| | 2 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Add | | | Title: | The Winkles, or, The merry monomaniacs  | | | | 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: | Babbleton was an ancient village near the city of Philadelphia.
It had a wharf where the steamboats landed, and a
depot where the locomotives whistled. Hence, although the
principal mansions were situated on commodious lots, and in
many instances separated from each other by broad yards and
close fences, it is not to be inferred there was ever a monotonous
deficiency of noise and excitement in the place. It had
its proud and its miserable, its vanities and its humiliations,
its bank and its bakers, its millionaires and its milliners; and
was not unfrequently the scene of some of those entertaining
comedies of life, which have been considered in all enlightened
countries worthy of preservation in veracious and impartial
history. Such a record we have attempted to produce; and
although the direct manner of narration adopted may offend
the taste of the fastidious critic, yet the less acutely discerning
reader may possibly deem himself compensated for the
labor of perusal, by the reliable assurance of the anthenticity
of the story, and the interest attending the occurrences flitting
before his mental vision. “My Dear Aunt:—It becomes my melancholy duty to
announce a sad calamity—an unexpected suicide—which must
affect you deeply. This morning poor Jocko was found suspended
from the eve of the portico, and quite dead. That he
did it himself, must be evident from the fact that no human
being would be likely to climb down to the edge of the roof.
It seems that he had driven a large nail into the wood through
the last link of his chain, and then sprang over, either dislocuting.
his neck, or producing suffocation. I could not hear
his struggles, from the distant chamber I occupied, or you
should not have been called upon to lament his untimely end.
Poor Jocko! As the weather is very warm, I will have his
body taken down and packed in ice. It will keep, dear aunt,
until I receive your instructions, in regard to the disposition
you would have made of it. Every thing shall be done according
to your orders. You need not hasten your return to
the city. I am quite comfortable here, and the house is kept
very quiet from morning till night. My love to mother, sister,
uncle, all. “If I see so plainly the imprudence of such disgraceful
matches in others, you may suppose I shall be careful to avoid
falling into the like silly practices myself. It is true I intend
to marry. My nuptials will be celebrated some time during
the present year. But the man of my choice will be a gentleman
of distinction—a genius of celebrity. You know him,
Walter—Mr. Pollen, the poet. If he is poor—if he has been
sometimes, as you informed me, without a shirt—that is no
disgrace. How was it with Chatterton, Defoe, and even
Milton himself? And what lady in the world would not
have been honored by being the wife of a Chatterton, a Defoe,
a Milton? Shame upon the ladies who permitted them to
languish in poverty! I will set an example for the wealthy
ladies to follow hereafter. Genius is the very highest kind of
aristocracy, because it cannot be conferred by mortal man, nor
taken away even by the detracting tongue of women. Farewell.
Present my adieus to your mother and Lucy. We
will not meet again, unless it be accidentally, and then it is
probable there will be no recognition on my part, and I desire
there shall be none on yours. You may say to Mr. Lowe that
a visit from him would be agreeable to me I believe him to
be a gentleman, and would have no objections to his society,
if he could answer one or two questions satisfactorily. You
may say to him that although I am resolved to marry, I don't
expect to feel what the silly girls call a romantic passion for
any man. I don't believe in any such nonsense. I want a
partner at whist as much as any thing else. “My Dear Niece:—I send my Edith for you, and I desire
that you will return with her, by the evening mail. She
is discreet, and no one knows her in Babbleton. By accompanying
her, your persecutor will not be able to trace you to
your asylum. Wear a thick veil, so that he may not recognize
your features when you go to the cars. You may safely
confide in Edith. She has been my confidant for many years,
as your mother knows. She was personally acquainted with
the Great Unknown—Sir Walter—and is familiar with the
plots and stratagems of villains. She reads for me every
night, and has a romantic and literary disposition. Since I
received your dear pathetic letter, I have been going over the
`Children of the Abbey' again, and find my eyes continually
suffused with the miseries of poor Amanda. My dear child!
You remind me of her so much, that I am painfully impatient
to clasp you to my heart! Do not delay a moment. My
love to sister Edith. Tell her not to insist on my Edith having
any refreshments, for she never takes any. “Dear Sir: Excuse my bad writing, for you know I write
with my left hand, and hold the paper down with my right
stump. I saw Col. Oakdale to-day, and he said you would be
home to-night, therefore I write. “Here is news from Babbleton,” said Lucy, and narrated
in my dear mother's merry vein. Listen, aunt:—“Griselda
still keeps my poor brother a close prisoner, while she dashes
about in her coach and four. But she has cut all her poor
acquaintances, and of course I am blotted out of her books.
She passes without calling, and without knowing how heartily
I laugh at the ridiculous figure she makes. But she patronized
our minister, Mr. Amble, and that is a charitable expenditure,
because the money will certainly reach the poor of
the parish. Mr. A. you know, has either nine or thirteen (I
forget which) children of his own, and they must be provided
for. I suppose it is because I could render no
assistance, that he has not called on me lately—not, I believe,
since my house was sold. Perhaps he did not hear I was the
purchaser * * * Still I think Roland is love mad. But his
passion is two-fold. He has laid regular siege to Virginia
Oakdale, who is my guest, and opens his batteries once or
twice every week, and then disappears most mysteriously. I
presume he occupies his blue carriage on the alternate days.
Virginia never refuses to see him; but the spirited girl laughs
at his pretensions, and banters him in such a moeking manner
that he must soon despair of making any progress. Why do
you not treat him in the same way? Or why do you not
marry him, and then have your revenge? It is so absurd to
see men of fortune running after the girls, and vainly teasing
them for a smile. Marry them, and they will run the other
way. Walter is still at Washington, and has not yet received
his appointment. I believe he has ceased writing to Virginia.
What does it mean? More tomfoolery? Lowe has been
absent some time—and I suppose you have seen him. Remember!
* * * We had an exciting scene in the street the
other day. Sergeant Blore, when stumping on his way to
see me, was seized by Mrs. Edwards. She demanded his
money—and he cried murder! He tripped her up with his
wooden leg and made his escape. But it seems he sprained
her ankle, and she has since threatened to bring “an haction”
against him for “hassault” and battery! You see how
husbands are served! Bill Dizzle gallants Patty O'Pan to
church every Sunday. I wrote you how Patty mortally
affronted the Arums and Crudles. She kept up till Bill
and Susan beat a retreat. It has been a mystery to me
how the impudent hussy obtained the means to perpetrate
such an annoyance. Some of her finery must have cost a
great deal of money, and no one ever supposed Lowe possessed
a superabundance of it. By the way, I forgot to
mention that Bell Arum has written home a precious budget
of news, which her mother, as usual, has published to all
her acquaintances. She says she saw you examining the
register, and that you were in the habit of wandering
about alone and unprotected. She says Mr. Lowe is likewise
in the city; and if her ma would put that and that together,
she would know as much as the writer, no doubt! And she
says they have an invitation to the aristocratic Mrs. Laurel's
parties, and that some of the British nobility of the highest rank
are expected over this winter. But (she says) if L. W. and
Mr. L. are to be met there, she is determined to expose them. “My impudent nephew Walter,
who will persist in writing me, notwithstanding I have cast
him off for sanctioning his uncle's marriage with that vulgar
bonnet-maker (I forget her name), informs me that Mr. Pollen,
the silly poet who abandoned my hospitality to borrow a few
dirty dollars of the milliner, is now working himself to death
in New York to earn a scanty living, which he might have had
for nothing by remaining here and behaving himself. He is a
fool—just like other poets who have genius, and therefore he
ought not to be permitted to kill himself. Enclosed I send a
check for a trifling sum payable to bearer, which, perhaps, with
delicate management you may induce him to make use of for
his own benefit. Perhaps he needs some new shirts. I have
seen him twice without any—and I believe he has one of
Walter's yet. Speaking of checks and of Walter, I gave my
cast-off nephew one when he was on his way to that Babylonian
rendezvous of demagogues, which, for some reason—or
rather for the want of reason—he did not use. I suppose he
gave it to some fool or other poorer than himself. But the
cashier of the bank did not pay the money. There needed
Walter's name on it, he said, written with his own hand, as it
was drawn to his order, or something of the sort, which I did
not understand, and did not choose to inquire about. Walter
says Lucy is with you. Tell her I have five letters from
Ralph Roland begging me to intercede for him. I believe him
a knave—but if he writes me again I shall also believe him in
earnest, and that the rascal is absolutely in love. It would
be a better match than her uncle's, which she attended. “It must be for me,” said Walter. “Put it on the
table. I will look at it when I have searched my pockets
once more.” Not finding the check, he opened the letter and
read as follows: “Misther Walther Wankle, Sir — I have
sane Misthress Famble and mi busnes is faxd. She seed you
at super and sez she wants to no you. She ses she liks yer
lukes, and wud like to sarve you but ses Misther Famble is
beging for a nother man. Don't be onasy she kin do mor in
a dozzin husbins. Pleases anser this and lave at the barr for
your obeydant sarvint “Would you deign to read the news here, if I promise not
to be tedious? Well, I promise. The mortgage on our house
and grounds has been paid. Will you facilitate me on that?
You must not ask where the money came from, for that is a
secret upon which to exercise your faculty of guessing. But
that is not all. Colonel Oakdale's debt to Roland has been
paid. That must be news for you. You would never guess
who loaned him the money, and I will tell you, so that you
may pour out your gratitude to him should your relations
with the family of the senator—we have just heard of his election
by the Legislature—ever become more intimate than
they have been hitherto. It was John Dowly, whom every
one supposed to be in indigent circumstances. Blessings on
my old beau. Walter never slept more soundly, or enjoyed more pleasant
dreams, than he did in prison. And he had an excellent
appetite for breakfast, which was damaged, however, by the
contents of the letters and papers brought in by his keeper. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 6 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Cipher | | | | 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: | Spreading this upon the table before him, Mr. Gillies slowly read—but not
aloud, for, to have afforded gratuitous information upon his affairs even to the
walls and the sea, would have been to do violence to his nature—these words: Pardon the seeming discourtesy of my abrupt departure, and my first signifying it to
Francia. I could not see you again, Neria, I could not write to you of less than the
whole. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 7 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | Outpost | | | | 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 last day of October!” said the Sun to himself, —
“the last day of my favorite month, and the birthday of
my little namesake! See if I don't make the most of it!” “Since writing to you last month, I have been going on
with my studies under the Rev. Mr. Brown, as I then mentioned.
I do not find that it hurts me to study in the hot
weather at all; and I have enjoyed my vacation better this
way than if I had been idle. “We shall be at home on Wednesday evening, at six
o'clock, and shall bring some guests. You will please prepare
tea for eight persons; and make up five beds, three of
them single ones. Tell Susan to make the house look as
pretty as she can; and send for any thing she or you need in
the way of preparation. Yours of the 10th duly received, and as welcome as your
letters always are. So you have seen the kingdoms of the
world and the glory thereof, and find that all is vanity, as
saith the Preacher. Do not imagine that I am studying divinity
instead of medicine; but to-day is Sunday, and I have
been twice to meeting, and taken tea with the minister
besides. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 8 | Author: | Austin
Jane G.
(Jane Goodwin)
1831-1894 | Add | | | Title: | The shadow of Moloch mountain | | | | 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 Brewster Place
454EAF. [Page 005]. In-line image of a house with a straw roof and smoking chimney. In
front of the house is a person holding open a gate.
“My Dear Niece Beatrice: It is a long time
since we heard any thing from you, and I trust that
both you and brother Israel are in good health
and prospered in your undertakings. We are all
in the enjoyment of our usual health, except your
grandmother, who has an attack of rheumatism,
from standing at the porch-door talking to Jacob,
our hired man, about the new calf. This calf is
the daughter of Polly, the red and white heifer
that you liked so well and dressed with a garland
of wild flowers, which she pulled off and eat up.
That was last Independence-day, you remember, and
you got mostly blue flowers, because, you said, she
must be red, blue, and white. The new calf is very
pretty, and we think of raising it; but we shall not
name it until you come home, as you may have a
choice in the matter. Grandfather is very well, considering,
and often speaks of you. He says he wants
to see you very much, and hopes you will not have
grown out of knowledge. He forgets, being old, that
you are grown up already, and will not change outwardly
any more until you begin to grow old, which I
suppose will not be yet. “I know that you will feel remorseful, because, even
without fault of your own, you have done me an injustice
by your suspicions; and, later on, have dealt me a
blow whose wound will endure for years. To natures
ike yours, there is no comfort like reparation and
atonement. I offer you the opportunity for both in
this set of trinkets, brought from India by me for the
unknown lady of my love. If you will take them and
wear them, I shall feel that we are friends once more,
and that you have forgiven yourself and me for the injury
that friendship has sustained. Do not refuse me
this amends; and believe me always while I live, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 9 | Author: | Bagby
George William
1828-1883 | Add | | | Title: | What I did with my fifty millions | | | | 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: | For twenty years at least I had been in the habit of
putting myself to sleep by imagining what I would do
with the precise sum of fifty millions of dollars. An
excellent hypnotic I found it, with no morphine or
chloral after-effects. It may have unfitted me for the
hard grind of actual life, but no matter now. When it
came I was as tranquil as a May morning. The fact is,
the transfer was not completed until the close of the
month of May, 1876. Negotiations, etc., had been going
on for months beforehand, and it has always been a
matter of inordinate pride to me that I attended to my
regular duties and kept the whole thing a profound secret
from my family, friends, and, indeed, everybody in
America—the money having come from Hindostan. It
required a deal of innocent lying to do this, but secrecy
was indispensable to the surprises I meditated, and a
surprise, you know, is the very cream of the delight as
well of giving as receiving. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 10 | Author: | Baldwin
Joseph G.
(Joseph Glover)
1815-1864 | Add | | | Title: | The flush times of Alabama and Mississippi | | | | 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: | And what history of that halcyon period, ranging from the
year of Grace, 1835, to 1837; that golden era, when shin-plasters
were the sole currency; when bank-bills were “as
thick as Autumn leaves in Vallambrosa,” and credit was a
franchise,—what history of those times would be complete,
that left out the name of Ovid Bolus? As well write the
biography of Prince Hal, and forbear all mention of Falstaff.
In law phrase, the thing would be a “deed without a
name,” and void; a most unpardonable casus omissus. My Dear Sir,—Having established, at great expense,
and from motives purely patriotic and disinterested, a monthly
periodical for the purpose of supplying a desideratum in
American Literature, namely, the commemoration and perpetuation
of the names, characters, and personal and professional
traits and histories of American lawyers and jurists, I
have taken the liberty of soliciting your consent to be made
the subject of one of the memoirs, which shall adorn the columns
of this Journal. This suggestion is made from my
knowledge, shared by the intelligence of the whole country,
of your distinguished standing and merits in our noble profession;
and it is seconded by the wishes and requests of
many of the most prominent gentlemen in public and private
life, who have the honor of your acquaintance. Dear Sir—I got your letter dated 18 Nov., asking me
to send you my life and karackter for your Journal. Im
obleeged to you for your perlite say so, and so forth. I got
a friend to rite it—my own ritin being mostly perfeshunal.
He done it—but he rites such a cussed bad hand I cant rede
it: I reckon its all korrect tho'. My Dear Sir—The very interesting sketch of your life
requested by us, reached here accompanied by your favor of
the 1st inst., for which please receive our thanks. Dear Mr. Editor—In your p. s. which seems to be the
creem of your correspondents you say I can't get in your
book without paying one hundred and fifty dollars—pretty
tall entrants fee! I suppose though children and niggers
half price—I believe I will pass. I'll enter a nolly prossy
q. O-n-e-h-u-n-d-r-e-d dollars and fifty better! Je-whellikens! We can only give it in our way, and only such parts as
we can remember, leaving out most of the episodes, the casual
explanations and the slang; which is almost the play of
Hamlet with the Prince of Denmark omitted. But, thus
emasculated, and Cave's gas let off, here goes a report about
as faithful as a Congressman's report of his spoken eloquence
when nobody was listening in the House. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 11 | Author: | Longstreet
Augustus Baldwin
1790-1870 | Add | | | Title: | Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck | | | | 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: | Many years ago there lived in a small village in the State of
Georgia, a pious widow, who was left with an only son and two
daughters. She was in easy circumstances, and managed her temporal
concerns with great prudence; so that her estate increased with
her years. Her son exhibited, at a very early age, great precocity
of genius, and the mother lost no opportunity of letting the world
know it. When he was but six years old, he had committed little
pieces in prose and poetry, which he delivered with remarkable propriety
for his years. He knew as much of the scriptures as any
child of that age probably ever knew; and he had already made
some progress in geography and mental arithmetic. With all this,
he was a very handsome boy. It is not to be wondered at, that his
mother should be bringing him out in some department of science,
upon all ocoasions; of course; she often brought him out upon very
unsuitable occasions, and sometimes kept him out, greatly to the
annoyance of her company. Not to praise his performances, would
have been discouraging to Master William Mitten, and very mortifying
to his mother; accordingly, whether they were well-timed or
ill-timed, everybody praised them. The ladies, all of whom loved
Mrs. Mitten, were not unfrequently thrown into raptures at the
child's exhibitions. They would snatch him up in their arms, kiss
him, pronounce him a perfect prodigy, both in beauty of person and
power of mind; and declare that they would be willing to go beggars
upon the world to have such a child. Others would piously
exhort Mrs. Mitten not to set her heart too much upon the child.
“They never saw the little creature, without commingled emotions
of delight and alarm; so often is it the case that children of such
wonderful gifts die early.” Her brother, Capt. David Thomson, a
candid, plain-dealing excellent man, often reproved Mrs. M. for parading,
as he called it, “her child upon all occasions.” “Having recently understood that you have procured a private
teacher, we have ventured to stop your advertisement, though ordered
to continue it until forbid, under the impression that you have probably
forgotten to have it stopped. If, however, we have been misinformed,
we will promptly resume the publication of it. You will
find our account below; which as we are much in want of funds, you
will oblige us by settling as soon as convenient. Hoping your
teacher is all that you could desire in one, “Dear Sir: On taking leave of me, you requested me to give
you early information of the standing, conduct, and progress of your
nephew; and, as my letter will reach you through the kindness of
Mr. Jones, the bearer, nearly or quite a week sooner than it would
by regular—or rather irregular—course of mail, I avail myself
of the opportunity to comply with your request. William has been
under my instruction just a week to-day; and though I would not
venture confident predictions of him, upon so short an acquaintance,
I will give you my present estimate of him, for what it is worth. If
I am not grossly deceived in him, he is destined to a most brilliant
future. He was a little rusty in the principles of construction at
first—no, in the application of them—for of the principles themselves,
he is master, and he improves in the application of them
with every lesson. His class was a week ahead of him in the Greek
grammar, when he entered it. He has already made up the deficiency,
and now stands fully equal to the best in his class in this
study—indeed, in all their studies. He is moral, orderly, and studious,
and if he will only do half as much for himself as nature has
done for him, he will be the pride of his kindred and the boast of
his country. You will not be much more delighted at receiving this
intelligence, than I am in communicating it. “Dear Mother:—I just write for fear you will feel uneasy if you
get no letter from me by this mail. Tom can tell you all about me.
Delighted with my boarding house—Fare much better than New's.
Health good—Told Mr. Wad'l I wished to go to preach'g with him,
if he went to-day, but he don't go till next Sat'y—Best love to all. “My Dearest Boy: Two days after you left us, your Uncle was
attacked with bilious fever. The attack is very severe, but we hope
not fatal. Last evening he begged that you might be sent for. Come
as quick as you can, in mercy to your horse. The Doctor says there
is no probability of his dying in four or five days; so do not peril the
life of your horse, in your haste to get here. “But the main object of this letter is to offer your son encouragements
to return to school. He left here under great depression of
spirits, and under the impression that his character was irretrievably
lost. No one in this vicinity, in or out of the school, thinks so. Now
that the story of his misfortunes is fully understood, every one attributes
them to a train of untoward circumstances which surrounded
him, on his return hither, rather than to depravity of heart. Indeed,
he has some noble traits of character, which almost entirely
conceal his faults from the eyes of the public and his school-fellows—
I say the public, for though it is a very uncommon thing for the public
to know or notice school-boy delinquencies, yet so wide-spread
was William's reputation from his performances at our last Examination
and Exhibition, that every one who knows him takes an interest
in him, and every one, I believe, regards him with more of sympathy
than censure. All would rejoice, I doubt not, to hear of his
return to the school, and his return to his good habits. Gilbert Hay,
his room-mate and bed-fellow, bids me say that he loves him yet, and
that the half of his bed is still reserved for him; and the feelings of
Gilbert Hay towards him, I believe, are the feelings of nine-tenths
of the school towards him. For myself, I shall give him a cordial
welcome. But you will naturally ask, what will be my dealings
with him, if he return? I answer the question very frankly: I shall
feel myself bound to correct him; though in so doing I shall not
forget the many circumstances of extenuation in his case. Had he
been guilty of but one offence, and that of a veneal nature, I should
freely forgive it, as is my custom, with the first offence. But he has
been guilty of several offences, and though none of them are very
rare in schools, they are, nevertheless, such as I have never allowed to
go unpunished in my school, and which I could not allow to escape
with impunity in this instance, without setting a dangerous precedent,
as well as showing marked partiality. I have reason to believe
that William would cheerfully submit to the punishment of his
faults, even though it were much severer than it will be, if that
would restore him to his lost position; now, I can hardly conceive
of anything better calculated to have that effect, than his volunteering
to take the punishment which he knows awaits him on his return,
when he might perchance avoid it by abandoning the school.
But with or without the punishment, he has only to be, for ten
months, what he has been for nearly as many, to regain the confidence
of everybody. Nothing but the peculiar circumstances of this
case, and the very lively interest which I take in the destiny of your
highly-gifted son, could have induced me to write a letter so liable
to misconstruction, as this is. But brief as is our acquaintance, I
think you will credit me, when I assure you, that my own pecuniary
interest has had no more to do with it, than yours will have in deliberating
upon its contents. Verily, the loss or gain of a scholar is
nothing to “When I think, my dearest mother, of the trouble I have
given you—how I abused your goodness, and disappointed your
reasonable expectations, my conscience smites me, and my cheeks
burn with blushes. How could I have been such an ingrate! How
could I have sent a pang to the bosom of the sweetest, the kindest,
the tenderest, the holiest, the best of mothers! Well, the past is
gone, and with it my childish, boyish follies: they have all been forgiven
long ago, and no more are to be forgiven in future. That I
am to get the first honor in my class is conceded by all the class
except four. These four were considered equal competitors for it
until I entered the class, and they do not despair yet; but they had
as well, for they equal me in nothing but Mathematics, and do not
excel me in that. The funds that you allow me ($500 per annum)
are more than sufficient to meet all my college expenses, and allow
me occasional pleasure rambles during the vacation. What I have
written about my stand in College, you will of course understand as
intended only for a mother's eye. “All your letters have been received. They have given the Principal
of the School great uneasiness, and me great delight. He
knows only whence they come—know you whether they have gone;
into the most hallowed chamber of my heart. Mail your letters
anywhere, but at Princeton; my answers will be returned through a
confidante in Morristown. “I have been tormented by strange reports concerning you which
I cannot, I will not believe, until they receive some confirmation from
your own lips. I will not aggravate your griefs by repeating them
now, farther than just to say, that if true, your last brief epistle from
Princeton was untrue. “Mr. William Mitten—Sir: Your dismissal from College,
and your misrepresentation to me, I could forgive; but I never can
forgive your addresses to me, while you were actually engaged to
Miss Amanda Ward. “Let them follow the heart of the giver. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 13 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | The border rover | | | | 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: | I believe it is customary, when an individual sets
out to write an autobiography, to begin at the beginning—that
is to say, with his first recollection—and
give a detailed account of the passing of his earliest
years. I shall not adopt this plan; because, in the
first place, the earlier years of my existence were not
marked with events of peculiar interest to the reader;
and in the second place, my narrative is intended
merely as a chronicle of the most remarkable scenes
and adventures through which I passed after arriving
at the age of manhood. It may not be improper,
however, to devote a few words to my birth, parentage
and past life, in order to fairly introduce myself
to the reader, with whom it is my design to make a
rather long, and I hope agreeable, journey. “`I shall never cease to remember and pray for the
preserver of my life. God bless, preserve and restore
you. Shall I ever hear from you again? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 14 | Author: | Myers
P. Hamilton
(Peter Hamilton)
1812-1878 | Add | | | Title: | The prisoner of the border | | | | 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: | Within view of those mystic mountains, which were long since
rendered classic soil by the pen of Irving, and on the banks of that
beautiful Hudson, whose charms defy even the power of genius to
depict, was the quiet home of Walter Vrail. Not in the days
when the ghostly Hendrick and his phantom followers made the
rocky halls of the Catskills reverberate with their rumbling balls,
and with the clatter of their falling nine-pins, and when their spectral
flagon-bearer could be dimly seen at twilight, toiling up the
misty ascent to join the shadow revellers, but in these later
days, when the quaint old bowlers in doublet and jerkin, have
retired deep within the bowels of the mountain, to pursue their
endless game undisturbed by the plash of the swift steamboat, or
the roar of the linked cars, plunging through dark passes, trembling
along narrow ledges, and sending up their shrill scream
through all the far recesses of a once holy solitude. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 15 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Ellen Norbury, or, The adventures of an orphan | | | | 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 was Christmas eve, that happy period for the young
who have parents above the wants and miseries of griping
poverty, and notwithstanding a heavy snow was falling, the
streets of the goodly city of Philadelphia were thronged
with joyous citizens, many of them returning to their
cheerful firesides, loaded with toys, which were to greet
the eyes of the happy children, when they should awake on
the morrow, as the mysterious presents of fabled St. Nicholas.
It was a gala time to all but the homeless and destitute;
and, alas! there are too many such, who, with fevered
eyes, can only look upon the happiness of others through
that deep veil of hopeless gloom which shuts out every
cheerful ray. To such poor wretches it was a time of open
mockery; for they keenly felt that but one tithe of what
was now so freely spent for foolish toys, would have provided
them against the pangs of starvation and death. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 16 | Author: | Stowe
Harriet Beecher
1811-1896 | Add | | | Title: | My wife and I, or, Harry Henderson's history | | | | 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 appears to me that the world is returning to its
second childhood, and running mad for Stories.
Stories! Stories! Stories! everywhere; stories in
every paper, in every crevice, crack and corner of the house.
Stories fall from the pen faster than leaves of autumn, and
of as many shades and colorings. Stories blow over here
in whirlwinds from England. Stories are translated from
the French, from the Danish, from the Swedish, from the
German, from the Russian. There are serial stories for
adults in the Atlantic, in the Overland, in the Galaxy, in
Harper's, in Scribner's. There are serial stories for youthful
pilgrims in Our Young Folks, the Little Corporal, “Oliver
Optic,” the Youth's Companion, and very soon we anticipate
newspapers with serial stories for the nursery. We shall have
those charmingly illustrated magazines, the Cradle, the Rocking
Chair, the First Rattle, and the First Tooth, with successive
chapters of “Goosy Goosy Gander,” and “Hickory
Dickory Dock,” and “Old Mother Hubbard,” extending
through twelve, or twenty-four, or forty-eight numbers. MY Dear Friend and Teacher:—I scarcely dare
trust myself to look at the date of your kind
letter. Can it really be that I have let it he
almost a year, hoping, meaning, sincerely intending to
answer it, and yet doing nothing about it? Oh! my
dear friend, I was a better girl while I was under your
care than I am now; in those times I really did my duties;
I never put off things, and I came somewhere near
satisfying myself. Now, I live in a constant whirl—a whirl
that never ceases. I am carried on from day to day, from
week to week, from month to month, with nothing to show
for it except a succession of what girls call “good times.”
I don't read any thing but stories; I don't study; I don't
write; I don't sew; I don't draw, or play, or sing, to any
real purpose. I just “go into society,” as they call it. I am
an idler, and the only thing I am good for is that I help to
adorn a house for the entertainment of idlers; that is
about all. My Dear Child:—You place me in an embarrassing position
in asking me to speak on a subject, when your parents
have already declared their wishes. My Dear Friend:—I am glad you have written as you have
to Eva. It is perfectly inexplicable to me that a girl of her
general strength of character can be so undecided. Eva has
been deteriorating ever since she came from Europe. This
fashionable life is to mind and body just like a hotbed to
tender plants in summer, it wilts everything down. Eva was
a good scholar and I had great hopes of her. She had a
warm heart; she has really high and noble aspirations, but
for two or three years past she has done nothing but run
down her health and fritter away her mind on trifles. She
is not half the girl she was at school, either mentally or
physically, and I am grieved and indignant at the waste.
Her only chance of escape and salvation is to marry a true
man. My Dear Belle: Thanks for your kind letter with all its
congratulations and inquiries,—for though as yet I have no
occasion for congratulation, and nothing to answer to
inquiry, I appreciate these all the same. My Dear Belle:—I told you I would write the end of my
little adventure, and whether the “hermit” comes or not.
Yes, my dear, sure enough, he did come, and mamma and
we all like him immensely; he had really quite a success
among us. Even Ida, who never receives calls, was gracious
and allowed him to come into her sanctum because he is a
champion of the modern idea about women. Have you seen
an article in the “Milky Way” on the “Women of our
Times,” taking the modern radical ground? Well, it was
by him; it suited Ida to a hair, but some little things in
it vexed me because there was a phrase or two about the
“fashionable butterflies,” and all that; that comes a great
deal too near the truth to be altogether agreeable. I don't
care when Ida says such things, because she's another
woman, and between ourselves we know there is a deal of
nonsense current among us, and if we have a mind to
talk about it among ourselves, why its like abusing one's
own relations in the bosom of the family, one of the sweetest
domestic privileges, you know; but, when lordly man
begins to come to judgment and call over the roll of our
sins, I am inclined to tell him to look at home, and to say,
“Pray, what do you know about us sir?” I stand up for my
sex, right or wrong; so you see we had a spicy little controversy,
and I made the hermit open his eyes, (and, between
us, he has handsome eyes to open). He looked innocently
astonished at first to be taken up so briskly, and called to
account for his sayings. You see the way these men have
of going on and talking without book about us quite blinds
them; they can set us down conclusively in the abstract
when they don't see us or hear us, but when a real live girl
meets them and asks an account of their sayings they
begin to be puzzled. However, I must say my lord can
talk when he fairly is put up to it. He is a true, serious,
earnest-hearted man, and does talk beautifully, and his
eyes speak when he is silent. The forepart of the evening,
you see we were in a state of most charming agreement;
he was in our little “Italy,” and we had the nicest
of times going over all the pictures and portfolios and the
dear old Italian life; it seems as if we had both of us seen,
and thought of, and liked the same things—it was really
curious! “Dear Cousin:—I have had no time to keep up
correspondence with anybody for the past year. The state
of my father's health has required my constant attention,
day and night, to a degree that has absorbed all my power,
and left no time for writing. For the last six months father
has been perfectly helpless with the most distressing form
of chronic rheumatism. His sufferings have been protracted
and intense, so that it has been wearing even to witness
them; and the utmost that I could do seemed to bring very
little relief. And when, at last, death closed the scene, it
seemed to be in mercy, putting an end to sufferings which
were intolerable. My Darling Belle:—I have been a naughty girl to let your
letter lie so long. But my darling, it is not true, as you
there suggest, that the bonds of sisterly affection, which
bound us in school, are growing weaker, and that I no
longer trust you as a confidential friend. Believe me, the
day will never come, dearest Belle, when I shall cease to
unfold to you every innermost feeling. My Dearest Belle:—Since I wrote to you last there have
been the strangest changes. I scarcely know what to think.
You remember I told you all about Easter Eve, and a certain
person's appearance, and about the stolen glove and all
that. Your theory of accounting for all this was precisely
mine; in fact I could think of no other. And, Belle, if I
could only see you I could tell you of a thousand little
things that make me certain that he cares for me more than
in the way of mere friendship. I thought I could not be
mistaken in that. There has been scarcely a day since our
acquaintance began when I have not in some way seen him
or heard from him; you know all those early services, when
he was as constant as the morning, and always walked
home with me; then, he and Jim Fellows always spend
at least one evening in a week at our house, and there
are no end of accidental meetings. For example, when we
take our afternoon drives at Central Park we are sure to
see them sitting on the benches watching us go by, and it
came to be quite a regular thing when we stopped the carriage
at the terrace and got out to walk to find them there,
and then Alice would go off with Jim Fellows, and Mr. H.
and I would stroll up and down among the lilac hedges and
in all those lovely little nooks and dells that are so charming.
I'm quite sure I never explored the treasures of the
Park as I have this Spring. We have rambled everywhere—
up hill and down dale—it certainly is the loveliest and
most complete imitation of wild nature that ever art perfected.
One could fancy one's self deep in the country in
some parts of it; far from all the rush and whirl and
frivolity of this great, hot, dizzy New York. You may
imagine that with all this we have had opportunity to
become very intimate. He has told me all about himself,
all the history of his life, all about his mother, and his
home; it seems hardly possible that one friend could speak
more unreservedly to another, and I, dear Belle, have
found myself speaking with equal frankness to him. We
know each other so perfectly that there has for a long time
seemed to be only a thin impalpable cob-web barrier between
us; but you know Belle, that airy filmy barrier is
something that one would not by a look or a word disturb.
For weeks I have felt every day that surely the next time
we meet all this must come to a crisis. That he would
say in words what he says in looks—in involuntary actions—
what in fact I am perfectly sure of. Till he speaks I must
be guarded. I must hold myself back from showing him
the kindly interest I really feel. For I am proud, as you
know, Belle, and have always held the liberty of my heart
as a sacred treasure. I have always felt a secret triumph in
the consciousness that I did not care for anybody, and that
my happiness was wholly in my own hands, and I mean
to keep it so. Our friendship is a pleasant thing enough,
but I am not going to let it become too necessary, you
understand. It isn't that I care so very much, but my curiosity
is really excited to know just what the real state of
the case is; one wants to investigate interesting phenomena
you know. When I saw that little glove movement
on Easter Eve I confess I thought the game all in my own
hands, and that I could quietly wait to say “checkmate”
in due form and due time; but after all nothing came of it;
that is, nothing decisive; and I confess I didn't know what
to think. Sometimes I have fancied some obstacle or en
tanglement or commitment with some other woman—this
Cousin Caroline perhaps—but he talks about her to me in
the most open and composed manner. Sometimes I fancy
he has heard the report of my engagement to Sydney. If
he has, why doesn't he ask me about it? I have no objection
to telling him, but I certainly shall not open the subject
myself. Perhaps, as Ida thinks, he is proud and poor
and not willing to be a suitor to a rich young good-for-nothing.
Well, that can't be helped, he must be a suitor if
he wins me, for I shan't be; he must ask me, for I certainly
shan't ask him, that's settled. If he would “ask
me pretty,” now, who knows what nice things he might
hear? I would tell him, perhaps, how much more one true
noble heart is worth in my eyes than all that Wat Sydney
has to give. Sometimes I am quite provoked with him
that he should look so much, and yet say no more, and I
feel a naughty wicked inclination to flirt with somebody
else just to make him open those “grands yeux” of his a
little wider and to a little better purpose. Sometimes I
begin to feel a trifle vindictive and as if I should like to
give him a touch of the claw. The claw, my dear, the little
pearly claw that we women keep in reserve in the “patte
de velours,” our only and most sacred weapon of defense. Dear Henderson:—You need feel no hesitancy about accepting
in full every advantage in the position I propose
to you, since you may find it weighted with disadvantages
and incumbrances you do not dream of. In short, I shall
ask of you services for which no money can pay, and till
I knew you there was no man in the world of whom I had
dared to ask them. I want a friend, courageous, calm, and
true, capable of thinking broadly and justly, one superior
to ordinary prejudices, who may be to me another, and in
some hours a stronger, self. MY DEAREST BELLE:—Since I last wrote you wondrous
things have taken place, and of course I
must keep you au courant. Dear Hal:—My head buzzes like a swarm of
bees. What haven't I done since you left? The Van Arsdels
are all packing up and getting ready to move out, and
of course I have been up making myself generally useful
there. I have been daily call-boy and page to the adorable
Alice. Mem:—That girl is a brick! Didn't use to think
so, but she's sublime! The way she takes things is so
confounded sensible and steady! I respect her—there's
not a bit of nonsense about her now—you'd better believe.
They are all going up to the old paternal farm to spend
the summer with his father, and by Fall there'll be an
arrangement to give him an income (Van Arsdel I mean),
so that they'll have something to go on. They'll take a
house somewhere in New York in the Fall and do fairly;
but think what a change to Alice! Dear Hal:—I promised you a family cat, but I am going
to do better by you. There is a pair of my kittens that
would bring laughter to the cheeks of a dying anchorite.
They are just the craziest specimens of pure jollity that
flesh, blood, and fur could be wrought into. Who wants
a comic opera at a dollar a night when a family cat will
supply eight kittens a year? Nobody seems to have found
out what kittens are for. I do believe these two kittens of
mine would cure the most obstinate hypochondria of mortal
man, and, think of it, I am going to give them to you!
Their names are Whisky and Frisky, and their ways are
past finding out. Dear Sister:—I am so tired out with packing, and all the
thousand and one things that have to be attended to! You
know mamma is not strong, and now you and Ida are
gone, I am the eldest daughter, and take everything on my
shoulders. Aunt Maria comes here daily, looking like a
hearse, and I really think she depresses mamma as much
by her lugubrious ways as she helps. She positively is a
most provoking person. She assumes with such certainty
that mamma is a fool, and that all that has happened out
of the way comes by some fault of hers, that when she has
been here a day mamma is sure to have a headache. But
I have discovered faculties and strength I never knew I
possessed. I have taken on myself the whole work of separating
the things we are to keep from those which are to
be sold, and those which we are to take into the country
with us, from those which are to be stored in New York
for our return. I don't know what I should have done if
Jim Fellows hadn't been the real considerate friend he is.
Papa is overwhelmed with settling up business matters,
and one wants to save him every care, and Jim has really
been like a brother—looking up a place to store the goods,
finding just the nicest kind of a man to cart them, and
actually coming in and packing for me, till I told him I
knew he must be giving us time that he wanted for himself
—and all this with so much fun and jollification that we
really have had some merry times over it, and quite
shocked Aunt Maria, who insists on maintaining a general
demeanor as if there were a corpse in the house. My Dear Eva:—Notwithstanding all that has passed, I
cannot help writing to show that interest in your affairs,
which it may be presumed, as your aunt and godmother,
I have some right to feel, and though I know that my
advice always has been disregarded, still I think it my
duty to speak, and shall speak. My Dear Old Boy:—I think we have got it. I mean got
the house. I am not quite sure what your wife will say,
but I happened to meet Miss Alice last night and I told her,
and she says she is sure it will do. Hear and understand. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 17 | Author: | Thorpe
Thomas Bangs
1815-1878 | Add | | | Title: | The hive of "The bee-hunter" | | | | 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: | Originally, the wild turkey was found scattered
throughout the whole of our continent, its habits only
differing, where the peculiarity of the seasons compelled
it to provide against excessive cold or heat. In the
“clearing,” it only lives in its excellent and degenerated
descendant of the farm-yard, but in the vast prairies and
forests of the “far west,” this bird is still abundant,
and makes an important addition to the fare of wild life. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 18 | Author: | Trowbridge
J. T.
(John Townsend)
1827-1916 | Add | | | Title: | The deserted family, or, Wanderings of an outcast | | | | 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: | On the afternoon of a quiet summer's day,
a weary foot traveller turned aside from a dusty
country road, and on the grassy slope of a
pleasant hillside sat down upon the ground.
With a heavy sigh he removed from his brow
a torn and faded straw hat, and brushing back
the moist locks of gray hair that fell upon his
forehead, gazed sadly down into the beautiful
valley before him. “Dearest Cousin: The terrible excitement
of this awful day, the confusion around
me, the smell of murder which invades my
nostrils, the weighty cares on my mind, my
unsteady nerves, and the bruised state of the
tin pan on the bottom of which I write this
letter, must be my apology for the wretched
scrawl I send you. “Adored Alice: How I shall write this
note I know not. The tin pan which served
me as a desk before has been wrested from me
by a barbarous multitude. I am driven to use
a rough board, which I hold upon my knee.
The truth is, I am looked upon as a maniac by
some; others consider me a reporter for the
Gazette and Recorder. My friends shake
their heads doubtfully at my enterprise. But
nothing can daunt me. Write I must, and
will! “Star of my Existence, dearest Cousin:
In the midst of my imperative duties, I snatch
a few minutes from my much-occupied time
to keep you posted up. I have testified — told
the truth — the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth. I feel relieved. I have done my
duty. I have acted — a man! “Meet me to-morrow morning, at ten, in the
spot we have called Shadowland. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 20 | Author: | Phelps
Elizabeth Stuart
1844-1911 | Add | | | Title: | Men, women, and ghosts | | | | 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: | None at all. Understand that, please, to begin
with. That you will at once, and distinctly, recall
Dr. Sharpe — and his wife, I make no doubt. Indeed,
it is because the history is a familiar one, some
of the unfamiliar incidents of which have come into my
possession, that I undertake to tell it. “I have been so lonely since mother died, that my
health, never of the strongest, as you know, has suffered
seriously. My physician tells me that something
is wrong with the periphrastic action, if you know
what that is,” [I suppose Miss Fellows meant the
peristaltic action,] “and prophesies something dreadful,
(I 've forgotten whether it was to be in the head,
or the heart, or the stomach,) if I cannot have change
of air and scene this winter. I should dearly love to
spend some time with you in your new home, (I fancy
it will be drier than the old one,) if convenient to
you. If inconvenient, don't hesitate to say so, of
course. I hope to hear from you soon. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
|
