until we can hear from my father. Is it too
much? “Dear Coz,” it ran, “I am in durance vile. I regret to darken your mind
with my calamity; but school keeps not to-day, and Walter is in no set place;
a thousand boys would not find him. Some one who knows me must come to
the Tombs and swear that I am a harmless philosopher and no midnight villain.
Such is the charge against me, that I am a midnight villain. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 169 | Author: | Derby
George Horatio
1823-1861 | Add | | | Title: | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Of a Military Survey and Reconnoissance of the route from San Francisco to the
Mission of Dolores, made with a view to ascertain the practicability
of connecting those points by a Railroad.*
* The Mission Dolores is only 2½ miles from the City Hall of San Francisco, and
is a favorite suburban locality, lying within the limits of the City Survey. This fact
is noted for the benefit of distant readers of these sketches.
It having been definitely determined, that the great Railroad,
connecting the City of San Francisco with the head of
navigation on Mission Creek, should be constructed without
unnecessary delay, a large appropriation ($120,000) was
granted, for the purpose of causing thorough military examinations
to be made of the proposed routes. The routes,
which had principally attracted the attention of the public,
were “the Northern,” following the line of Brannan Street,
“the Central,” through Folsom Street, and “the extreme
Southern,” passing over the “Old Plank Road” to the Mission.
Each of these proposed routes has many enthusiastic
advocates; but “the Central” was, undoubtedly, the favorite
of the public, it being more extensively used by emigrants
from San Francisco to the Mission, and therefore more
widely and favorably known than the others. It was to the
examination of this route, that the Committee, feeling a confidence
(eminently justified by the result of my labors) in my
experience, judgment and skill as a Military Engineer, appointed
me on the first instant. Having notified that Honorable
Body of my acceptance of the important trust confided
to me, in a letter, wherein I also took occasion to congratulate
them on the good judgment they had evinced, I drew
from the Treasurer the amount ($40,000) appropriated for
my peculiar route, and having invested it securely in loans
at three per cent a month (made, to avoid accident, in my
own name), I proceeded to organize my party for the expedition. Miss Pelican.—Never during our dramatic experience, has a
more exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our
theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright, resplendent
and particular star, whose honored name shines refulgent
at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded,
almost unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen
across the plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm
in her favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the
San Diego Lyceum, last evening, in the trying and difficult character
of Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to
describe our sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her
superhuman efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by
far the superior of any living actress; and, as we believe hers to
be the perfection of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief
that no one hereafter will ever be found to approach her. Her
conception of the character of Ingomar was perfection itself; her
playful and ingenuous manner, her light girlish laughter, in the
scene with Sir Peter, showed an appreciation of the savage
character, which nothing but the most arduous study, the most
elaborate training could produce; while her awful, change to the
stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the tragic scene of
Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss Pelican is
about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and most
thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably,
as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her most
truthfully, perfection. Mr. John Boots took the part of Parthenia
very creditably, etc., etc. Miss Pelican.—As this lady is about to leave us to commence
an engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should
regret exceedingly if any thing we have said about her, should
send with her a prestige which might be found undeserved on
trial. The fact is, Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed,
one of the most indifferent ones we ever happened to see.
She came here from the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised
her so injudiciously that she became completely spoiled. She
has performed a round of characters during the last week, very
miserably, though we are bound to confess that her performance
of King Lear last evening, was superior to any thing of the kind
we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about forty-three years of age,
singularly plain in her personal appearance, awkward and embarrassed,
with a cracked and squeaking voice, and really dresses
quite outrageously. She has much to learn—poor thing! “PISTOL SHOOTING—A CHALLENGE. By Mr. Orion W. Mudge, Esq. The Committee on Antiquities left at once, in the night
boat, for Vallejo, the residence of their Chairman, who had
informed them of the existence at that place of some specimens
of a substance termed “Old Monongahela” lately discovered
by a scientific gentleman residing at the Capitol;
—the Committee on Geology were seen eagerly inquiring
for the omnibus for Yerba Buena Island; that on Ethnology
appointed a sub-committee for the City of San Francisco,
and made arrangements for the departure of its main body
to the upper counties of the State, for the purpose of holding
interviews with the primitive inhabitants, while the Castilian
savant in the glazed hat, who had been appointed Chairman
of the Committee on Toxicology, repaired incontinently to a
drinking saloon, where he commenced a series of experiments
in hydrostatics, with the endeavor to ascertain the quantity
of fluid possible to be raised from a glass in a given time, by
a straw applied to his mouth, which resulted so much to his
satisfaction that he was seen to emerge therefrom at four
o'clock on the following morning, in a high state of pleasurable
excitement, chanting huskily as he meandered down the
street, that highly refreshing Mexican anthem— My Dear Friend:—I presume you will be perfectly
surrounded this morning, as usual, by a crowd of heartless
office-seekers; I therefore take this method of addressing you.
I thank God, I want no office for myself or others. You
have known me for years, and have never known me to do
a mean or dishonorable action. I saw W— up at Stockton
the other day, and he is very anxious that I should be
appointed Inspector of Steamboats. He said that I needed
it, and deserved it, and that he hoped you would give it to
me; but I told him I was no office-seeker—I should never
ask you for any office. He said he would write to you about
it. Please write to me as soon as you receive this, care of
Parry & Batten. My Dear Sir:—Allow me to congratulate you on your
success in obtaining your wishes. I have called twice to see
you, but have not been able to find you in. You were kind
enough to assure me, before leaving for Washington, that I
might depend upon your friendship. I think it very improbable
that I shall be re-nominated. The water-front Extension
project has not been received with that favor that I
expected, and what with Roman and the Whigs and that
d—d Herald, I feel very doubtful. You will oblige me by
retaining in your possession, until after the Convention, the
office of — to the Custom House. I must look about me to
command the means of subsistence. I will see you again on
this subject. Mon Amie:—I ave been ver malade since that I hav arrive,
I ver muche thank you for you civilite on la vapor which
we come ici, juntos. The peoples here do say to me, you si
pued give to me the littel offices in you customs house. I
wish if si usted gustan you me shall make to be Inspectors
de cigarritos. Je l' entends muy bien. Come to me see. Sir:—I have been a dimocrat of the Jackson School
thank God for twenty years. If you sir had been erected to
an orifice by the pusillanimous sufferings of the people as I
was onst I would have no clam but sir you are appointed by
Pierce for whom I voted and King who is dead as Julia's
sister and I expectorate the office for which my friends will
ask you sir I am a plane man and wont the orifice of Prover
and taster of Brandy and wish you write to me at the Niantic
where I sick three days and have to write by a young
gentleman or come to see me before eleven o'clock when I
generally get sick Yours Mr. Colected H—. Detor Sir:—I have held for the last four years the appointment
of Surveyor of Shellfish in the Custom House, and have done
my duty and understand it. I have been a Whig, but never
interfered in politics, and should have voted for Pierce—it
was my intention—but a friend by mistake gave me a wrong
ballot, and I accidentally put it in, having been drinking a
little. Dear sir, I hope you will not dismiss me; no man in
this city understands a clam as I do, and I shall be very
much indebted to you to keep my office for the present
though have much finer offers but don't wish at present to
accept. I would respectfully call the attention of the Evening
Journal to the following fable, to be found in Esop's collection,
page 194: On receiving my long-promised file of The Pioneer, accompanied
by your affecting entreaty to “Come over into Macedonia
and help us,” deeply impressed with the importance of
the crisis, I rushed about this village as wildly as a fowl decapitated,
but with purpose more intent. Dear Sir:—Perceiving by perusal of your interesting article on Astronomy,
that you have an organ which it is presumed you would like to dispose
of, I am instructed by the vestry of the meeting-house on — street,
to enter into a negotiation with you for its purchase. Please state by return
of mail, whether or no the organ is for sale; if so, the price, and if
it is in good repair, and plays serious tunes. Lieut. —, U. S. A., San Diego, Cal. My dear Charles:—I have received your modest request
of the 4th of January, that I will give you five or ten per
cent. of any sum that Congress may hereafter, in its infinite
beneficence, appropriate to my relief; a request which you
state you make to me at the instance of “a number of officers
stationed in Texas.” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 170 | Author: | Derby
George Horatio
1823-1861 | Add | | | Title: | The Squibob papers | | | | Published: | 2001 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “Dear Sir: — I am requested by a number of
your brother officers, and other gentlemen, to solicit
you to deliver the oration at the celebration
of the approaching Fourth of July, at this post. “Dear Sir: — I have the honor to acknowledge
the receipt of your very polite invitation to
address a number of my brother officers, and other
gentlemen, on the coming glorious anniversary,
at Vancouver. Dear Cate, you know I luv you mor an any
uther Girle in the World, and wat's the Reson
you allways want Me to tell you so. I no you ar
almost gitting tired of waiting for me; I no you luv
me fit to brake your hart. I no we ort to git
marid, but how kin we if we kant — sa! Wat's
the use in thinkin bout it. I thort wen I sold mi
mule that I wud have nough to pay the precher
and by you nice goun. But I tried mi luk at
poker and got strapt the fust nite. Cate, you
never played poker — in korse not. Wel, it's
a confounded mity nice game as long as you kin
sit behind a smorl par; but when you kant get a
par, the pot's gone. I luv you so much, Cate, that
I allmost hav a notion to sel me 1 horse wagin and
buck a nite or 2 at farow; but how kin I — sa!
Mi whol wagin wudent fech more an fore or 5
good staks. ile go back to the mountings an
work and dig and swet and do every thing I kin
to get money to git marid. I ain't any ways gelus,
Cate, but pleze don't hug and kiss and set on
J—n B—s lapp any noor. you know he
ain't worth shaks, he kant drink mor an 3 hornes
'thout gittin tite; I kin stand up under fiftey.
You know I kin lick him 2, and hav dun it and
kin do it agin. But I ain't a bit gelus, I no I out
to marid long ago. leven years is rether long to
kort a gal, but ile hav you yit Cate. Gentlemen, — At a large and respectable meeting
held by your guests this evening, in the bar
room of your exquisite hotel. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 172 | Author: | EDITED BY
MRS. SARAH J. HALE. | Add | | | Title: | Liberia ; or, Mr. Peyton's experiments | | | | 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 Peytons were among the earliest settlers and
largest landholders in Virginia. Their plantation
stretched along one of the southern branches of
James River, called Rock Creek, although, but for
the overshadowing of its grander neighbor, it might
well have been dignified with the name of river,
for there are many celebrated streams that are neither
so deep nor broad as that known simply as
Rock Creek. “My dear Sir,—A week or two since I wrote
you, giving a somewhat detailed statement of my
proceedings here and in Paris up to that time; and
now I have nothing very special to communicate,
except that there is a decidedly increasing interest
in England and France in favor of Liberia. By the
government and people of both these countries I
have been received in the most kind and flattering
manner. I mentioned to you that, in consequence
of the departure of the prince president for a tour
in the south of France just about the time I reached
Paris, I had promised to make another visit in
the course of a month. Accordingly, I returned on
the 15th instant, to be present and witness the entry
of the president on the 16th. A brief statement of things passing under my observation, at
the request of Rev. R. R. Gurley. Very dear Sir,—Your favor of July 18th came safe to hand;
also the file of the “Colonization Herald,” and the religious newspapers,
by Judge Benson's hand. I sincerely thank you for all.
I am happy, indeed, that the coffee I sent as a token of my good
wishes for you, and the good cause, reached you, and found acceptance.
I hope soon to be able to send some for your market,
but at present it brings us a better price on the coast; however,
you did not say what price might be relied upon. I also received
the letter and books from Dr. Malcom, and can say that they will
prove a blessing to my Sabbath-school, particularly the class on
whose account I wrote for them. In it are many men and women
of families, some native youths. His books prove to be the very
thing. I introduced them last Sabbath, to take up the morning
lesson only; read Testaments in the evening. Our new settlement
(Cresson) is going ahead; I still think it destined to be the
greatest sea-port town on the coast. Dear Sir,—I write to inform you that we are all well, hoping
you and family are the same. I never will forget you for the
great good in telling me and my father about the land of Liberia.
I have got a good home. I would not change it for any under
heaven I have tried it twenty-one years. I have borne the
heat and burden of the day, and it gets better and better. I was
eighteen years old when I came here. I have grown to be a
man; in America I never could have been a man—never would
get large enough. Would my colored brethren believe this? They
keep writing to me to tell them all about the country. Let me
tell them a little: Liberia has raised up her bowed-down head,
and has taken a stand with some of the greatest nations of the
earth. She has struck off the stone that bowed us down in America.
I have grown so large that I have had the honor and the
pleasure of being a member of the Legislature five or six years.
Did you ever hear of such a thing in America? No, no—nor
never will. I was in America a few years ago; it was all the
time, boy, where are you going? old man, which way? I was
really tired; I wanted to be a man again; but never found it until
I hit the coast of Africa. I even saw the change in the captain;
he talked so familiar to you: “What is the matter, Harris?
Harris is going to be a man again.” Sweet Liberia! the love of
liberty keeps me here. Dear Sir,—I write you a few lines by the packet, to let you
know that I have not forgotten the kindness I received from you
and the Colonization Society in preparing me for this land of liberty.
I never shall forget the heartfelt thankfulness due to the
society for helping me and my family here. We had one of the
finest passages any one could have. Plenty to eat; a good captain,
and one that was kind to all in sickness and health. All
hands were good to us. I have not wanted to return once since
I left the United States. I was twelve days at Monrovia. It is
a fine town; the people are kind, and doing well. I think this is
a much better place for new beginners. I had the African fever;
myself and wife both took it on the same day. We had it about
fourteen days. The doctor says we are over it, though we are
weak; but it is not so had as I expected. Mr. Benson is preparing
a house at Cresson for me. It is a fine location for a town
—the best one I have seen. I shall be the first one there. I
look for more by the September vessel. I shall feel lonely for
some time until more arrive. Truly I am better and better pleased with Liberia each morning
when I awake and find myself in it. I could not be prevailed
on by any earthly consideration to leave Liberia, or exchange it
for any other country. Here I am in the land of my forefathers;
here I can enjoy all those rights which a benevolent God hath so
liberally vouchsafed to man; here I can exercise and improve
my gifts and graces in enlightening, instructing, and exhorting
the benighted sons of the forest in the truths of the Christian religion;
here I can bow down in the sanctuary of the Most High,
or at home, and unmolestedly worship the God of my fathers under
my own vine and fig-tree, while none dareth to molest or
make me afraid, here my children to their latest generation can
enjoy the privileges of freemen in storing their minds with education
and useful knowledge, and participating in the duties, &c.,
of civil government; and here I have as many political, social,
and religious rights as any man any where beneath Heaven's widespread
canopy. And should not these considerations endear this
my own country to me? I say, from the bottom of my soul, with
gratitude to my good God for what I enjoy—yes. With respect to this country, my expectations are more than
realized. I have found that the opinion I formed of Liberia while
in America was very nearly correct. This country is certainly
a most beautiful one, and the climate delightful. I have often
thought, since my arrival here, how the better class of colored
people, or at least a portion of them, would flock to Liberia if
they knew the real condition of the country and people. I always
thought that it was their ignorance of the country that
caused their opposition to it, but now I am convinced of that fact.
With regard to the United States having claims on Liberia, I
would ask if England, France, Prussia, and Brazil would acknowledge
her independence if the United States had any rights
to or claim on the country? England has made this government
a present of an armed schooner, and has a consul residing here.
Brazil has also a minister residing here, but of a higher grade
than consul; he is chargé d'affaires. The facts are, I think, sufficient
to convince any reasonable person that Liberia is really
an independent republic, and that the United States has no claim
to this country. There is a kind of blind prejudice which keeps
most colored people from coming to this country, and for the life
of me it is difficult to conceive why this prejudice exists; for in
the United States we are exposed to all kinds of insults from the
whites, which, in nearly every case, we dare not resent; whereas,
in this country we are all equal, and can enjoy the shade of our
own vine and fig-tree, without even the fear of molestation. In
the United States we are considered the lowest of the low, for the
most contemptible white man is better in the eyes of the law, and
in the opinion of the majority of the whites, than the best colored
man; whereas, on the other hand, in this country there are no distinctions
of color; no man's complexion is ever mentioned as a
reproach to him; and furthermore, every one has an equal chance
and right of filling any office in the government that they may be
qualified to fill. Liberia ought to be the most interesting country
(to the colored people of the United States) in the world, from
the fact that it is the only republic entirely composed of and governed
by the colored people, and it is the only country where a
colored man can enjoy liberty, equality, and fraternity, without
having to encounter the prejudice of the whites, which exists
more or less, in some degree, in every country in which the
whites predominate. If this prejudice ever dies away, I believe
that many generations yet unborn will have passed away before
it. Although this country offers many inducements to colored
people, yet it is not a paradise; it has a few unpleasant features,
owing principally to its being a new country. The most unpleasant
feature that I know is the acclimating fever, and that is far
from being as bad as most people in the United States think it is.
On account of the improvements made, such as clearing, &c., it
is much more healthy here than formerly; and also, the kind of
treatment best adapted to the acclimating fever is better known.
The acclimating fever is nothing more than a simple chill and
fever, and persons are affected with it according to the degree of
care they take of themselves, and also much depends on the constitution
of the person. Some persons have told me that they
were sick only one day, and that slightly; while others (I speak
of old settlers) had it one week, and some have had it from six
months to a year or more. A person is seldom sick more than
from one day to three weeks at one time. I have been in the country
a little more than three months; and have had several attacks
of the fever. The longest time I was confined to bed was one
day and a half. The symptoms in my case were a slight chill,
followed by a very high fever. I felt no pain whatever during
the continuance of the fever, but always after it I would have a
slight pain in the back, which soon wore off. I would sometimes
be sick in the morning and well in the afternoon. I once had the
fever in the forenoon, and was well enough by night to attend a
tea party. I am told that all children born here, even the natives
not excepted, have the fever while very young. This I have
been told by mothers, and I have seen children with the fever
who were born here. The general health of the place seems to be
very good. A person coming here will not find large cities with
splendid buildings, and large bustling populations; but we have
only small villages with corresponding populations; you will not
hear the sound of numerous carts, drays, &c., but all the carrying
is done by native laborers, for the people have not yet begun
to use horses and oxen for such purposes. Both may be had
from the interior. Bullocks are brought down from the interior,
but only to kill. There are at present only three horses in Monrovia;
they are used only for riding. I have ridden several times
myself. The buildings are generally quite plain, built of wood,
stone, or brick. There are, however, some very neat brick buildings
in Monrovia, and along the banks of the St. Paul's River. I
made an excursion up this river a few weeks ago, and never did
I enjoy a trip more than I did this one. The waters of the St.
Paul's are delicious to the taste. The river is about half a mile
wide; its banks are from about ten to about fifteen feet high, and
lined with fine large trees with a thick undergrowth. Among the
other trees may be seen the bamboo, and that most graceful of
all trees, the palm. This is the most useful tree in Liberia. I
have drank the wine made from this tree, and have swung on
hammocks manufactured from it, and I have seen very good fishing-lines
made from it; besides, numerous other uses are made
of this tree. There are four villages on this river: Virginia, Caldwell,
Kentucky, and Millsburgh. I saw in many places people
making bricks, and busily engaged on their farms of coffee, sugar-cane,
&c. I must now come to a close, as I have but little
more space to write. I will remark that I advise no man to come
here unless he has a little money to begin with. A single man
should have at least one or two hundred dollars; although many
come here without a cent, and yet do well; but it is generally
difficult to get a start in this country without a little means. For
my own part, you may infer from what I have said that I like
my new home. Dear Sir,—I embrace this opportunity to address you a line. I
am still doing what I can to demonstrate that Liberia is a rich and
productive country. My crops of cane in 1850 produced 8000 lbs.
of good sugar, and 500 gallons of sirup. My crop last year (1851)
was not so large—only about 3500 lbs. of sugar, and 250 gallons
of sirup. This falling off was in consequence of having to neglect
my sugar-cane farm to give attention to J. R. Straw's cotton
farm. I sell my sugar at 8 and 10 cents a pounds, which is
quite a saving to the people of Liberia This year I am giving
my whole attention to cane-raising, and I have a crop now in the
ground which will produce a much larger quantity of sugar and
sirup, and beat, possibly, both my preceding crops together. A
few days ago, I, with one or two others, noticed, in many hills of
cane on my farm, from forty-nine to sixty stalks. This can not
easily be surpassed, I am persuaded, in any country. I am certainly
fully convinced that by industry a man may have all the
necessaries of life, and a surfeit of the luxuries, in this very prolific
and God-blessed country. I have the privilege, doubtless, of
saying what no other person can say in Liberia—certainly before
any other could say it, if there is any other who can say it now
—that is, I use at my table coffee, sugar, sirup, and molasses of
my own raising. I have now about twenty-five hundred coffee-trees,
which will very soon enable me to export a small quantity
to America. Dear Mr. Rambo, I wish very much to see you. How glad and
happy I should be when I meet you, and Doctor May, and Mr.
Hoffman; and then—then my heart will talk to my mouth, and
my tongue will speak all what I have done or seen. Reverend and Dear Sir,—In the following lines, which I have
taken on myself to address you, I hope to find you in the enjoyment
of good health, the same as we are at present. Our mission
still continues, with its different operations, in which we are
severally engaged, endeavoring daily to instruct the poor, benighted
heathen. Not long ago we received a letter of instruction from
our Board, that the lead of the mission affairs is now considered
to be under the superintendence of my native brother and cousin,
Lewis K. Crocker, at Little Bassa, and myself; which serious
charge to keep we humbly depend on God to help us. Our schools
are still kept daily, this, and that of Little Bassa, where brother
Crocker resides. Our children are improving well in their acquisitions
of the different branches of knowledge, such as spelling
hard words, reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, natural philosophy,
&c. I am glad to state that the grown people of this
country, though they have not the privilege of improving themselves
by daily instruction, like the children, yet many of them
are getting civilized, getting acquainted with the law, political
economy, and secular improvement; forgetting their old habits,
and adopting those of their civilized fellow-creatures. Brethren and Fellow-countrymen,—You are aware that I
was appointed traveling agent to Africa on the 23d of last December,
1851, by the New York and Liberia Agricultural Association.
I returned to New York on the 12th November, 1852,
and it now becomes my duty to give you some account of Africa,
and of the benefits to be obtained by emigration to that country,
and whether there are any benefits to be obtained by so doing, or
not. I will endeavor to give you as true a statement as my
humble ability will admit. In truth and soberness, it would be
needless for me to tell you that Africa flows with milk and honey,
or that corn grows without planting. Liberia truly is a garden-spot;
her lands are beautiful, her soil is most fertile, her prairies
and her forests are blooming and gay, her rivers and streams
abound with fish, and her forests with game. Her Constitution
is a republican government, and a most excellent code of laws
are strictly observed. There are several churches and schools
in Monrovia, and they are well filled with people and scholars.
The Monrovians are the most strictly moral, if not the most
strictly religious people, I ever saw. Dear Sir,—I am well, and hope you are the same. I arrived
safe after a passage of thirty-seven days from the Capes. I am
happy to inform you that instead of being received in Baltimore
in chains, as I was told I would be, I was received very hospitably.
I am certainly grateful to the society for sending me to
Africa. I am perfectly satisfied with the change, only that I had
not started in 1842 instead of 1852. Here I stand erect and free,
upon the soil of my ancestors, and can truly say to all of my race,
you that would be free, Africa is your home, and the only home
where he that is tinctured with African blood can enjoy liberty.
This alone of him that loves liberty, for it is liberty alone that
makes life dear. He does not live at all who lives to fear. Please
say to any that may come to your office, that I say, come to Africa
and assist us in raising a light that may never go out. Enterprise
is what we want to make this country and people equal
with any on the face of the globe. Should any of the people of
Camden county, New Jersey, come to you for information, show
them this letter—tell them that I say there is land enough and
provision enough, by industry, for every enterprising colored man
in the United States. I find in Edina a fine soil, that will raise
any thing that a tropical country will produce. A fine, healthy-looking
people, that are kind and benevolent—who receive the
emigrants with the greatest kindness, and welcome them to the
land of liberty. Most respected Sir,—Liberia is destined to be the glory, the
home, and the resting-place for all the dark race. Then let them
come home, and rove abroad no longer, and that the chains of all
who will or could come and will not may be made tenfold faster,
because here they can come and be free. I mean my brethren
of color. There has been no disturbance with the republic by
the natives. Dear Friend,—Through a kind Providence we landed here on
the 6th instant, in forty days from Baltimore. All well. I went
ashore and met for the first time in my life on the same platform
with all men, and the finest people in the world. I never met
with more kindness in my life, and every attention is paid to visitors.
On Sabbath day there were seven flags flying in the harbor.
I attended the Methodist Sabbath-school, and found it interesting;
was invited to address it, and made some remarks.
There were seventy-five scholars in the school. I have been up
the St. Paul's River. It is the finest country in the world. Mr.
Blackledge's sugar farm is splendid. Dined with Mr. Russel,
Senator of New Virginia, and think his land somewhat better
than some of the rest. The river is sixty feet deep. Every
thing is getting along well, and all that is wanted are industrious
men and good mechanics. I would say to my friends, that every
thing that I have seen surpasses my expectations. Should I be
spared to return, you shall see some articles that I intend bringing
with me. I wish you would try to make some arrangement
with the society to let me off with a free passage home, as I
want to labor for the cause, and my means will be far run by the
time I get to Philadelphia. Brother Williams intends doing all
he can for the cause. We intend to go into the coffee business.
Our object is to get five hundred acres of land in one plot, and
have it settled by none but respectable people from Pennsylvania;
and I think that if you could send some from Philadelphia it
would have a good effect. Dear Sir,—I avail myself of the present opportunity to address
you a line or two, hoping they may find you as well as they leave
me. I had laid off to write to you before this, but I have not
done so; however, I hope you will take the will for the deed. I
have now been a resident of Liberia for upward of two years, and
I think I can now safely express my opinion as regards the advantages
to be gained by locating here. Unquestionably this is
the place, and these are the shores which are to contain the multitudes
which have for ages been laboring under the greatest disadvantages,
and who have been allured into the belief that they
will not be placed under the inconvenience of removing; but the
time has come which proves to a demonstration, more and more,
that this is a forlorn hope. Doubtless there are many who a few
years ago spurned the thought of leaving, who now turn their
eyes in solicitude to various parts for relief, but there is no quarter
which presents equal attractions with that presented by Liberia,
and they know it; and although they may be men of penetration,
who foresee that something must be done, and these may
be men of influence, who will exert this influence in a contrary
direction, yet I believe the masses will speak for themselves, and
such a mighty flood will be poured upon these shores as has not
been witnessed since the world began. I have not written any
on this subject, but I watched with increasing interest the “signs
of the times,” as exhibited in the United States, and I am convinced
that my impressions are not erroneous. There are many
false representations made to deter persons who are anywise inclined
to emigrate to this country, but I feel confident that those
who use this means to oppose us had better begin to think of
some other method, for they will ultimately be exposed in the
midst of their base attempts. Truth will eventually triumph over
falsehood. Gentlemen,—I promised to let you hear from me when in Liberia,
Africa, but although I have been here two months, I can
not at this time give you much account of the place. This little
republic is so far ahead of what I expected to find it, that your
good people of the United States would scarcely think I were
narrating truth were I to describe all that I have seen. Liberia
is a fine, fertile country. Things of every kind grow here. The
people are more comfortable in every respect, and enjoy themselves
much better than I have ever known them to do elsewhere.
The houses are very large, and are built mostly of brick and
stone; they are two stories and two stories and a half high;
from 30 to 50 feet front, and from 25 to 40 feet deep. The steps
to these houses are composed of iron ore—a substance on which
the city is built. Iron ore is as plentiful in Monrovia as common
stone is in Williamsburgh. Very dear Sir,—Fishtown was reoccupied on the 11th of October,
and the settlement is progressing rapidly—far in advance of
what it was before the massacre. The immigrants by the Zeno,
Morgan Dix, Liberia Packet, and Ralph Cross, enjoy much better
health down there than they did up at this place, and even the old
settlers moving there have derived much benefit. It has already
commenced attracting settlers from other settlements in this
county, and I am sanguine that in one or two years it will be in
advance of the other settlements of this county. Physicians
pronounce it a good place for emigrants to pass through their
acclimation, and I know it to be an excellent place for them to
to do well after acclimation. Sharp, Till, and Taylor, by the
Ralph Cross, from New Jersey, are doing pretty well for beginners.
They seem to be fine, industrious people, especially the
two former. They occupy three of the houses I built on the
banks of the St. John's River, opposite Factory Island, by direction
of your Board, and their produce is growing around them
finely. They would have settled at Fishtown had it been occupied
sooner. My dear Sir,—In your letter you expressed a desire to know
my first impressions of Liberia and Liberian society. On my arrival
at Monrovia, Mr. James very kindly invited us to spend the
day at his house, which invitation we accepted. While on shore,
I became acquainted with quite a number of intelligent ladies
and gentlemen. The society at Monrovia I think similar to that
of Philadelphia, while that at Bassa Cove and Edina I think less
favorably of. I am now living at Mount Vaughan, about two
and a half miles from Cape Palmas, at which place I am employed
as an assistant teacher in the high school belonging to the
Protestant Episcopal Mission, for which I receive three hundred
dollars. The society at Palmas, when we compare the number,
is equal to that of Monrovia in point of intelligence. This colony
is in quite a flourishing condition. There are in Palmas seven
yoke of oxen, well broken, and work quite steadily. We get the
bullocks from the natives, at eight dollars a piece. I have drawn
my farm land, and planted five hundred coffee-trees, twelve
pounds of ginger, and a thousand cassada sticks, besides arrow-root,
pea-nuts, and fruit trees. We have an abundance of fresh
vegetables, egg-plants, tomatoes, and fine large cabbage. Plenty
of venison, fresh fish, and oysters. We are on the eve of declaring
our independence. The spirit with which the people take
hold of the subject would do credit to 1776. There will be a
Convention held next week, to prepare a Constitution for our
new state. Dear Sir,—I received your letter in answer to mine, and was
very glad to hear from you; also to receive those papers you
sent me. My health and that of my family is tolerable. At
present we are perfectly satisfied, and glad we came here. The
society did a good part by us. I have a house and ten acres of
good land; all but three acres in cultivation. I do not find it so
warm here as I had been told or as I expected. I have tried
both seasons. Tell the colored people they need not be afraid to
come, but they must be industrious, or they had better stay where
they are. I would not change homes now if they would give
me five hundred dollars and free toleration. Every man can
vote. I visited the courts, where I saw colored men judges,
grand and petit jurymen, squires, constables, &c. Business is
carried on as correctly as in the United States. Dear Sir,—You wish that I would give some statement of
things in general, and in particular of the growth of cotton, rice,
&c. Our answer is this: this is emphatically a tropical region,
as all geographers will tell you. You have only to put your seed
into the ground, and with half the labor you have to perform in
the states you here may make a comfortable living. Cotton
and rice grow here as well as in your Southern States. It is
true, a fair trial was never made for the culture of that valuable
staple (cotton), enough to prove that it can be raised in great
quantity. Rice is indigenous to this country: it will grow almost
any where you may plant it, on high or low land. We have
coffee, potatoes, ginger, arrow-root, and pepper. There has not
been much pains taken with the planting of corn; enough has
been done, however, to satisfy one that it can be made, for I have
eaten as much as I wanted in proof of it. Gentlemen,—Since I have been here I have done very well,
better than I expected. I have bought five hundred dollars worth
of goods and paid for them. I have bought ten bullocks. I have
on hand one hundred bushels of rice. I paid in trade about forty
cents. If I keep which I shall do three months longer, I can get
$1 50 per bushel for it. I also have on hand six tons of cam-wood.
I want to increase it to ten tons by next month, and shall
ship it to England by the steamer on the 7th, and remit the money
to New York by a bill of exchange, so as to have more funds here
in the vessel which I understood will sail from New York with
our emigrants in the spring. I had only eight hundred dollars
worth of goods when I started from New York. I have on my
shelves one thousand dollars worth now. Notwithstanding, I
shall send one thousand dollars to New York after more goods.
I also have fifty pounds of ivory, worth here one dollar per pound.
I write this to show you what can be done here with a very little
money. If a man has half what I had he would soon get rich, if
he conducted himself aright; if a man has nothing, and came out
under our Association, having a house and lands cleared, he would
soon rise, if he has any spirit; therefore, come one, come all to
the sunny climes of Africa. Sir,—As I look upon you as being an old friend of mine, I take
pleasure in addressing you a few lines to let you know something
about how we are getting along in Liberia, believing you to be a
true friend to Liberia, and to the colored race. Mr. Williams, a free colored man of Pennsylvania, intelligent,
respectable, and rich for one of his class, was sent about a year
since to Liberia, by an association of his people in this state, who
desired to learn the prospects that country held out for the emigrants.
The following is an extract from his report: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 173 | Author: | Hale
Sarah Josepha Buell
1788-1879 | Add | | | Title: | Northwood; or, Life north and south | | | | 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: | Sidney Romilly, the eldest of a numerous family,
was a native of New Hampshire. The local situation
of the little village in which he was born, offered few
temptations to the speculator, and the soil promised no
indulgence to the idle; but it abundantly repaid the
industrious cultivator. It was therefore inhabited, almost
exclusively, by husbandmen, who tilled their own farms
with their own hands, laboring actively six days in the
week, and on the seventh, offering, to that Being who
alone could crown their labors with success, the unfeigned
homage of contented minds and grateful hearts. My Dearest Mother,—I now take my pen to inform
you I am well, and hope this letter will find you enjoying
the same blessing. We had a very uncomfortable
journey, jolting along over the rough roads, up hill and
down; but we reached the end of it in safety, which I
take to be a special interposition of Providence, considering
the great length of the way, and my being totally
unused to traveling. Mr. Brainard has a fine house, the
prettiest I have seen in Charleston; and I like the house
well, and I should like the place very well if it were not
for the black people—niggers they call 'em here. Oh!
dear mother, you know how frightened I always was at
a negro—how I used to run behind your chair when old
Sampson came to the door, and always screamed when
he offered to step in. But, mercy! here the negroes are
as thick as bees; the streets are full of 'em. I am sure
I did not imagine there were so many in the universe.
When our carriage drove up to the gate, out bolted a
great black fellow, and Mr. Brainard shook hands with
him, and was as glad to see him as could be; but I trembled
all over, for I began to remember the stories I had
read of slaves murdering their masters and mistresses,
and many such bloody things. I guess Mr. Brainard
saw I was pale, for he told me not to be frightened at
Tom, who was one of the best creatures living. But
when we entered the hall, there stood a row of blacks,
laughing till their mouths were stretched from ear to ear,
to welcome us. They all crowded round my husband,
and I was so frightened, thinking some of them might
have knives in their hands to kill us, that I could not
help shrieking as loud as I could; and the slaves ran
away, and Mr. Brainard looked angry, and I hardly know
what happened next, for I believe I fainted. I am sure
if I had only known this was a negro country, I never
would have come here. They have a great many parties
and balls here. I don't go to the balls, for I never learned
to dance, and I think they are sinful; but I go to all the
parties, and dress just as rich and fine as I please. I
have a new head-dress, the prettiest thing my eyes ever
beheld; I wish you could see it. My husband buys me
every thing I ask for, and if I did not eternally see them
black people about me, I should be quite happy. Every
single day I am urging Mr. Brainard to send them off.
2
He always tells me it is impossible, and would be cruelty
to them, as they are contented and happy, and have no
other home or country where they could be received.
But I intend to tease him till he does. I don't care
where the creatures go to, nor much what becomes of
them, if they can only be out of my sight. Pray give
my love to Betty Baily, and tell her I wish she would
come and live with me, and then I should want no other
help. I often tell my husband I could do my work
alone, but he laughs, and says, “What a ridiculous thing
it would be to see you in the kitchen.” And besides, he
says, no white person will live long if they attempt to
labor in this warm climate. What to do, I know not,
but I am determined to get the black creatures away. My Dearest Mother—I received your kind letter of
February first, and I should have answered it immediately,
but I have had a world of trouble of late. I
do not know how to tell you what I have discovered;
but yet I must, that you may pray for me, that my faith
may be strengthened, and that I may be kept from temptation.
I have often heard you say, the children of professors
were especially protected by divine grace; and I
am sure I need such protection—for, don't you think Mr.
Brainard is a pope, or a papist, I forget which they call
'em, and he goes to a chapel and calls it a meeting, when
it is no more like our meetings than it is like a ball. I
have been twice, but I am determined to go no more,
and I say everything I can against it, for it is so different
from our christian worship I am sure it must be
wrong. I am sure you will be very much shocked to
hear of this, and I was when I discovered it; and I have
a thousand times wished myself in New England. But
don't say a word about it—you know who I would not
have hear of it for all the world. Your letter was the first consolation I have received
since we parted. You have not then forgotten me; you
will not then forget me, though my father has treated
you so angrily. But he is my father, and has always
been so kind, I must bear with his severity now without
murmuring. He says I am too young and inexperienced
to know what will most conduce to my own happiness;
but I know my own heart, and feel that my affections
can never be altered or divided. By your letter I perceive
you judge it best to accept the proposal of Mr.
Lee, and perhaps it is so. O! these cruel prejudices of
my father, that make such a sacrifice necessary. Why
should riches be thought so indispensable to happiness?
I would rather live in poverty all my life, than have
you exposed to the dangers of the seas to acquire wealth.
Yet, if you think it best to accept your friend's offer, I
will not urge your stay; only do not let time or distance
blot Zemira from your memory or your heart. You
need not bid me be faithful: I cannot be otherwise, for
the idea of you is blended with every thought, every
sentiment, and lesson you have taught me. And when
I read over those passages in my books your pencil
marked, I almost fancy I can hear your voice. I shall
read them constantly during your absence; but what
will remind you of My Dear Romilly,—When I tell you we reached
home in safety, and are now enjoying excellent health,
you will know that I, at least, am happy. But it is that
kind of happiness which makes no figure in description.
It is the quiet consciousness of peace, the calm security
of reciprocated affection, in short, the `sober certainty
of waking bliss.' And for much of this felicity we must
thank you; certainly for the final reconciliation, without
which Zemira's mind never would have been at rest.
And how shall we requite your disinterestedness?—your
heroism? We pray daily that God would bless you,
and assuredly He will, if to obey His command and do
as you would be done by is holy in His sight. Property
you do not want; yet, I will acknowledge my selfishness,
I have sometimes wished you did, that we might
show how highly we rate the favors you have conferred.
But gold cannot gain friendship, nor can it requite the
sacrifices you made for me. I will tell you how I propose
to reward you—even by furnishing you with wise
precepts for the better guidance of your sublunary course.
You, I presume, will allow that those who have done us
the most essential and generous services, are always most
willing to pardon our officiousness. The inference is
obvious. I feel secure of your favor although I should
harass you with my old saws by way of advice. My Dear Stuart—I have made a new acquaintance,
and one from which I promise myself much pleasure;
yet for fear you should call me romantic, I will describe
the man and relate the accident which introduced him,
and then I think you will allow there is a necessity—I
hope not a fatal one—for the present intercourse. “Friend Stuart,—Frankford certainly has, as you
intimated, his prejudices against America; still he is a
reasonable man, and although admitting conviction slowly
and only on the most irrefragable proofs, yet I think he
is becoming not only tolerant but liberal in his estimation
of our character and customs. Neither is it strange that
the aristocratical spirit of the old world should be alarmed
and revolt at the democratical influence which the new
is so rapidly obtaining. We cannot expect those who
pride themselves on an ancestry, whose pure blood has
flowed through proud veins for many hundred years,
will forget at once this fancied superiority, and look on
what they call our plebeian origin, without feelings of
contempt. “My ever Dear Nephew:—The sickness that oppresses
me, and which is hurrying me to the grave, is
on my heart. I am sick of the follies and vices of the
world; I am miserable when reflecting on my own. I
have longed and pined to write and confide to you all
my troubles and griefs; but I could not persuade myself
to damp the pleasures I hoped you were enjoying with
your friends. My Dear Mr. Romilly:—Your uncle is no more;
and his earnest request, must be my apology for addressing
you, and detailing some of the unfortunate circumstances
which have occurred to him since you left the
city. It is an unpleasant office, and one I would gladly
have been excused from performing; but I could not
refuse Mr. Brainard, and I trust your good sense will not
confound the narrator of evil tidings with the unpleasant
intelligence he must communicate. My ever Dear Friend,—It is but a short time since
I despatched you a packet so voluminous that it might
undoubtedly claim the respectable name of folio, and I
then promised I would not again intrude under, at least,
a quarter; but I must write, for there are feelings impossible
to be restrained when we are blessed with a
friend to whom they may be communicated. “My dear Miss Redington,—I hardly dare write
what necessity compels me; and yet I know, in my situation,
sincerity is the most atoning virtue I can practice.
Let me then spare all circumlocution, and briefly
state that our connexion must, from this time be at an
end. Circumstances which I cannot explain make it
impossible I should ever visit New England again, or
not till a distant period. I lament I ever saw you; I
lament our engagement. But these reflections are now
too late. Write not—forget me—or think me unworthy
your affection. May heaven bless you. Farewell! My Dear Romilly,—This is the third letter I have
written you since the misfortunes and decease of Mr.
Brainard, your excellent uncle. To the two others I
have received no answer: had they reached your hand
you could not have neglected me, so I flatter myself;
and I must believe they miscarried. To obviate all possibility
of a like fate befalling this, I have engaged Mr.
Tracy, who is on a tour to Boston, a friend of mine, and
one well entitled to your confidence, to take a trip to
New Hampshire and deliver it into your hands. Mr. Romilly,—Sir, we have traced Cox to New
Orleans, and recovered the money. It is all safe in my
hands, waiting the disposal you shall order. I hope it
will be convenient for you to come here immediately;
indeed, it is absolutely necessary if you intend to redeem
the estate of your late uncle. Dunbar was a good man,
but he has transferred the property to another; subject,
however, to the articles of redemption he entered into
with your uncle. “Sir—I have received your letter, and am glad of
your good fortune; but I think it my duty to inform
you our correspondence must be at an end. I know you
will want me to reside at the South; but to go there and
be a partaker in the sin of slavery is what I will not do.
You can doubtless find, in Charleston, some fair lady
more worthy your love, and more congenial to your
manner of life than my education and principles would
permit me to be. You need not write, for my resolution
is taken. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 174 | Author: | Halpine
Charles G.
(Charles Graham)
1829-1868 | Add | | | Title: | Baked meats of the funeral | | | | 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: | [January 1st, 1860.] My Dear Brady—Yours of the 16th, covering an invitation
of the New York National Club, to pay honor to
Generals Sherman and Thomas, has come to hand; but I
cannot be with you, though the movement has all my
sympathies. We had great difficulty in finding the right
kind of tools at first; but they are now being discovered
by experience: and in Sherman and Thomas, as you say,
we have two of the keenest edge and finest mettle. Even
had I time, why should I attend your festival? Things are
all going well to-day; and it is only when disaster happens
that the Secretary of War is asked after or remembered by
an indignant public. THE SECESH THINK IF GRANT REMAINS IN POWER
THEY ARE GONE. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the
receipt of a communication from the Adjutant-General
of the Army, dated June 13, 1862, requesting
me to furnish you with the information
necessary to answer certain Resolutions introduced
in the House of Representatives, June 9, 1862, on
motion of the Hon. Mr. Wickliffe of Kentucky—
their substance being to inquire: “Sir:—While recently in command of the
Department of the South, in accordance with
the laws of war and the dictates of common sense,
I organized and caused to be drilled, armed, and
equipped a regiment of enfranchised bondmen,
known as the 1st South Carolina Volunteers. “BIG THINGS AROUND—HUSH! HUSH!” “I am sorry to see such a disposition to condemn
a brave old soldier, as General Hunter is
known to be, without a hearing. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 175 | Author: | Harris
George Washington
1814-1869 | Add | | | Title: | Sut Lovingood | | | | 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: | “Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath.” “He's a
fixin fur the heavings.” “He's a spreadin his tail
feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready
tu go up'ards.” “Wo, Shavetail.” “Git a fiddil; he's
tryin a jig.” “Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove
co'm didn't yu?” “Taint co'n, hits redpepper.” I mayn't git the chance tu talk eny tu yu, so
when Wat gits home, an' axes enything 'bout the comb an' calliker, yu
tell him yer mam foun the bundil in the road. She'll back yu up in
that ar statemint, ontil thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu kill snap-beans. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 176 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Add | | | Title: | Mliss | | | | 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: | Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside
in gentler undulations, and the river grows less
rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red
mountain stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from
the red road at sunset, in the red light and the
red dust its white houses look like the outcroppings
of quartz on the mountain-side. The red
stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost
to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent,
turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way
places, and vanishing altogether within a hundred
yards of the town. It is probably owing
to this sudden twist in the road that the advent
of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended
with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting
from the vehicle at the stage office the too-confident
traveler is apt to walk straight out of
town under the impression that it lies in quite
another direction. It is related that one of the
tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of
these self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag,
umbrella, New York Mercury, and other evidences
of civilization and refinement, plodding
along over the road he had just ridden, vainly
endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's
Pocket. “Respected Sir:—When you read this I am run
away. Never to come back. Never, never never.
You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my
Amerika's Pride (a highly-colored lithograph from a
tocacco-box) to Sally Flanders. But don't you give
anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dair to. Do
you know what my oppinion of her, it is this, she is
perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present
from yours respectfully, “Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county
seat. Our case is won. We leave here next week. “Dear Papa:—Please tell Mr. Gray that his protege
is safe. Mr. Gray:—If you care a damn for Mliss, come and
take care of her. The devil has got her, and his name
is Wade. Dear Lissy:—Trust the hearer of this as you would the
writer. We long for your return. Your suit is won. I
would write more, but I do not know whose hands this letter
may fall into. Regina sends her love. Your waiting friend, Dear Sister:—Just got a letter from Mr. Gray, telling me
that I am wanted at home. Been wanting to come home for
two months, but don't see just how to get away. Truth is,
little Clytie is the prettest girl in Smith's Pocket, and I got a
little sweet on her. Couldn't help it. That's the kind of fellow
I am. Now, if you'll write to Clytie, and invite her to
spend a few months with you, it'll be all right. Big brother'll
go along to make sure it's all right. If you don't I'm afraid
there'll be a row, and the boys up here are all crack shots
Your erring brother, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 177 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Add | | | Title: | Tales of the Argonauts, and other sketches | | | | 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: | “Dear Steve, — I've been thinking over your proposition
to buy Nichols's quarter-interest, and have concluded
to go in. But I don't see how the thing will pay
until you have more accommodation down there, and for
the best class, — I mean my customers. What we want
is an extension to the main building, and two or three
cottages put up. I send down a builder to take hold of
the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him; and
you are to look after them as you would for one of us. “My dear Sir, — I do not know whether the bearer
will suit you; but, unless the office of `devil' in your
newspaper is a purely technical one, I think he has all
the qualities required. He is very quick, active, and
intelligent; understands English better than he speaks
it; and makes up for any defect by his habits of observation
and imitation. You have only to show him how to
do a thing once, and he will repeat it, whether it is an
offence or a virtue. But you certainly know him already.
You are one of his godfathers; for is he not Wan Lee, the
reputed son of Wang the conjurer, to whose performances
I had the honor to introduce you? But perhaps
you have forgotten it. “Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on
Heavytree Hill on Christmas Day. Invite what friends
you choose. “O Frank! — Don't you remember what we agreed
upon anent the baby? Well, consider me as dead for the
next six months, or gone where cubs can't follow me, —
East. I know you love the baby; but do you think, dear
boy, — now, really, do you think you could be a father
to it? Consider this well. You are young, thoughtless,
well-meaning enough; but dare you take upon yourself
the functions of guide, genius, or guardian to one so
young and guileless? Could you be the Mentor to this
Telemachus? Think of the temptations of a metropolis.
Look at the question well, and let me know speedily; for
I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking up an
awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like a
maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 178 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Add | | | Title: | Cousin Maude ; And, Rosamond | | | | 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 doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know
the old place. Thar's a big dining-room run out to the
South, with an expansion-table mighty nigh a rod long,
and what's more, it's allus full, too, of city stuck-ups—
and the way they do eat! I haint churned nary pound
of butter since you went away. Why, bless yer soul, we
has to buy. Do you mind that patch of land what the
Doctor used to plant with corn? Well, the garden sass
grows there now, and t'other garden raises nothin' but
flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on purpose
to tend 'em. He's writin' this for me. Thar's a tower
run up in the North-east eend, and when it's complete,
she's goin' to have a what you call 'em—somethin' that
blows up the water—oh, a fountain. Thar's one in the
yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's got one of Cary's
rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin' crazy about,
and every hot day she keeps John a turnin' the injin' to
squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like
a thunder-shower! Thar's a bath-room, and when them
city folks is here some on 'em is a washin' in thar all the
time. I don't do nothin' now but wash and iron, and if
I have fifty towels I have one! But what pesters me
most is the wide skirts I has to do up; Miss Canady wears
a hoop bigger than an amberell. They say Miss Empress,
who makes these things, lives in Paris, and I wish you'd
put yourself out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to
quit sendin' over them fetched hoops. Thar aint no sense
in it! We've got jiggers in every chamber where the
water spirts out. Besides turnin' the injin, John drives
the horses in the new carriage. Dr. Canady looks poorly,
and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but I knows
the claws is thar. She's about broke him of usin' them
maxims of his, and your poor marm would enjoy it a
spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity him after a while.
I do, and if things continners to grow wus, I shall just ask
pra'rs for him in my meetin'. Elder Blossom is powerful
at that. My health is considerable good, but I find I grow
old. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 179 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Add | | | Title: | The War-path | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | A dense fog hung over the placid surface of the Delaware
River, and enveloped in its folds many of the ancient
buildings of Burlington, then the capital of the colony of
New Jersey. The stately mansion of the British governor,
William Franklin, situated on the beautiful green bank so
much admired at the present day, was wrapped in the
vapour, and, as was often said of its occupant, seemed
lost in a mist. Even the haunted tree in front of the
governor's residence—the witches' sycamore—was reported
by fearful pedestrians to have vanished, or at least to have
become invisible. “Oh, my dear Julia! I have just learned, by a letter from
Mr. Cameron, brought to my father by the dumb but faithful
Skippie, that you have been seized by the Indians and carried
a captive into the wilderness! But the letter says a
great Indian-fighter, named Hugh McSwine, and a band
of Scots, are in pursuit, and will certainly overtake your
captors. This is startling intelligence, indeed, and distressing,
though relieved somewhat by the comfortable assurance—which
is sanctioned by the prophetic looks and decisive
gestures of Skippie—that you will soon be restored to
your friends. And Skippie, in two words, has told me to
write this letter, making me understand, I scarcely know
how, that it will certainly be delivered into your hands.
He sets out on his return in the morning, and I am resolved
to write all night!” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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