| | 201 | Author: | Herbert
Henry William
1807-1858 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Cromwell  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | “I have received your kind and most consoling
letter of July from the tried friend who bore it.
The wisdom of your counsels I acknowledge, and,
so far as in me lies, will follow them. But, trust
me, girl, better and brighter days are yet in store
for us. I do assure you I am even now more king
—more powerful and free—than ere I raised my
standard; so that I doubt not, with a little patience
and a small share of finesse, all shall be yet as we
would have it. I am now courted by all parties—
English and Scottish—Presbyterians, Independents
—parliament and army—all prostrate at my feet—
all rivals for my favour, and balanced, too, so
equally, that whom I join soever carries the day.
In truth, chiefly do I incline toward the Scots,
but, for the present, seem, for my own purposes,
to favour more the army. In the end, whosoe
bids the highest has me. You disapprove, you
tell me, my `promising so much to those two villains,
Ireton and Cromwell.' Now, I beseech you,
be not alarmed nor troubled; but leave me to manage,
who am informed far better of all circumstances
than you by any means can be; and on this
head rest altogether easy, for in due season I shall
know how to deal with these rogues, who, for a
silken garter, shall be fitted with a hempen rope!
This by a mode that can by no chance fail; where,
fore, though briefly—as my space compels—I yet
write plainly. If all things prosper with me, as I
have now good cause to deem they will—for all the
factions, themselves cozened, look on the others as
outwitted—I shall once more embrace the well-beloved
queen and mistress of my heart, greater
and far more powerful than ever, ere many months
shall pass, in our own palace of Whitehall. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 204 | Author: | Herbert
Henry William
1807-1858 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The Roman traitor | | | | 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: | Midnight was over Rome. The skies were dark and
lowering, and ominous of tempest; for it was a sirocco,
and the welkin was overcast with sheets of vapory cloud,
not very dense, indeed, or solid, but still sufficient to intercept
the feeble twinkling of the stars, which alone held
dominion in the firmament; since the young crescent of
the moon had sunk long ago beneath the veiled horizon. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 207 | Author: | Herbert
Henry William
1807-1858 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The deerstalkers, or, Circumstantial evidence | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | In one of the south-western counties of New York,
one of those, I mean, which lie between the Hudson
and the Delaware, and along the eastern or Mohawk's
branch of the latter river, there is a great tract of wild
and thinly settled land, well watered and well wooded,
and well peopled by those tribes of fur and feather
which are so keenly sought by the true sportsman,
though, for the most part, human habitations are few
and far between. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 209 | Author: | Hoffman
Charles Fenno
1806-1884 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Greyslaer | | | | 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: | “You will probably, before reading this, have surmised
the cause why I have withdrawn from beneath
a roof which has never sheltered dishonour.
Oh! my friend—if so the wretched Alida may still
call you—you cannot dream of what I have suffered
while delaying the execution of a step which I
believe to be due alike to you and to myself; but
the state of my health would not sooner admit of
putting my determination in execution, and I knew
there would be full time for me to retire before you
could come back to assume the government of your
household. That determination is never to see
you more. Yes, Greyslaer, we are parted, and for
ever........The meshes of villany which have been
woven around me it is impossible to disentangle.
My woman's name is blasted beyond all hope of
retrieval, and yours shall never be involved in its
disgrace. I ask you not to believe me innocent.
I have no plea, no proof to offer. I submit to the
chastening hand of Providence. I make no appeal
to the love whose tried and generous offices might
mitigate this dreadful visitation. I would have you
think of me and my miserable concerns no more.
God bless you, Max! God bless and keep you;
keep you from the devices of a proud and arrogant
spirit, which Heaven, in its wisdom, hath so severely
scourged in me; keep you from that bitterest of
all reflections, the awful conviction that your rebellious
heart has fully merited the severest judgments
of its Maker. God bless and keep you, dearest,
dearest Max. “In the matter of Derrick de Roos, junior, and
Annatie, the Indian woman; deposition as to the
parentage of Guise or Guisbert, their child, born
out of wedlock, taken before Henry Fenton, justice
of the peace, &c., certified copy, to be deposited
with Max Greyslaer, Esquire, in testimony of the
claim which the said child might have upon his care
and protection, as the near friend and ward of Derrick
de Roos, senior, who, while living, fully acknowledged
such claim, in expiation of the misdeeds
of his son. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 211 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Captain Kyd, or, The wizard of the sea | | | | 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: | “Lady Lester—nay, mother—dearest MOTHER!
I have just taken my last leave of you. I go forth
into the world and commit my fortune to its currents.
Baseborn — guilty-born — attainted by my
father's crimes, I am unworthy your love or a
place in your thoughts. Henceforward let me be
nothing to thee! Forget that I have ever existed.
Though I depart, yet is Lester not without an heir!
you not without a son! Thy child thou wilt find
with the fisherman Meredith, at Castle Cor. He
is the perfect semblance of thy husband, Robert,
Lord of Lester, as you have described him to me;
and, when your eyes behold him, your heart will
at once claim him. He is proud and high-spirited,
and worthy of the name he is destined to bear.
Seek him out; and may he fill the place in your
heart from which I am for ever excluded. Farewell,
my mother, for other mother than thee have
I never known—will never know! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 212 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day | | | | 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: | Reader! If thou art one of those rigidists who
look for a moral in a story, and seek after instruction
in a legend; who expect a homily in a nursery-tale,
and demand a moral treatise in a fiction; who deem
it sinful to entertain the imagination without improving
the heart, and regard as vanity whatever administers
to the taste and captivates the fancy, then close these
volumes with the reading of this paragraph; for they
will neither humour thee in thy prejudices, nor strengthen
thee in thy philosophy. Yet, if thou canst be content
to admire the lily upon its stalk, and the rose on
its stem, and will cease to search longer for fruits amid
flowers, thou mayst then turn in a right spirit to these
pages; and, should they fail to improve thy morals, to
add either grace to thy mind or dignity to thy intellect,
they may, perchance, have the no less pleasing power
of imparting cheerfulness to thy brow, of communicating
warmth to thy bosom, and of infusing new sensibilities
into thy soul; and while they spiritualize thy
imagination, they may not leave altogether untouched
thy heart. “You are ordered to have your command under arms
half an hour before sunrise. At sunrise you will re
ceive orders to sack the town. The public buildings
and dwellings on the Place d'Armes are to be spared. “The order issued at midnight is countermanded. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 213 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The ease and affability of the Count of Osma soon
thawed the ice of ceremony and suspicion with which
the councillors at first received the honour that had
been so graciously extended towards them; and even
the president, as the banquet proceeded, began to think
his suspicions hasty and ill-grounded. All doubts,
however, of honourable purpose of the governor were
not effectually banished; and occasionally they flashed
back upon his mind with redoubled force, as some
sinister word or look would betray itself through his
guarded language or manner. That the Spaniard was
playing a double part, he was well satisfied; and,
though his address and bearing invited confidence, he
felt that, in yielding it, he was playing with an adder in
his bosom. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 214 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Edward Austin, or, The hunting flask | | | | 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: | By the side of one of those romantic trout-streams that are embosomed
in the glens of New-England, was to be seen, just before sunset of an afternoon
in September, 1841, a group composed of three figures. The place
in which they were was deeply secluded. Around them rose the huge columnar
trunks of a forest which had been ancient when the first Pilgrim
Father set his foot upon the western shores. Through the forest, which
covered upland and intervale, flowed the dark wild waters of the brook, upon
the banks of which they were assembled. The forest was solemn and
grand, and its long vistas seemed like the huge gothic aisles of an old-world
cathedral. The brook gambolled through this fine old wood in many a
wanton circle, now sweeping swiftly around a smooth-faced rock, and now
dividing to embrace huge oaks, whose heavy wide-spread branches dipped
into the flood. In the darkest part of the wood it fell tumbling over ragged
rocks in snow-white cataracts that glittered and flashed like silver contrasting
the deep green and blackness of the shadows around. `Sir,—Having withdrawn my money from bank, I withdraw myself from
the firm. Ask me for no explanations; for I have none to give. I have
chosen my own course and must abide by it. `Sir,—Last night you made use of language to me, which, as a gentleman
I cannot pass by. An apology is due to me; and I trust that you will not
hesitate to render one in the most unqualified manner to my friend Mr.
Frederick Levis, who will be the bearer of this note to you. `Sir: My friend, Mr. Levis, is authorized to arrange on my behalf, with
any friend you may name, the preliminaries usual in settling affairs between
gentlemen holding, in relation to each other, the position we now do. `Sir,—These men bring you the body of Mr. Edward Austin who fell this
evening, just after sunset, in a duel with small swords at Hoboken. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 215 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Fanny, or, The hunchback and the roué | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The Charles river flows through many a sweet vale in its
inland meanderings; mirrors upon its bosom many a dark hill of
wood and rock; conveys beauty and grace to many a fair scene of
upland and lowland; and flows calmly and brightly past many a
peaceful cot and pleasant village! But the vale of Rose Mead is
the fairest of all its vallies; its banks and wooded heights the
most beautiful, which it mirrors upon its bosom; the fairest of all
others are its scenes of upland and lowland; more peaceful the
cottage-homes which share its grace and beauty; and, lovelier
than all the pleasant villages past which it flows in calmness and
brightness, is that of Hillside. I have at last seen the ideal of all that my most glowing fancy
has pictured, woman! I have within the half hour, beheld the realization
of all the beautiful creations of my imagination, when I
have loved to conceive in my thoughts, the beautiful, the true and
the good in one! Such a face as has ever appeared in my happiest
dreams of boyhood, when forms of love and beauty would float
around me; and when I heard her speak the tones were familiar,
like the voices of the beautiful ones who have spoken to me in my
hours of fancy! But you are full of curiosity to know who I have
seen! That I cannot tell, for her history is a mystery. She is an
orphan. I saw her in the yard of the Inn in this village, as I alighted
from my horse! Her beauty and grace, had an effect upon me
that was irresistible! You well know, dear, good mother, that I am
not susceptible, and that few females have drawn from me expressions
of admiration! you know I am not easily impressable by
mere female loveliness.' She was conveying a burden, all too
weighty for her strength, and I tendered my assistance, which she
thanked me for with a sweet, yet timid, gratitude that went to my
heart. Her mistress, the hostess, observed the act and my sympathy,
and poured upon me a torrent of invectives, saying the cruel task
was imposed upon the maiden by her orders! She was a virago,
and I saw was a tyrant. My heart bled for the young girl; and
of one near by I inquired her history. He told me that her parents
had arrived from England during the cholera season, and had died
in the village; when the landlord of the Inn, now dead, had adopted
her; but that since his decease the widow had made a servant
of her. He said the parents were evidently very genteel people,
but that no one knew their names, and that the child only went by
that of `Fanny.' I have met her—spoken with her, and—but I will not anticipate.
I must forestal your opinion, at the first, that `she could not be a
discreet maiden to meet a stranger.' She got my note, but did not
meet me in consequence of it. So rigidly is she kept at labor that
she had no opportunity to learn its contents till the moon rose,
when she stole out by her mother's grave, to open it by moonlight.
I saw her graceful figure kneeling by the grave-side, for I had been
lingering near, with hope, and approached near enough to hear her
soliloquize upon the contents of my note. I heard her say, `no,
no, I may not meet him—kind, generous as he seems to be. No—
I cannot accede to his request!' I drew nearer, and she recognized
me, and would have fled. But I detained her with gentle
and eloquent appeal. She grew trusting and remained to listen to
me. I urged her to fly her bondage, and offered her, dear mother,
your protection. But she was firm—but finally promised, if some
evil which she did not name, but which she dreaded would come
upon her, should befal her, she would then avail herself of my
proffer of your roof, if you came for her; and this you must do.—
What propriety in all her conduct! But if I was charmed with her
sweet, maidenly modesty, I was enchanted with the character of
her lovely and natural mind. I wish you could have heard her
speak her thoughts. Her language is pure and singularly expressive
of every shade of feeling. She is an extraordinary character,
and I wish you to see and know her. The study—a brief but sweet
lesson it was—of her mind to-night, has opened to me a new world
of beauty. She is as pure and guileless as a child of seven—yet
she is seventeen or eighteen. She soon grew more confiding, and
opened her soul's treasures to me. What a mine of unworked
gold lay in the foundation of her being. She is a very gentle and
single spirit. She talked in a strange, sweet, low voice, like one
musing aloud, and I listened breathless, as to pure and spiritual
communication. Her words recalled the thoughts and hopes of
my early years, and such as I love to indulge when in my better
hours. I thought then, as I listened, 'tis for such thoughts as
these, alone, we exist. How wide the contrast of their singleness
with the double-minded wordiness of the cautious and courteous
world. She is a wild, beautiful, gentle creature; for these opposite
terms just suit her. She is heart-aspiring, and loves to soar
into the new and the unrealized. She is full of fanciful memories,
and discourses sweetly and gravely of what she calls her `Fanciful
Life.' You should listen to her to know her. Blessings on her
generous and confiding heart; blessings on her delightful fancy,
which creates only to love. Let her trust in them to the end, and
without end, whilst they are so pure and hallowing. I have heard
that gigantic thinker, R. Waldo Emerson, say, `nothing is so natural
as the supernatural.' The body stands in the soul's light, and
casts a shadow upon it, and the world of minds is in twilight kept
out of its best powers and possessions. This pure, artless girl has
it always sunshine at her heart. One pure spirit broods over all
her thoughts. Her existence seems divine in human. She lives
in an ideal world of ever changing beauty, and every word she utters
enriches the soul of the listener. But most I value her for is
the loveliness of her piety. There is a holy and perpetual Sabbath
at her heart which is the house of peace. You will say, my dear
mother, that such a person may be a shrine fit, perhaps, to receive
the votaries of worshippers of the ideal and the beautiful, but not
a suitable friend and companion for common life. But this peace
and heart-spirituality is consistent with the most useful activity.—
Here is the piety of character, not of habit. I love the seclusion
of her spirit—the gentle fancies of her inner life—the fresh upspringings
of her untaught thoughts which come from unfathomed
fountains in her soul. teryble materss iss hapendd sinss you wass heer vitch iss wot
korses me phor too tak mi penn inn han witch iss a badd wunn
andd so i hop youle xkus thee spelinn andd itts thiss wot's hapendd
Phany hass loped andd I cutt Gon Hamersmith chin andd he nokt
Snipp our tayllur ovr inntu mi slopp tubb but ile tel you thee pertiklars
ov wots hapendd Snipp tels itt furs tu mee andd i cuts Gon
the smyth andd hee noks himm ovurr phannys run awa andd noe
mystak cozz thee roape wos foun she hangd hurselff with oute ov
thee widers 2 stora windur and itt wos foun ther andd shee wosnt
foun andd thatts wots hapendd andd itts inn ev boddis mouth
andd noe bodi noes wots beekum ov hur, norr i Snipp sedd a
koche tuk hurr off, butt thatts wun ov Snippes lise andd hes a
grat lierr andd dyrnks vich i donte, nott nevur taikin butt wun
tum'lar ov agg-popp—no twass jinger popp, wich gutt inter mi
hedd wich iss troo forr i sorr hur traks undur thee windurr andd
thee bedd kordd twass 12 larste nite wen shee runn awa andd itss
nou 01 inn the phoarnun i maik no dela butt rite rite orf hopin
yool com rite doune orr rite orr heare phrom phahny phor thars
no mistaik shes sloapt. After the most persevering efforts I have at last got on the scent of the
hare. A person answering her description came in town the morning after
the night you said she escaped in a stage, and got out at the tavern in Brattle
street. She was seen to go into a negro's in Ethiopian Row, and then
to go out with him up the street. I have been in the black's, whose name
is Pompey Slack; but he is as mysterious as a fortune-teller, and gravely
shakes his woolly head, and wants to know my business `wid her.' Your
money will get it out of him. I send, as you instructed me to do, a carriage
for you; call for me, and I will accompany you there. I am sure we
are on the track. I reply to your letters in one. I cannot yet visit you. My mind is made
up to prosecute this search. Since I wrote you of her escape I have been
to Hillside, but could glean no intelligence of her. I, however, saw there
a person whom I suspect has had something to do with her flight. If so, I
despair! I have been seeking him at his house, and every where, to accuse
him, and demand her at his hands, and to punish him if she be lost to me,
which God forbid. I hope every thing, yet I fear every thing. He is in
town but keeps himself close. I am more and more persuaded that he has
something to do with her flight, and that she has been deceived. I rode
hard after him the night he left Hillside, but could not overtake him before
he reached town. If I had have done so, I should have known all; for I
would have drawn the truth from him with his life. He is one of those despicable
wretches, who, aided by wealth and leisure, and being destitute of
principle, pass all their time in seeking the indulgence of the lowest vices,
and directing all their skill and talent to ensnaring the young and beautiful
of your sex. I go out again to pursue my inquiries, though with little hope
of success. That she is in Boston I know, for such a person was seen at
the inn to get out of one of the stages; and while I write she is probably
in the snares of this heartless scoundrel. But hope of the best buoys me
up. She is too lovely and pure for me to harbor the idea of her ruin. I
will write you again; but do not ask me to visit you or study till I have pursued
this matter to the end. I am once more going to the tavern in Brattle
street, to seek a clue. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 216 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Howard, or, The mysterious disappearance | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was on a bright, breezy morning early in June, 1801, that the
signal for getting underweigh was fired from a flag ship of a fleet
of vessels of war riding at anchor in Hampton Roads. The fleet
consisted of three frigates and a small gun-brig of twelve guns.
The frigates were unequal in size and weight of metal. The largest
was the `President' 44; the next the `Philadelphia' 38; and the
smallest one the `Essex,' 32. They had the day before dropped
down to their anchorage ready for sea. Their destination was the
Mediterranean. `When you return, dear Duncan, we shall have much more of
each other's society than before; for Isabel Sumpter has taught
me to love in-door pursuits. Would you believe it! I can sit in a
room with her a whole morning, without any wish to go out, shine
the sun never so brightly. The other day when I was walking
with her, `Belt' started a hare and instead of joining him in the
chase, I called the dog away, because Isabel was talking, and I
had rather listen to her. I think she has grown much more beautiful.
Her step is just like a deer's! and every motion is as graceful
as a fawn's! I think when you see her you will fall in love
with her. I am sure I love her she is so very lively and entertaining
always. I dont know what I should do without her, she is such
clever company. She can shoot a rifle nearly as well as I can, and
is a most accomplished fisherman, or fisherwoman, perhaps I ought
to say. I am glad you are to take your degree and come home so
soon. We shall have fine times! Father, says something about
sending you to England; but I think you have got learning enough
for one head! There are a great many things I dont know, that I
find Isabel knows, but I get along very well; though sometimes,
she condescends to enlighten my ignorance, at which times I am,
she says, a very apt scholar. It is so pleasant to be taught by a
pretty girl! You had better come home and be her pupil, than go
any where else. Five words from her give me more insight into a
thing than a whole book would do! You didn't have an opportunity
in the little time you were here, of knowing her so well as I do,
and I want you to see how she has improved in the year you have
been absent. But I am engaged to ride with her to the cliff-head
at five o'clock, and it is now half past four. So good bye.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 217 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The gipsy of the Highlands, or, The Jew and the heir | | | | 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: | About half an hour after the sun had set on a clear, starry evening
in September, 182—, a small boat, pulled by a single oarsman,
shot out from a deep cove, just above the Highlands, and rowed
along the shore in the direction of a gray stone villa, situated on the
river's bank, half a mile above. The oarsman was a young man of
fair complexion and slight in person; but there was an expression
in his clear blue eye of mingled pride and resolution. He was
dressed in a plain dark frock, without pretension to style; and
beside him, for he rowed bareheaded, was laid a sort of foraging
cap, rudely made of the skins of squirrels, trophies of his own skill
at the rifle. The expression of his countenance was cheerful and
animated; and, as he pulled the light skiff over the glassy surface,
he bummed the air of `Bonny Boat' in a low and musical voice,
to the measure of which the regular `clack' and dip of his slender
oars, chimed in not unmusical accompaniment. I herewith order you to return forthwith to Kirkwood. I have
learned, that you have been pursuing a course of extravagance in
the city, that can only be kept up by debt—as I have been careful
never to allow you the means of dissipation. When I forgave you,
for resigning without my leave from West Point, it was on the condition
that you remained quietly at home, to look after the place.
Till you are twenty-one, which is yet six months off, I at least have
the control over you, and mean to exercise it; and if you expect
any thing of me, after you are of age, you will now comply with my
wishes. My health is poorly, and your ungrateful conduct by no
means improves it. Your note for the pair of bays sold you, comes due tomorrow. Your account, up to the first of the month, has been due some
days. You will oblige by adjusting this morning, Thankful for your past custom we have the honor of enclosing
your account for the last quarter, which it would be quite a convenience
to us to have adjusted today. The note for the Stanhope and harness, bought of me in June, is
due today. You will confer a favor by calling and settling it. Your three notes, of $500, 1000, and 2000 are due 5-9 Inst. `There is the order on him — “Dear Father: By paying Jacob
Goldschnapp, or order, six thousand dollars, thirty days from date,
you will oblige your dutiful son, `My dear Jacor,—I am confoundedly surprised this morning
by the `old gentleman' dropping in upon me before I was up. He
has come down to the city to look after me, so he says. We have
made matters up and I am to go home with him or lose Kirkwood.
If you can possibly do anything for me with him, come and dine
with me, at 2 o'clock. I choose this early hour on account of his
habits. I have some curiosity, I confess, to see how you are to do
about that draft. If you are successful, I shall have to call on you
again for a larger amount, for I am in a scrape again! Don't disappoint
me—at 2—remember! My respects to pretty Ruth. `You are desired to call, without delay, to see a gentleman at the
City Hotel, who wishes to make his will. Every moment is important.
The servant will conduct you.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 218 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Biddy Woodhull, or, The pretty haymaker | | | | 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: | There was a rude but pleasant farm-house
situated on the green banks of one of the
pleasant inlets that go meandering from the
Sound far into the verdant bosom of West-chester
County. It was one story high, with
a broad, steep, moss-covered roof, over which
an old oak spreads its wide branches, shielding
it the whole day from the summer sun.
An old `stoope' protected the door, and its
rude columns were thickly clad with the entwiaing
honey-suckle. Each end of the old
black farm-house was also nearly covered,
save where openings had been cut for the
windows, with woodbine and other creeping
plants. There was a neat vegetable garden
at one end of the dwelling and a small orchard
at the other, with the thatched roof of a
long, low barn, seen in the distance. Before
the door was a sort of lawn, on which the
sheep, geese, turkies, and an old domestic
cow, fed all day. This lawn was between the
house and the pleasant creek, where stood a
gate sheltered by a sycamore tree, through
which the cattle were driven to water. All
around was a scene of pleasant vale and wood-land,
with elms and oaks bending low over
the clear deep stream. On the opposite side
were seen several farm-houses with shady
walks along the banks between them, and a
little ways below, on an eminence, was visible
the white columns of a handsome country-seat,
the summer residence of a wealthy New
York merchant, who spent his winters only
in the city, which was twenty miles distant. What a demnition time you are staying out
South. What you can find to keep you there
this dem hot weather one hour after your
aunt's business is done for, unless some pretty
pearl, I'm dem'd if I can tell! Every thing
goes on just as ever. I had a glorious drive
last Friday on the avenue with Bob-tailed
Brown, harnessed single in my green buggy.
Tom Weston had a new team out, a dem'd
handsome thing altogether, and came behind
me like a streak of lightning. But I touched
Bob and left Tom half a mile in the rear as I
drew rein at the Harlem tavern. Dem'd good
that, wasn't it! I run over a sow and a litter
of nine pigs. Did'nt the young 'uns scamper
a few. I took off a goose's neck with my
off wheel as neat as you could cut it with a
knife. Tom swore Bob was the best bit o'
horse flesh in New York. Saw a pretty gearl
on the side-walk—looked like a rural—but I
was too anxious to beat Tom Weston's mare
to stop and ask her where she lived. Sunday
went over to Hoboken and saw lots o'
second quality class beauties, but couldn't do
any thing in my way, as they always have
some of those chaps with a bob coat, round
slick hat with a narrow crape round it, their
hair plaited down on each cheek, aad their
bosoms open, and cuffs and shirt-wristbands
turned back as if they were ready at any moment
for a fight. I can't endure such vulgar
people! though I don't mind a set-to, for I
have the true science you know, Ned. Havn't
been out of town yet, but I believe I shall go
to Saratoga next month. Saratogo is getting
to be low now that every shop-keeper that
can command three dollars can go there.—
These steamboats and railroads are getting to
be great levellers, Ned. I think I must go
to the White Sulphurs, they are the most exclusive.
Low people can't afford to get there
I saw your uncle last week in Broadway. He
would have passed me without seeing me, but
I stopped to ask him the name of the farmer
on the farm next to his above on the creek
where the rural lives. He told me it was
Woodhull. If you don't come on soon I
shall go down there and get up a little flirtation
with her. I think she's too pretty to be
suffered to grow there unnoticed like a sweet
flower under a hedge. Well, I have no more
to write. By the by, my friend M—ks has
let his beard grow all over his chin and it
looks dem'd fine. I think I shall follow his
example. He is going to be confirmed at St.
Thomas'. Religion is a nice thing for sick
and old people, but it spoils life for your true
blood! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 219 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Black Ralph, or, The helmsman of Hurlgate | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | In contemplating the interesting scenes
and events of the American Revolution, we
are accustomed to view them as only affecting
ourselves as Americans, and as occurring
only within the boundaries of our own land;
so that a story of the `Revolution' to be laid
in England or France would at first view startle
and appear an incongruity of history. Yet
the one being our foe and the other our ally,
closely involve their interests as individuals
with ours and throw as profound a degree of
sympathy over the progress and issue of
events on the common theatre of war, as if
their own fields had been the scenes of contest.
The war of the Revolution produced
in the vales and homes of England and the
vine-clad hills of France, many a scene of
domestic trial and woe as touching as
was daily witnessed among the rude forest
homes of our own land. Brave warriors
parted from wives and sweethearts in
sunny France to join the issue with us for liberty;
many a gallant soldier bade last adieus
to a weeping maiden. ere, obedient to his
king, he buckled on his sword to sail the seas
to do battle against the rebels of the crown;
and many a hardy patriot of our fathers shouldered
his rifle, amid prayers and tears, to
take the field to oppose the invader. Yet, beneath
their armed breasts they wore human
hearts all—the foe, the ally, and the rebel!
The tears of the one fell as sweetly in the
eye of Pity as the other! The roar of every
battle-field shook France and England as
well as our own land, penetrating the remotest
hamlet, and making many an expecting
heart shrink. the pulses of the three great
nations were for the time bound together and
throbbed as one. The interest of each was
equally deep, where wives, mothers, and
maidens were the judges of that interest.
The war was one—the issue one to theme!
And many is the tale still heard beneath the
vintnor's porch in la belle France, whose theme
is the war of our Revolution, and many is the
sad memory of that contest yet preserved on
the gossip bench of many a village ale-house
in merry England. How many were the
lives at that day, began in Europe that terminated
in America. If every man's life,
fairly written, be a romance out-doing fiction,
how many thousands of truthful stories in
that war opened in England or France to
close their scenes here—perhaps in blood. Sir—You are commanded by the Minister
of War, to give passage to America, to M. St
Clair Lorraine, a Colonel, and bearer of private
despatches to the Marquis de la Fayette. Dearest Madeline—I find the scheme I
suggested when I was fastening on you your
bracelet this afternoon, wholly impracticable
for many reasons. I have determided to take
passage in the same ship with you as M. St.
Clair Lorraine, bearer of despatches, and
meet my ship in America, where it is to join
lord Howe. I have written for, and shall obtain
leave, and in the mean time anticipate it.
Betray no surprise or recognition on meeting
me in the morning at table. I look forward
to a happy passage across the Atlantic in your
sweet society. You will think I am an audaucious
intriguer; but what will not love undertake
for its object? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 220 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Ellen Hart | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | The bell in the tower of the `Old South'
church was tolling heavily and loud the strokes
for nine o'clock, as a Watchman came upon
his `beat on the corner of W — Place. It
was a cold, cloudy night, late in November,
and his large box-coat was closely buttoned
up to his throat and his winter cap drawn low
over his ears and forehead. With his rattle
hanging upon his wrist and a short club in
his grasp he began to pace his round into
Summer street. The wind came howling
through the cross avenues of the town westward,
causing the passengers on the walks to
bend low to it and with the cape of the cloak
shield their faces from its piercing effects.—
The street lamps burned more brightly than
usual in the clear atmosphere, but at intervals,
agitated by the wind which found its way
through the frame of the lantern, would flicker
and cast dancing shadows across the streets
and along the side-walks. Ashy-hued clouds
were driving along the gloomy sky, opening
now and then to let a star shine through
for an instaut and then disappear. Few persons
were in the streets and the hacks and
cabs that passed, went at a furious rate over
the icy ground, as if the drivers were willing
to exchange as soon as possible their bleak
elevation for a seat in the warm bar-room adjoining
their `stand.' $12,000. `Henry Hart having this day taken into copartnership
of business, Crockett Creech, the
Firm will henceforth bear the designation of
`Hart and Creech.' Your endorsement upon the enclosed note
for — at — days will oblige, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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