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1Author:  Cummins Maria S. (Maria Susanna) 1827-1866Requires cookie*
 Title:  Haunted hearts  
 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: Every circle has its centre. To describe a circle, one must choose a given point, and radiate thence at equal distances. The north-eastern corner of New Jersey is that part of the earth's surface on which I propose to describe a circle, and the centre of that circle is Stein's Tavern. “Adieu! My sole pang in leaving New Jersey is the thought that I shall never again see the fair friend, `Whose heart was my home in an enemy's land.' I flatter myself that the emotion is mutual. Continue, I entreat you, to cherish tender recollections of your devoted Josselyn. Our paths, like our lots in life, lie apart. Had Heaven placed you, dear girl, in the sphere you are so well fitted to adorn, who knows what we might have been to each other? It grieves me that one whose beauty and grace have cheered my exile should be doomed to waste her sweetness upon a neighborhood so contracted and vulgar as that of Stein's Plains; but habit, I have no doubt, reconciles you to many things which shock the sensibilities of a stranger; and, alas! every station in life has its disadvantages. It may be a consolation to you to be assured that you will not be quite forgotten in those more aristocratic circles to which my destiny leads me. I shall still carry your image in my heart. Many a fair daughter of my own country will suffer by a comparison with it; and when the toast goes round I shall pique the curiosity of my brother officers by giving them the `New Jersey belle.'
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2Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  The adopted daughter  
 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: BY ALICE CAREY, AUTHOR OF “CLOVERNOOK,” “LYRA,” ETC. “Miss Pridore,—A conversation with your brother this afternoon, in which my father's misfortunes were the subject of ridicule, will make it necessary for me to forego the pleasure of seeing you at his birth-night party. Your friend,
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3Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  The bishop's son  
 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: THE sunshine was hot between the April showers, and the rude, rickety door-stones (they could hardly be called door-steps) of the old farmhouse to which, they led, were wet and dry almost at the same moment, happening at the moment in which our story opens, to be dry; the fickle clouds had scattered, and the sun was shining with pretty nearly midsummer heat. It was about noon-day, and the young girl who had been busy all the morning digging in the flower-beds that lay on either side a straight path running from the front door to the front gate, suddenly tossed aside her bonnet, and flung herself down on the steps. She was tired, and rather lay than sat; and a pleasant picture she made, her flushed cheek on her arm, the cape, lately tied at her throat, drawn carelessly to her lap, her tiny naked feet sunken in the grass, and all her fair neck and dimpled shoulders bare. “My sweet Sister Fairfax: When I was under your hospitable roof, a day or two since,” (he had not been under the roof at all, remember), “I had the rashness to make a proposal to your little daughter which I have not the courage to carry out without your permission. But to come at once to the head and front of my offending, I proposed to take her to see our unfortunate brother, Samuel Dale, of whom, by the way, I hear sad accounts. It seemed to me that it might gratify the childish fondness she appears to feel for him, and do no harm, but you, of course, are the best judge of this, and on second thoughts I have been led to distrust my first impulse; but the little darling has a strange power upon me, and I could not see her suffering without at least seeking to relieve it. If you approve of my suggestion I will report myself for duty in a day or two, so soon as I shall be well enough, and, as I am in the skilful hands of Dr. Allprice, I entertain the most sanguine hopes. If you do not approve, pray forgive me, and believe me, in the deepest penitence, “My sweet Kate: — To prove to you that your memory has been fondly cherished all these years, I return to you a little souvenir that is dearer to me than the `ruddy drops that visit this sad heart.' Suffer no harm to come to it, but let me have it back; I will hold it for a talisman, `and call upon it in a storm, and save the ship from perishing some time.' “I am off a little sooner than I expected, dear Sam,” he said, “and cannot well spare the money to pay the note that will be handed you with this; please arrange it for me and add one more to my many obligations. I will be back at farthest in six weeks, and then we will square up, once for all, I hope. Everything looks bright for me as a May morning. By the way, Kate is charmed with you; she comes near making me jealous! Always and always your affectionate
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4Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Hagar  
 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: Fragments of clouds, leaden and black and ashen, ran under and over each other along the sky, now totally and now only in part obscuring the half moon, whose white and chilly rays might not penetrate the rustic bower within which sat two persons, conversing in low and earnest tones. But, notwithstanding the faintness of the moonlight, enough of their dresses and features were discernible to mark them male and female, for the dull skirts of night had now scarcely overswept the golden borders of twlight. The long and dense bar that lay across the west, retained still some touch of its lately crimson fires. “Dear Fren—This is Sunday, and deuced hot and uncomfortable. I have been lying under a maple by the mill-stream—my line thrown out a little way below, and a new book in hand—one of those bewildering productions which are making so much noise—of course you understand: that strange combination, the latest of Warburton's works. I have never forgotten that sermon—so full of eloquent warning to the sinner—so luminous with hope, comforting to the afflicted: the very words seemed leaning to the heart; and how well I remember his saying, `Oh, she was good, and in her life and her death alike beautiful! knowing her goodness, shall it be to us a barren thing? shall we not also shape our lives into beauty? shall we not wash and be clean?' But a truce to sermonizing. My coat is threadbare, and my pockets empty, but as soon as opportunity occurs I mean to do something. When I left the house Nancy had her bonnet on to go to church, but the discovery of a hole in her stocking obliged her to wait, and as the children had used the darning yarn for a ball, and she had dropped her thimble in the well, I fear she must be disappointed. And William too—poor fellow! I left him waiting patiently, and looking much as if he had dressed himself forty years ago, and never undressed since.
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5Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Married, not mated; or, How they lived at Woodside and Throckmorton Hall  
 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 
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6Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Pictures of country life  
 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: The rain had fallen slowly and continuously since midnight —and it was now about noon, though a long controversy among the hands had decided the time, finally to be three o'clock; no one among the dozen of them had a watch, except Lem Lyon, the most ill-natured, the least accommodating of all the work-hands on the farm, and no man ventured to inquire of him, for he was more than ordinarily unamiable to-day, and lay on the barn-floor apart from his work-mates, with a bundle of oat-straw for his pillow, and his hat pulled over his eyes, taking no part in the discussion about the time, and affecting to hear nothing of it. “I have so many things to say, and am so little used to writing, that I don't know how to begin; but as I promised to keep a sort of journal of every day's experience, I suppose I may as well begin now, for this is the second night of my being here. You can't imagine what a nice ride we had in the open wagon, so much pleasanter than being shut up in a coach—it was such a pleasure to see the stout horses pull us along, and trotting or walking just as Uncle Wentworth directed: I say uncle, because I like Mr. Wentworth, and wish all the time he was some true relation. The straw in the wagon smelled so sweet, sweeter than flowers, it seemed to me; and when we got into the real country everything looked so beautiful, that I laughed all the time, and Uncle Wentworth said folks would think he had a crazy girl. I was very much ashamed of my ignorance, for I thought all country people lived in holes in the ground, or little huts made of sticks, and that cows and horses and all lived together; but we saw all along the road such pretty cottages and gardens, and some houses indeed as fine as ours. I kept asking Uncle Wentworth what sort of place we were going to, for I could not help fearing it was a very bad place; but he only laughed, and told me to wait and see. A good many men were at work in fields of hay—some cutting and some tossing it about—and I kept wishing I was among them, they seemed so merry, and the hay was so sweet. In some places were great fields of corn, high as my head, with grey tassels on the tops of it. I thought men were at work there too, it shook so; but Uncle Wentworth said it was only the wind. And back of the fields, and seeming like a great green wall between the earth and the sky, stood the woods. I mean to go into them before long, but I am a little afraid of wild beasts yet; though uncle says I will find no worse thing than myself there. We met a good many carriages, full of gayly dressed people coming into town; and saw a number of young ladies dressed in bright ginghams, tending the flowers in front of the cottages, sometimes at work in the gardens, indeed, so my dresses will be right in the fashion. In one place we passed a white school-house, set right in the edge of the woods; and when we were a little by, out came near forty children, some girls as big as I, and a whole troop of little boys, all laughing, and jumping, and frolicking, as I never heard children laugh. I asked Uncle Wentworth if it were proper? and he said it was their nature, and he supposed our wise Father had made them right. Some of the boys ran and caught hold of the tail of our wagon and held there, half swinging and half riding, ever so long. Pretty soon uncle stopped the horses, and asked a slim, pale-faced girl, who was studying her book as she walked to ride; and thanking him as politely as anybody could do, she climbed up, right behind the horses, and sat down by me, and spoke the same as though she had been presented. She had a sweet face under a blue bonnet, but was as white, and looked as frail, as a lily. After she was seated, she looked back so earnestly, that I looked too, and saw the schoolmaster come out of the house and lock the door, and cross his hands behind him as he turned into a lane that ran by, which seemed to go up and up, green and shady as far as I could see. I could only see that his cheeks were red, and that he had curls under his straw hat. The girl kept looking the way he went; but if it were he she thought of, he didn't turn to look at her. Close by a stone-arched bridge, from under which a dozen birds flew as we rattled over it, Uncle Wentworth stopped the horses, and the young lady got out, and went through a gate at the roadside; and I watched her walking in a narrow and deep-worn path that was close by the bank of a run, till she turned round a hill, and I could not see her any more; but I saw a lively blue smoke, curling up over the hill-top, and in the hollow behind, Uncle Wentworth said she lived.
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7Author:  Catherwood Mary Hartwell 1847-1902Requires cookie*
 Title:  A woman in armor  
 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: 494EAF. Page 009. In-line Illustration. Decorative chapter heading. Bust of a boy surrounded by ivy.
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8Author:  De Forest John William 1826-1906Requires cookie*
 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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9Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Clovernook, or, Recollections of our neighborhood in the West  
 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: Change is the order of nature; the old makes way for the new; over the perished growth of the last year brighten the blossoms of this. What changes are to be counted, even in a little noiseless life like mine! How many graves have grown green; how many locks have grown gray; how many, lately young, and strong in hope and courage, are faltering and fainting; how many hands that reached eagerly for the roses are drawn back bleeding and full of thorns; and, saddest of all, how many hearts are broken! I remember when I had no sad memory, when I first made room in my bosom for the consciousness of death. How—like striking out from a wilderness of dew-wet blossoms where the shimmer of the light is lovely as the wings of a thousand bees, into an open plain where the clear day strips things to their natural truth—we go from young visions to the realities of life! “Dearest Annie,—I am sitting in a pleasant little room in the Academy; for, you must know, I am become a student. Before me is a table, covered with books, papers, and manuscripts, finished and unfinished. The fire is burning brightly in the grate, and I am content—almost happy. But to whom am I indebted for all this happiness? Ah, Annie! that little package you gave me at parting! How shall I ever repay you? I will not trouble you now by relating my hard experience for two months after leaving you; for, during that time, I did not unseal the package, which I looked at daily, wondering what it could contain, and pleasing myself with various conjectures. At last, one night, I opened it, and, to my joy and sorrow, discovered its contents to be what only the most adverse fortune could have compelled me to avail myself of. But, with a sense of humiliation, I did make use of your self-sacrificing generosity. Dear Annie! what do I not owe to you? I still keep the envelope; and, when I return, I intend to bring you the precise amount, as a bridal present, which you have so kindly, so considerately bestowed on me. Close application, this session, will enable me to teach for a part of the time; so that hereafter I shall be able to rely on myself. I have some glorious plans for the future, but none, Annie, disconnected with you. Every exertion that is made, shall be with reference to the future that must be ours. And do you think of me often? or ever? Ah, I will not wrong you by the inquiry! I know you do. Well, hope on. Time, faith, and energy, will do for us every thing. And is Mary the same merry-hearted girl? I hope so. For my sake, tell her she must love you very kindly. And Samuel—does he miss me, or ever speak of me? He will find some memento, I think, that may serve to remind him of me, in that cabinet of curiosities, the cider-mill. As for Mr. Joseph Heaton, I have no doubt but that he has `kept out of jail.' Forgive me, Annie, that there are persons whose wrongs I can not quite forget. I was greatly edified last Sabbath by a discourse on forgiveness. The clergyman, young and handsome—Mary, I think, would have fallen in love with him—spoke with an earnestness indicating a conviction of the truth of his doctrine, which was, that we are no where in the Scriptures required to forgive our enemies. Even Christ, he said, only prayed for his enemies, inasmuch as they were ignorant: `Forgive them, for they know not what they do.' This idea was curious, and to me new; and I suffered my mind to be relieved, without inquiring very deeply into the theology. Forgive this little episode. I did not intend it, but know that I shall not feel myself bound to forgive you in this world or the next, if you forget to love me. It is night—late—and I must close—not to save candles, Annie, but that some sleep is necessary. I shall perhaps dream of you.” Dear Sir: In compliance with a resolution of the Board of Trustees of the Lancaster School Society, of this city, we have examined, with as much care as the time allowed would permit us to bestow, the series of Grammatic Readers (Nos. I., II., and III.), of Mr. Edward Hazen; and, from such examination, are enabled to say, that the series is well adapted to attain the object Mr. Hazen has had in view in its preparation, viz.: that of enabling the scholar to understand the English language while learning to read it. Dear Sir: We have briefly examined Hazen's Grammatic Readers (Nos. I. and II.), which you kindly presented to us, and believe that they are well calculated for the object which the author has in view. There can be no doubt that children will learn more rapidly a correct pronunciation of words, arranged according to this system, than they will in many of the books which we have in our schools. And there can be no reason why the first principles of grammar may not be taught at the same time that the scholar is learning to read. In short, we think the work worthy of the notice of the friends of popular education.
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10Author:  Cary Alice 1820-1871Requires cookie*
 Title:  Clovernook, or, Recollections of our neighborhood in the West  
 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: We do not suffer our minds to dwell sufficiently on the past. Though now and then there is one who thinks it wise to talk with the hours that are gone, and ask them what report they bore to Heaven, this sort of communion is for the most part imposed as a duty and not felt to be a delight.
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