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1Author:  Sedgwick Catharine Maria 1789-1867Add
 Title:  Tales of City Life  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It is about the middle of November— a bright, soft day, when the genial spirit of the year looks back with one of his farewell smiles. His warm breath has spread a silver haze over the rugged hill sides. The mountain tops are shining —the dried leaves bitten off by the frost, turn round and round, and drop without a sound. A rather narrow, brisk stream runs rapidly, descending as it goes, till it reaches the rear of a one story house, where, being set back by a dam below, it seems like a plate of burnished steel from which a soft vapor is rising. Around its edges is a thin coating of ice, indicating the cold of the preceding night. The house stands on the declivity of a hill that slopes gradually from the road, (a hundred yards from it,) with one end to the river, the other to the road, and fronting south. Behind it is a little garden patch, which, in its winter adversity, shows signs of being cared for and loved; some plants being carefully tied up, and a few covered with old boxes and barrels. There are some other signs of refinement, not too common about the humble dwellings of our country parts; vines trained about the low door, and rose bushes so nicely fitted around the old windows, that they seem to have come to stay there of their own accord. Neatness, that good angel of an humble home, keeping all right with her ever-rustling wings, hover round this pretty dwelling. A small woodpile is laid up as if by mathematical rule. No litter of any kind is any where to be seen, and one wonders what the splendid cock, with his pedestrian harem, can find to make them pick so busily around the sunny doorway. “Dear mother, and father,—Don't feel too bad. I shall be on my way to New York when you get this. Miss Emma Gardner has lent me ten dollars, and what clothes I shall want. Father can't go; and you can't leave father, mother; and I—I can't stay. Father, you will keep up mother's spirits, won't you? I know it will all come right. “Dear father, and mother, and Ruth,— I have got into some trouble. I ask of you all not to feel anxious or distressed. I expect (expect was erased, and hope substituted,) “to get out well, but if I don't, I shall still keep `right side up,' as father would say. Now be calm, mother, dear. Just before we locked up last night, I observed a stranger come into the shop; the doors were closed, and all the clerks called into the middle of the shop, away from the counters. Otis Jackson was standing close to me at the time we were spoken to. I heard him mutter, `d—n it,' but I had not the least thought of what was coming. Mr. Brown stood one side of the stranger, Mr. Wilson the other. Mr. Brown spoke: `We have been missing,' says he, `fine goods for the last month; a shawl was taken last week; two yards of costly lace, and one of the five dollar pocket handkerchiefs are gone to-day. We have a police man here, and you must all be searched. One of you must be guilty. I am sorry for the innocent, but no disgrace will rest upon them — do your duty, Rushton.' The policeman began the search. Some of our young men laughed and joked; I could not, I was afraid it would prove to be Otis. He was the fourth searched, nothing was found on him. My turn came next; the things were found in my coat pocket, atop of my handkerchief and every thing, just as if they had been put there. How the truth is to be found out, I don't know, but I feel as if it would. All I ask is, that father will keep up mother's spirits, and dear Ruth, only think how you would all feel if I had taken the things. I shall write daily, so don't be anxious.
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