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UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 (42)
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1Author:  Brackenridge H. H. (Hugh Henry) 1748-1816Add
 Title:  Modern chivalry  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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2Author:  Brackenridge H. H. (Hugh Henry) 1748-1816Add
 Title:  Modern chivalry  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: JOHN FARRAGO, was a man of about fifty-three years of age, of good natural sense, and considerable reading; but in some things whimsical, owing perhaps to his greater knowledge of books than of the world; but, in some degree, also, to his having never married, being what they call an old batchelor, a characteristic of which is, usually, singularity and whim. He had the advantage of having had in early life, an academic education; but having never applied himself to any of the learned professions, he had lived the greater part of his life on a small farm, which he cultivated with servants or hired hands, as he could conveniently supply himself with either. The servant that he had at this time, was an Irishman, whose name was Teague Oregan. I shall say nothing of the character of this man, because the very name imports what he was. I have two objections to this duel matter. The one is, lest I should hurt you; and the other is, lest you should hurt me. I do not see any good it would do me to put a bullet through any part of your body. I could make no use of you when dead, for any culinary purpose, as I would a rabbit or a turkey. I am no cannibal to feed on the flesh of men. Why then shoot down a human creature, of which I could make no use. A buffalo would be better meat. For though your flesh might be delicate and tender; yet it wants that firmness and consistency which takes and retains salt. At any rate it would not be fit for long sea voyages. You might make a good barbecue, it is true, being of the nature of a racoon or an opossum; I but people are not in the habit of barbecuing any thing human now. As to your hide, it is not worth the taking off, being little better than that of a year old colt. “Know all men by these presents, that I Teague O'Regan, Major, am held and firmly bound unto John Hardicknute, in the sum of one hundred pounds, money of the United States, well and truly to be paid to him the said John, his heirs, executors, administators, or assigns. Given under my hand and seal this second day of June, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-one. Would wish to have the pleasure of Major O'Regan's company this evening at tea. Lawyer Crabtree and Doctor Drug will be here; and you know we shall split our sides laughing at the ninnies. You're so full of your jokes that I want you here. Dear Major, don't be engaged; but come. You will instantly do one of two things, either relinquish your attention to Miss Muslin, and be no more in her company; or meet me this evening precisely at six o'clock, on the commons the back of the Potter's-field, with a brace of pistols, and a second, to take a shot. I shall have a coffin ready, and a grave dug, for which ever of us shall have occasion to make use of it.
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3Author:  Brackenridge H. H. (Hugh Henry) 1748-1816Add
 Title:  Modern chivalry  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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4Author:  Brackenridge H. H. (Hugh Henry) 1748-1816Add
 Title:  Modern chivalry  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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5Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Add
 Title:  The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion  
 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 dear Champ—I have heard of your conduct, sir, and have no intention of being made the laughing-stock of my neighbors, as the father of a fool. No, sir! I decline being advised and pitied, and talked about and to by the country on your account. I know why you have left the Hall, sir, and taken up your residence in town. Alethea has told me how you insulted her, and flouted her well-meant advice, and because she entreated you, as your sister, not to go near that young woman again, tossed from her, and fell into your present courses. I tell you again, sir, that I will not endure your conduct. I won't have the parson condoling, and shaking his head, and sighing, and, when he comes in the Litany to pray for deliverance from all inordinate and sinful affections—from all the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil—have him looking at the Hall pew, and groaning, until every body understands his meaning. No, sir! If you make yourself a fool about that common actress, you shall not drag us into it. And Clare Lee! have you no regard for her feelings? Damn my blood, sir! I am ashamed of you. Come away directly. If you are guilty of any thing unworthy toward that young woman, I will strike your name from the family Bible, and never look upon your face again. Remember, sir; and you won't be fool enough to marry her, I hope. Try it, sir, and see the consequence. Pah! a common actress for my daughter— the wife of the representative of the house of Effingham, after my death. 'Sdeah, sir! it is intolerable, abominable; and I command you to return at once, and never look upon that young woman again. For shame, sir. Am I, at my age, to be made a laughing-stock of, to be jeered at by the common people, at the county court, as the father of the young man that played the fool with the actress? No, sir. Leave that place, and come and do what you are expected to do, called on to do—take Clare Lee to the Governor's ball. I inclose your invitation. Leave that woman and her artful seductions. Reflect, sir, and do your duty to Clare, like a gentleman. If it is necessary, I repeat, sir, I command you to return, and never see that girl again. “I have received your letter, sir, and decline returning to Effingham Hall, or being dictated to. I have passed my majority, and am my own master. No one on earth shall make a slave of me. “A man about to die, calls on the only Englishman he knows in this place, to do a deed of charity. Hallam, we were friends—a long time since, in Kent, Old England, and to you I make this appeal, which you will read when I will be cold and stiff. You know we were rivals—Jane chose to marry me! I used no underhand acts, but fought it fairly and like an honest soldier—and won her. You know it, and are too honest a man to bear me any grudge now. I married her, and we went away to foreign countries, and I became a soldier of fortune—now here—now there:—it runs in the family, for my father was covered with wounds. She stuck to me—sharing all my trials—my suffering—as she shared my fortunate days. She was my only hope on earth —my blessing:—but one day God took her from me. She died, Hallam, but she left herself behind in a little daughter —I called her Beatrice, at the request of her mother. The locket around the child's neck, is her mother's gift to her: preserve it. Well: we travelled—I grew sick—I came to Malta, here—I am dying. Already I feel the cold mounting from my feet to my heart—my eyes are growing hazy, as my hand staggers along—my last battle's come, comrade! Take the child, and carry her to my brother John Waters, who lives in London somewhere—find where he is, and tell him, that Ralph Waters sends his baby to him to take care of:—she is yonder playing on the floor while I am dying. I ask you to do this, because you are an honest man, and because you loved Jane once. I have no money—all I had is gone for doctor's stuff and that:—he couldn't stand up against death! Keep my military coat to remember me by —it is all I have got. As you loved her who was my wife, now up in heaven, take care of the child of an English soldier; and God reward you. “Please come to me.
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6Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Add
 Title:  The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion  
 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: “This indenture, made in the month of March, of the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and ninety-five, in the Colony of Virginia, Continent of North America,—” “Come over to `the Trap,' and dine and sleep with me. Be sure to be in trim to ride through a cane-brake, that is, in buff and leather: and ride Tom—the large piebald: he's a glorious animal, by George! “Oh my dear Miss Donsy! “I regret the harshness and passion of my address to you yesterday. I trust you will not permit it to remain in your recollection. I have no calmness on that subject, and for this reason must ask you never again to allude to it. I am afraid of myself. For God's sake! don't arouse the devil in me when I am trying to lull it, at the risk of breaking my heart in the attempt. This is an unhappy world, and devious are the ways thereof. Man—especially a rude fellow, morbleu!— knows not what to do often; he is puzzled; he hesitates and stands still. Do you ask me what I mean by this small moral discourse? Parbleu! I mean that I am the rude fellow and the puzzled man. Your letter is offensive—I will not make any derogatory agreement with you, sir. I would rather end all at once, and I hereby call on you to meet me, sir, this very day, at the Banks' Cross-roads. At five o'clock this evening, I shall await you. “Not simply `sir,' because you are what I have written—friend, companion. Let me out with what I would write at once—and in the best manner I can write it, being but a rude soldier, unused to handling the pen. “I accede to the request of Captain Waters. I know him for a brave soldier, and a most honorable man. I ask nothing more. The rest lies with my daughter. “I know what I have done is disgraceful, and horrible, and awful, and all that—but it was meant well, and I don't care what you may say; it has succeeded. The time to acknowledge the trick is come, and here goes. It went this way:
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7Author:  Ferguson Samuel Sir 1810-1886Add
 Title:  Father Tom and the pope, or, A night in the Vatican  
 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: 526EAF. [Page 015]. Head-piece that depicts a royal hunt for the white stag. There are groups of hunting dogs gathered around the cornered stag, with the lead hunter pressing his sword to its neck. There are other hunters gathered in the periphery.
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8Author:  Cozzens Frederic S. (Frederic Swartwout) 1818-1869Add
 Title:  Prismatics  
 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 loveliest thing in life,” says a gifted author, “is the mind of a young child.” The most sensitive thing, he might have added, is the heart of a young artist. Hiding in his bosom a veiled and unspeakable beauty, the inspired Neophyte shrinks from contact with the actual, to lose himself in delicious reveries of an ideal world. In those enchanted regions, the great and powerful of the earth; the warrior-statesmen of the Elizabethan era; the steel-clad warriors of the mediæval ages; gorgeous cathedrals, and the luxuriant pomp of prelates, who had princes for their vassals; courts of fabled and forgotten kings; and in the deepening gloom of antiquity, the nude Briton and the painted Pict pass before his enraptured eyes. Women, beautiful creations! warm with breathing life, yet spiritual as angels, hover around him; Elysian landscapes are in the distance; but ever arresting his steps,—cold and spectral in his path,—stretches forth the rude hand of Reality. Is it surprising that the petty miseries of life weigh down his spirit? Yet the trembling magnet does not seek the north with more unerring fidelity than that “soft sentient thing,” the artist's heart, still directs itself amid every calamity, and in every situation, towards its cynosure—perfection of the beautiful. The law which guides the planets attracts the one; the other is influenced by the Divine mystery which called the universe itself into being; that sole attribute of genius—creation.
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9Author:  Cozzens Frederic S. (Frederic Swartwout) 1818-1869Add
 Title:  The sayings of Dr. Bushwhacker, and other learned men  
 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: “Sir,” said our learned friend, Dr. Bushwhacker, “we are indebted to China for the four principal blessings we enjoy. Tea came from China, the compass came from China, printing came from China, and gunpowder came from China—thank God! China, sir, is an old country, a very old country. There is one word, sir, we got from China, that is oftener in the mouths of American people than any other word in the language. It is cash, sir, cash! That we derive from the Chinese. It is the name, sir, of the small brass coin they use, the coin with a square hole in the middle. And then look at our Franklin; he drew the lightning from the skies with his kite; but who invented the kite, sir? The long-tailed Chinaman, sir. Franklin had no invention; he never would have invented a kite or a printing-press. But he could use them, sir, to the best possible advantage, sir; he had no genius, sir, but he had remarkable talent and industry. Then, sir, we get our umbrella from China; the first man that carried an umbrella, in London, in Queen Anne's reign, was followed by a mob. That is only one hundred and fifty years ago. We get the art of making porcelain from China. Our ladies must thank the Celestials for their tea-pots. Queen Elizabeth never saw a tea-pot in her life. In 1664, the East India Company bought two pounds two ounces of tea as a present for his majesty, King Charles the Second. In 1667, they imported one hundred pounds of tea. Then, sir, rose the reign of scandal—Queen Scandal, sir! Then, sir, rose the intolerable race of waspish spinsters who sting reputations and defame humanity over their dyspeptic cups. Then, sir, the astringent principle of the herb was communicated to the heart, and domestic troubles were brewed and fomented over the tea-table. Then, sir, the age of chivalry was over, and women grew acrid and bitter; then, sir, the first temperance society was founded, and high duties were laid upon wines, and in consequence they distilled whiskey instead, which made matters a great deal better, of course; and all the abominations, all the difficulties of domestic life, all the curses of living in a country village; the intolerant canvassing of character, reputation, piety; the nasty, mean, prying spirit; the uncharitable, defamatory, gossiping, tale bearing, whispering, unwomanly, unchristianlike behavior of those who set themselves up for patterns over their vile decoctions, sir, arose with the introduction of tea. Yes, sir; when the wine-cup gave place to the tea-cup, then the devil, sir, reached his culminating point. The curiosity of Eve was bad enough; but, sir, when Eve's curiosity becomes sharpened by turgid tonics, and scandal is added to inquisitiveness, and inuendo supplies the place of truth, and an imperfect digestion is the pilot instead of charity; then, sir, we must expect to see human nature vilified, and levity condemned, and good fellowship condemned, and all good men, from Washington down, damned by Miss Tittle, and Miss Tattle, and the Widow Blackleg, and the whole host of tea-drinking conspirators against social enjoyment.” Here Dr. Bushwhacker grew purple with eloquence and indignation. We ventured to remark that he had spoken of tea “as a blessing” at first. “Yes, sir,” responded Dr. Bushwhacker, shaking his bushy head, “that reminds one of Doctor Pangloss. Yes, sir, it is a blessing, but like all other blessings it must be used temperately, or else it is a curse! China, sir,” continued the Doctor, dropping the oratorical, and taking up the historical, “China, sir, knows nothing of perspective, but she is great in pigments. Indian ink, sir, is Chinese, so are vermillion and indigo; the malleable properties of gold, sir, were first discovered by this extraordinary people; we must thank them for our gold leaf. Gold is not a pigment, but roast pig is, and Charles Lamb says the origin of roast pig is Chinese; the beautiful fabric we call silk, sir, came from the Flowery Nation, so did embroidery, so did the game of chess, so did fans. In fact, sir, it is difficult to say what we have not derived from the Chinese. Cotton, sir, is our great staple, but they wove and spun long staple and short staple, yellow cotton and white cotton before Columbus sailed out of the port of Palos in the Santa Maria.” Dear Fredericus: A. Walther writ this in `quaint old sounding German.' It is done into English by your friend, My Dear Cozzens:—I had hoped to spend my vacation in quiet idleness, with a rigorous and religious abstinence from pen and ink. But I cannot refuse to comply with the request you urge so eloquently, placing your claim to my assistance not only on the ground of old friendship, but also as involving important objects, literary and scientific, as well as social and commercial; all of them (to repeat your phrase and Bacon's), “coming home to the business and bosoms of men.” My dear Editor:—I have been much amused in learning through the press, as well as from the more sprightly narrative of your private letter, that such and so very odd claims and conjectures had been made as to the authorship of my late hasty letter to you, in proof that the poets and gentlemen of old Greece and Rome drank as good champagne as we do. You know very well that the letter which you published was not originally meant for the public, and the public have no right at all to inquire who the author may be; nor, indeed, has the said impertinent public to inquire into the authorship of any anonymous article which harms nobody, nor means to do so. I have not sought concealment in this matter, nor do I wish notoriety. If any one desires the credit of the communication, such as it is, he or she is quite welcome to it until I find leisure to prepare for the press a collection of my Literary Miscellanies under my own name. I intend to embody in it an enlarged edition of this essay on the antiquity of champagne mousseux, with a regular chain of Greek and Latin authorities defending and proving all my positions.
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10Author:  Cummins Maria S. (Maria Susanna) 1827-1866Add
 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.
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11Author:  Curtis George William 1824-1892Add
 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.
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12Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 Title:  Honest John Vane  
 Published:  2000 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: ONE of the most fateful days of John Vane's life was the day on which he took board with that genteel though decayed lady, the widow of a wholesale New York grocer who had come out at the little end of the horn of plenty, and the mother of two of the prettiest girls in Slowburgh, Mrs. Renssaelaer Smiles.
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13Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 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.
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14Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 Title:  Overland  
 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: By J. W. De Forest, Author of “Kate Beaumont,” etc.
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15Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 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.
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16Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 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.
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17Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Add
 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.
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18Author:  Derby George Horatio 1823-1861Add
 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.”
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19Author:  Derby George Horatio 1823-1861Add
 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.
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20Author:  Eggleston Edward 1837-1902Add
 Title:  The Circuit Rider  
 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: SUBTRACTION is the hardest “ciphering” in the book. Fifty or sixty years off the date at the head of your letter is easy enough to the “organ of number,” but a severe strain on the imagination. It is hard to go back to the good old days your grandmother talks about—that golden age when people were not roasted alive in a sleeping coach, but gently tipped over a toppling cliff by a drunken stage-driver. “Dear Sir—The engagement between us is broken off. It is my fault and not yours.
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