| | 21 | Author: | EDITED BY
MRS. SARAH J. HALE. | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Liberia ; or, Mr. Peyton's experiments  | | | | 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 Peytons were among the earliest settlers and
largest landholders in Virginia. Their plantation
stretched along one of the southern branches of
James River, called Rock Creek, although, but for
the overshadowing of its grander neighbor, it might
well have been dignified with the name of river,
for there are many celebrated streams that are neither
so deep nor broad as that known simply as
Rock Creek. “My dear Sir,—A week or two since I wrote
you, giving a somewhat detailed statement of my
proceedings here and in Paris up to that time; and
now I have nothing very special to communicate,
except that there is a decidedly increasing interest
in England and France in favor of Liberia. By the
government and people of both these countries I
have been received in the most kind and flattering
manner. I mentioned to you that, in consequence
of the departure of the prince president for a tour
in the south of France just about the time I reached
Paris, I had promised to make another visit in
the course of a month. Accordingly, I returned on
the 15th instant, to be present and witness the entry
of the president on the 16th. A brief statement of things passing under my observation, at
the request of Rev. R. R. Gurley. Very dear Sir,—Your favor of July 18th came safe to hand;
also the file of the “Colonization Herald,” and the religious newspapers,
by Judge Benson's hand. I sincerely thank you for all.
I am happy, indeed, that the coffee I sent as a token of my good
wishes for you, and the good cause, reached you, and found acceptance.
I hope soon to be able to send some for your market,
but at present it brings us a better price on the coast; however,
you did not say what price might be relied upon. I also received
the letter and books from Dr. Malcom, and can say that they will
prove a blessing to my Sabbath-school, particularly the class on
whose account I wrote for them. In it are many men and women
of families, some native youths. His books prove to be the very
thing. I introduced them last Sabbath, to take up the morning
lesson only; read Testaments in the evening. Our new settlement
(Cresson) is going ahead; I still think it destined to be the
greatest sea-port town on the coast. Dear Sir,—I write to inform you that we are all well, hoping
you and family are the same. I never will forget you for the
great good in telling me and my father about the land of Liberia.
I have got a good home. I would not change it for any under
heaven I have tried it twenty-one years. I have borne the
heat and burden of the day, and it gets better and better. I was
eighteen years old when I came here. I have grown to be a
man; in America I never could have been a man—never would
get large enough. Would my colored brethren believe this? They
keep writing to me to tell them all about the country. Let me
tell them a little: Liberia has raised up her bowed-down head,
and has taken a stand with some of the greatest nations of the
earth. She has struck off the stone that bowed us down in America.
I have grown so large that I have had the honor and the
pleasure of being a member of the Legislature five or six years.
Did you ever hear of such a thing in America? No, no—nor
never will. I was in America a few years ago; it was all the
time, boy, where are you going? old man, which way? I was
really tired; I wanted to be a man again; but never found it until
I hit the coast of Africa. I even saw the change in the captain;
he talked so familiar to you: “What is the matter, Harris?
Harris is going to be a man again.” Sweet Liberia! the love of
liberty keeps me here. Dear Sir,—I write you a few lines by the packet, to let you
know that I have not forgotten the kindness I received from you
and the Colonization Society in preparing me for this land of liberty.
I never shall forget the heartfelt thankfulness due to the
society for helping me and my family here. We had one of the
finest passages any one could have. Plenty to eat; a good captain,
and one that was kind to all in sickness and health. All
hands were good to us. I have not wanted to return once since
I left the United States. I was twelve days at Monrovia. It is
a fine town; the people are kind, and doing well. I think this is
a much better place for new beginners. I had the African fever;
myself and wife both took it on the same day. We had it about
fourteen days. The doctor says we are over it, though we are
weak; but it is not so had as I expected. Mr. Benson is preparing
a house at Cresson for me. It is a fine location for a town
—the best one I have seen. I shall be the first one there. I
look for more by the September vessel. I shall feel lonely for
some time until more arrive. Truly I am better and better pleased with Liberia each morning
when I awake and find myself in it. I could not be prevailed
on by any earthly consideration to leave Liberia, or exchange it
for any other country. Here I am in the land of my forefathers;
here I can enjoy all those rights which a benevolent God hath so
liberally vouchsafed to man; here I can exercise and improve
my gifts and graces in enlightening, instructing, and exhorting
the benighted sons of the forest in the truths of the Christian religion;
here I can bow down in the sanctuary of the Most High,
or at home, and unmolestedly worship the God of my fathers under
my own vine and fig-tree, while none dareth to molest or
make me afraid, here my children to their latest generation can
enjoy the privileges of freemen in storing their minds with education
and useful knowledge, and participating in the duties, &c.,
of civil government; and here I have as many political, social,
and religious rights as any man any where beneath Heaven's widespread
canopy. And should not these considerations endear this
my own country to me? I say, from the bottom of my soul, with
gratitude to my good God for what I enjoy—yes. With respect to this country, my expectations are more than
realized. I have found that the opinion I formed of Liberia while
in America was very nearly correct. This country is certainly
a most beautiful one, and the climate delightful. I have often
thought, since my arrival here, how the better class of colored
people, or at least a portion of them, would flock to Liberia if
they knew the real condition of the country and people. I always
thought that it was their ignorance of the country that
caused their opposition to it, but now I am convinced of that fact.
With regard to the United States having claims on Liberia, I
would ask if England, France, Prussia, and Brazil would acknowledge
her independence if the United States had any rights
to or claim on the country? England has made this government
a present of an armed schooner, and has a consul residing here.
Brazil has also a minister residing here, but of a higher grade
than consul; he is chargé d'affaires. The facts are, I think, sufficient
to convince any reasonable person that Liberia is really
an independent republic, and that the United States has no claim
to this country. There is a kind of blind prejudice which keeps
most colored people from coming to this country, and for the life
of me it is difficult to conceive why this prejudice exists; for in
the United States we are exposed to all kinds of insults from the
whites, which, in nearly every case, we dare not resent; whereas,
in this country we are all equal, and can enjoy the shade of our
own vine and fig-tree, without even the fear of molestation. In
the United States we are considered the lowest of the low, for the
most contemptible white man is better in the eyes of the law, and
in the opinion of the majority of the whites, than the best colored
man; whereas, on the other hand, in this country there are no distinctions
of color; no man's complexion is ever mentioned as a
reproach to him; and furthermore, every one has an equal chance
and right of filling any office in the government that they may be
qualified to fill. Liberia ought to be the most interesting country
(to the colored people of the United States) in the world, from
the fact that it is the only republic entirely composed of and governed
by the colored people, and it is the only country where a
colored man can enjoy liberty, equality, and fraternity, without
having to encounter the prejudice of the whites, which exists
more or less, in some degree, in every country in which the
whites predominate. If this prejudice ever dies away, I believe
that many generations yet unborn will have passed away before
it. Although this country offers many inducements to colored
people, yet it is not a paradise; it has a few unpleasant features,
owing principally to its being a new country. The most unpleasant
feature that I know is the acclimating fever, and that is far
from being as bad as most people in the United States think it is.
On account of the improvements made, such as clearing, &c., it
is much more healthy here than formerly; and also, the kind of
treatment best adapted to the acclimating fever is better known.
The acclimating fever is nothing more than a simple chill and
fever, and persons are affected with it according to the degree of
care they take of themselves, and also much depends on the constitution
of the person. Some persons have told me that they
were sick only one day, and that slightly; while others (I speak
of old settlers) had it one week, and some have had it from six
months to a year or more. A person is seldom sick more than
from one day to three weeks at one time. I have been in the country
a little more than three months; and have had several attacks
of the fever. The longest time I was confined to bed was one
day and a half. The symptoms in my case were a slight chill,
followed by a very high fever. I felt no pain whatever during
the continuance of the fever, but always after it I would have a
slight pain in the back, which soon wore off. I would sometimes
be sick in the morning and well in the afternoon. I once had the
fever in the forenoon, and was well enough by night to attend a
tea party. I am told that all children born here, even the natives
not excepted, have the fever while very young. This I have
been told by mothers, and I have seen children with the fever
who were born here. The general health of the place seems to be
very good. A person coming here will not find large cities with
splendid buildings, and large bustling populations; but we have
only small villages with corresponding populations; you will not
hear the sound of numerous carts, drays, &c., but all the carrying
is done by native laborers, for the people have not yet begun
to use horses and oxen for such purposes. Both may be had
from the interior. Bullocks are brought down from the interior,
but only to kill. There are at present only three horses in Monrovia;
they are used only for riding. I have ridden several times
myself. The buildings are generally quite plain, built of wood,
stone, or brick. There are, however, some very neat brick buildings
in Monrovia, and along the banks of the St. Paul's River. I
made an excursion up this river a few weeks ago, and never did
I enjoy a trip more than I did this one. The waters of the St.
Paul's are delicious to the taste. The river is about half a mile
wide; its banks are from about ten to about fifteen feet high, and
lined with fine large trees with a thick undergrowth. Among the
other trees may be seen the bamboo, and that most graceful of
all trees, the palm. This is the most useful tree in Liberia. I
have drank the wine made from this tree, and have swung on
hammocks manufactured from it, and I have seen very good fishing-lines
made from it; besides, numerous other uses are made
of this tree. There are four villages on this river: Virginia, Caldwell,
Kentucky, and Millsburgh. I saw in many places people
making bricks, and busily engaged on their farms of coffee, sugar-cane,
&c. I must now come to a close, as I have but little
more space to write. I will remark that I advise no man to come
here unless he has a little money to begin with. A single man
should have at least one or two hundred dollars; although many
come here without a cent, and yet do well; but it is generally
difficult to get a start in this country without a little means. For
my own part, you may infer from what I have said that I like
my new home. Dear Sir,—I embrace this opportunity to address you a line. I
am still doing what I can to demonstrate that Liberia is a rich and
productive country. My crops of cane in 1850 produced 8000 lbs.
of good sugar, and 500 gallons of sirup. My crop last year (1851)
was not so large—only about 3500 lbs. of sugar, and 250 gallons
of sirup. This falling off was in consequence of having to neglect
my sugar-cane farm to give attention to J. R. Straw's cotton
farm. I sell my sugar at 8 and 10 cents a pounds, which is
quite a saving to the people of Liberia This year I am giving
my whole attention to cane-raising, and I have a crop now in the
ground which will produce a much larger quantity of sugar and
sirup, and beat, possibly, both my preceding crops together. A
few days ago, I, with one or two others, noticed, in many hills of
cane on my farm, from forty-nine to sixty stalks. This can not
easily be surpassed, I am persuaded, in any country. I am certainly
fully convinced that by industry a man may have all the
necessaries of life, and a surfeit of the luxuries, in this very prolific
and God-blessed country. I have the privilege, doubtless, of
saying what no other person can say in Liberia—certainly before
any other could say it, if there is any other who can say it now
—that is, I use at my table coffee, sugar, sirup, and molasses of
my own raising. I have now about twenty-five hundred coffee-trees,
which will very soon enable me to export a small quantity
to America. Dear Mr. Rambo, I wish very much to see you. How glad and
happy I should be when I meet you, and Doctor May, and Mr.
Hoffman; and then—then my heart will talk to my mouth, and
my tongue will speak all what I have done or seen. Reverend and Dear Sir,—In the following lines, which I have
taken on myself to address you, I hope to find you in the enjoyment
of good health, the same as we are at present. Our mission
still continues, with its different operations, in which we are
severally engaged, endeavoring daily to instruct the poor, benighted
heathen. Not long ago we received a letter of instruction from
our Board, that the lead of the mission affairs is now considered
to be under the superintendence of my native brother and cousin,
Lewis K. Crocker, at Little Bassa, and myself; which serious
charge to keep we humbly depend on God to help us. Our schools
are still kept daily, this, and that of Little Bassa, where brother
Crocker resides. Our children are improving well in their acquisitions
of the different branches of knowledge, such as spelling
hard words, reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, natural philosophy,
&c. I am glad to state that the grown people of this
country, though they have not the privilege of improving themselves
by daily instruction, like the children, yet many of them
are getting civilized, getting acquainted with the law, political
economy, and secular improvement; forgetting their old habits,
and adopting those of their civilized fellow-creatures. Brethren and Fellow-countrymen,—You are aware that I
was appointed traveling agent to Africa on the 23d of last December,
1851, by the New York and Liberia Agricultural Association.
I returned to New York on the 12th November, 1852,
and it now becomes my duty to give you some account of Africa,
and of the benefits to be obtained by emigration to that country,
and whether there are any benefits to be obtained by so doing, or
not. I will endeavor to give you as true a statement as my
humble ability will admit. In truth and soberness, it would be
needless for me to tell you that Africa flows with milk and honey,
or that corn grows without planting. Liberia truly is a garden-spot;
her lands are beautiful, her soil is most fertile, her prairies
and her forests are blooming and gay, her rivers and streams
abound with fish, and her forests with game. Her Constitution
is a republican government, and a most excellent code of laws
are strictly observed. There are several churches and schools
in Monrovia, and they are well filled with people and scholars.
The Monrovians are the most strictly moral, if not the most
strictly religious people, I ever saw. Dear Sir,—I am well, and hope you are the same. I arrived
safe after a passage of thirty-seven days from the Capes. I am
happy to inform you that instead of being received in Baltimore
in chains, as I was told I would be, I was received very hospitably.
I am certainly grateful to the society for sending me to
Africa. I am perfectly satisfied with the change, only that I had
not started in 1842 instead of 1852. Here I stand erect and free,
upon the soil of my ancestors, and can truly say to all of my race,
you that would be free, Africa is your home, and the only home
where he that is tinctured with African blood can enjoy liberty.
This alone of him that loves liberty, for it is liberty alone that
makes life dear. He does not live at all who lives to fear. Please
say to any that may come to your office, that I say, come to Africa
and assist us in raising a light that may never go out. Enterprise
is what we want to make this country and people equal
with any on the face of the globe. Should any of the people of
Camden county, New Jersey, come to you for information, show
them this letter—tell them that I say there is land enough and
provision enough, by industry, for every enterprising colored man
in the United States. I find in Edina a fine soil, that will raise
any thing that a tropical country will produce. A fine, healthy-looking
people, that are kind and benevolent—who receive the
emigrants with the greatest kindness, and welcome them to the
land of liberty. Most respected Sir,—Liberia is destined to be the glory, the
home, and the resting-place for all the dark race. Then let them
come home, and rove abroad no longer, and that the chains of all
who will or could come and will not may be made tenfold faster,
because here they can come and be free. I mean my brethren
of color. There has been no disturbance with the republic by
the natives. Dear Friend,—Through a kind Providence we landed here on
the 6th instant, in forty days from Baltimore. All well. I went
ashore and met for the first time in my life on the same platform
with all men, and the finest people in the world. I never met
with more kindness in my life, and every attention is paid to visitors.
On Sabbath day there were seven flags flying in the harbor.
I attended the Methodist Sabbath-school, and found it interesting;
was invited to address it, and made some remarks.
There were seventy-five scholars in the school. I have been up
the St. Paul's River. It is the finest country in the world. Mr.
Blackledge's sugar farm is splendid. Dined with Mr. Russel,
Senator of New Virginia, and think his land somewhat better
than some of the rest. The river is sixty feet deep. Every
thing is getting along well, and all that is wanted are industrious
men and good mechanics. I would say to my friends, that every
thing that I have seen surpasses my expectations. Should I be
spared to return, you shall see some articles that I intend bringing
with me. I wish you would try to make some arrangement
with the society to let me off with a free passage home, as I
want to labor for the cause, and my means will be far run by the
time I get to Philadelphia. Brother Williams intends doing all
he can for the cause. We intend to go into the coffee business.
Our object is to get five hundred acres of land in one plot, and
have it settled by none but respectable people from Pennsylvania;
and I think that if you could send some from Philadelphia it
would have a good effect. Dear Sir,—I avail myself of the present opportunity to address
you a line or two, hoping they may find you as well as they leave
me. I had laid off to write to you before this, but I have not
done so; however, I hope you will take the will for the deed. I
have now been a resident of Liberia for upward of two years, and
I think I can now safely express my opinion as regards the advantages
to be gained by locating here. Unquestionably this is
the place, and these are the shores which are to contain the multitudes
which have for ages been laboring under the greatest disadvantages,
and who have been allured into the belief that they
will not be placed under the inconvenience of removing; but the
time has come which proves to a demonstration, more and more,
that this is a forlorn hope. Doubtless there are many who a few
years ago spurned the thought of leaving, who now turn their
eyes in solicitude to various parts for relief, but there is no quarter
which presents equal attractions with that presented by Liberia,
and they know it; and although they may be men of penetration,
who foresee that something must be done, and these may
be men of influence, who will exert this influence in a contrary
direction, yet I believe the masses will speak for themselves, and
such a mighty flood will be poured upon these shores as has not
been witnessed since the world began. I have not written any
on this subject, but I watched with increasing interest the “signs
of the times,” as exhibited in the United States, and I am convinced
that my impressions are not erroneous. There are many
false representations made to deter persons who are anywise inclined
to emigrate to this country, but I feel confident that those
who use this means to oppose us had better begin to think of
some other method, for they will ultimately be exposed in the
midst of their base attempts. Truth will eventually triumph over
falsehood. Gentlemen,—I promised to let you hear from me when in Liberia,
Africa, but although I have been here two months, I can
not at this time give you much account of the place. This little
republic is so far ahead of what I expected to find it, that your
good people of the United States would scarcely think I were
narrating truth were I to describe all that I have seen. Liberia
is a fine, fertile country. Things of every kind grow here. The
people are more comfortable in every respect, and enjoy themselves
much better than I have ever known them to do elsewhere.
The houses are very large, and are built mostly of brick and
stone; they are two stories and two stories and a half high;
from 30 to 50 feet front, and from 25 to 40 feet deep. The steps
to these houses are composed of iron ore—a substance on which
the city is built. Iron ore is as plentiful in Monrovia as common
stone is in Williamsburgh. Very dear Sir,—Fishtown was reoccupied on the 11th of October,
and the settlement is progressing rapidly—far in advance of
what it was before the massacre. The immigrants by the Zeno,
Morgan Dix, Liberia Packet, and Ralph Cross, enjoy much better
health down there than they did up at this place, and even the old
settlers moving there have derived much benefit. It has already
commenced attracting settlers from other settlements in this
county, and I am sanguine that in one or two years it will be in
advance of the other settlements of this county. Physicians
pronounce it a good place for emigrants to pass through their
acclimation, and I know it to be an excellent place for them to
to do well after acclimation. Sharp, Till, and Taylor, by the
Ralph Cross, from New Jersey, are doing pretty well for beginners.
They seem to be fine, industrious people, especially the
two former. They occupy three of the houses I built on the
banks of the St. John's River, opposite Factory Island, by direction
of your Board, and their produce is growing around them
finely. They would have settled at Fishtown had it been occupied
sooner. My dear Sir,—In your letter you expressed a desire to know
my first impressions of Liberia and Liberian society. On my arrival
at Monrovia, Mr. James very kindly invited us to spend the
day at his house, which invitation we accepted. While on shore,
I became acquainted with quite a number of intelligent ladies
and gentlemen. The society at Monrovia I think similar to that
of Philadelphia, while that at Bassa Cove and Edina I think less
favorably of. I am now living at Mount Vaughan, about two
and a half miles from Cape Palmas, at which place I am employed
as an assistant teacher in the high school belonging to the
Protestant Episcopal Mission, for which I receive three hundred
dollars. The society at Palmas, when we compare the number,
is equal to that of Monrovia in point of intelligence. This colony
is in quite a flourishing condition. There are in Palmas seven
yoke of oxen, well broken, and work quite steadily. We get the
bullocks from the natives, at eight dollars a piece. I have drawn
my farm land, and planted five hundred coffee-trees, twelve
pounds of ginger, and a thousand cassada sticks, besides arrow-root,
pea-nuts, and fruit trees. We have an abundance of fresh
vegetables, egg-plants, tomatoes, and fine large cabbage. Plenty
of venison, fresh fish, and oysters. We are on the eve of declaring
our independence. The spirit with which the people take
hold of the subject would do credit to 1776. There will be a
Convention held next week, to prepare a Constitution for our
new state. Dear Sir,—I received your letter in answer to mine, and was
very glad to hear from you; also to receive those papers you
sent me. My health and that of my family is tolerable. At
present we are perfectly satisfied, and glad we came here. The
society did a good part by us. I have a house and ten acres of
good land; all but three acres in cultivation. I do not find it so
warm here as I had been told or as I expected. I have tried
both seasons. Tell the colored people they need not be afraid to
come, but they must be industrious, or they had better stay where
they are. I would not change homes now if they would give
me five hundred dollars and free toleration. Every man can
vote. I visited the courts, where I saw colored men judges,
grand and petit jurymen, squires, constables, &c. Business is
carried on as correctly as in the United States. Dear Sir,—You wish that I would give some statement of
things in general, and in particular of the growth of cotton, rice,
&c. Our answer is this: this is emphatically a tropical region,
as all geographers will tell you. You have only to put your seed
into the ground, and with half the labor you have to perform in
the states you here may make a comfortable living. Cotton
and rice grow here as well as in your Southern States. It is
true, a fair trial was never made for the culture of that valuable
staple (cotton), enough to prove that it can be raised in great
quantity. Rice is indigenous to this country: it will grow almost
any where you may plant it, on high or low land. We have
coffee, potatoes, ginger, arrow-root, and pepper. There has not
been much pains taken with the planting of corn; enough has
been done, however, to satisfy one that it can be made, for I have
eaten as much as I wanted in proof of it. Gentlemen,—Since I have been here I have done very well,
better than I expected. I have bought five hundred dollars worth
of goods and paid for them. I have bought ten bullocks. I have
on hand one hundred bushels of rice. I paid in trade about forty
cents. If I keep which I shall do three months longer, I can get
$1 50 per bushel for it. I also have on hand six tons of cam-wood.
I want to increase it to ten tons by next month, and shall
ship it to England by the steamer on the 7th, and remit the money
to New York by a bill of exchange, so as to have more funds here
in the vessel which I understood will sail from New York with
our emigrants in the spring. I had only eight hundred dollars
worth of goods when I started from New York. I have on my
shelves one thousand dollars worth now. Notwithstanding, I
shall send one thousand dollars to New York after more goods.
I also have fifty pounds of ivory, worth here one dollar per pound.
I write this to show you what can be done here with a very little
money. If a man has half what I had he would soon get rich, if
he conducted himself aright; if a man has nothing, and came out
under our Association, having a house and lands cleared, he would
soon rise, if he has any spirit; therefore, come one, come all to
the sunny climes of Africa. Sir,—As I look upon you as being an old friend of mine, I take
pleasure in addressing you a few lines to let you know something
about how we are getting along in Liberia, believing you to be a
true friend to Liberia, and to the colored race. Mr. Williams, a free colored man of Pennsylvania, intelligent,
respectable, and rich for one of his class, was sent about a year
since to Liberia, by an association of his people in this state, who
desired to learn the prospects that country held out for the emigrants.
The following is an extract from his report: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 22 | Author: | Hale
Sarah Josepha Buell
1788-1879 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Northwood; or, Life north and south | | | | 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: | Sidney Romilly, the eldest of a numerous family,
was a native of New Hampshire. The local situation
of the little village in which he was born, offered few
temptations to the speculator, and the soil promised no
indulgence to the idle; but it abundantly repaid the
industrious cultivator. It was therefore inhabited, almost
exclusively, by husbandmen, who tilled their own farms
with their own hands, laboring actively six days in the
week, and on the seventh, offering, to that Being who
alone could crown their labors with success, the unfeigned
homage of contented minds and grateful hearts. My Dearest Mother,—I now take my pen to inform
you I am well, and hope this letter will find you enjoying
the same blessing. We had a very uncomfortable
journey, jolting along over the rough roads, up hill and
down; but we reached the end of it in safety, which I
take to be a special interposition of Providence, considering
the great length of the way, and my being totally
unused to traveling. Mr. Brainard has a fine house, the
prettiest I have seen in Charleston; and I like the house
well, and I should like the place very well if it were not
for the black people—niggers they call 'em here. Oh!
dear mother, you know how frightened I always was at
a negro—how I used to run behind your chair when old
Sampson came to the door, and always screamed when
he offered to step in. But, mercy! here the negroes are
as thick as bees; the streets are full of 'em. I am sure
I did not imagine there were so many in the universe.
When our carriage drove up to the gate, out bolted a
great black fellow, and Mr. Brainard shook hands with
him, and was as glad to see him as could be; but I trembled
all over, for I began to remember the stories I had
read of slaves murdering their masters and mistresses,
and many such bloody things. I guess Mr. Brainard
saw I was pale, for he told me not to be frightened at
Tom, who was one of the best creatures living. But
when we entered the hall, there stood a row of blacks,
laughing till their mouths were stretched from ear to ear,
to welcome us. They all crowded round my husband,
and I was so frightened, thinking some of them might
have knives in their hands to kill us, that I could not
help shrieking as loud as I could; and the slaves ran
away, and Mr. Brainard looked angry, and I hardly know
what happened next, for I believe I fainted. I am sure
if I had only known this was a negro country, I never
would have come here. They have a great many parties
and balls here. I don't go to the balls, for I never learned
to dance, and I think they are sinful; but I go to all the
parties, and dress just as rich and fine as I please. I
have a new head-dress, the prettiest thing my eyes ever
beheld; I wish you could see it. My husband buys me
every thing I ask for, and if I did not eternally see them
black people about me, I should be quite happy. Every
single day I am urging Mr. Brainard to send them off.
2
He always tells me it is impossible, and would be cruelty
to them, as they are contented and happy, and have no
other home or country where they could be received.
But I intend to tease him till he does. I don't care
where the creatures go to, nor much what becomes of
them, if they can only be out of my sight. Pray give
my love to Betty Baily, and tell her I wish she would
come and live with me, and then I should want no other
help. I often tell my husband I could do my work
alone, but he laughs, and says, “What a ridiculous thing
it would be to see you in the kitchen.” And besides, he
says, no white person will live long if they attempt to
labor in this warm climate. What to do, I know not,
but I am determined to get the black creatures away. My Dearest Mother—I received your kind letter of
February first, and I should have answered it immediately,
but I have had a world of trouble of late. I
do not know how to tell you what I have discovered;
but yet I must, that you may pray for me, that my faith
may be strengthened, and that I may be kept from temptation.
I have often heard you say, the children of professors
were especially protected by divine grace; and I
am sure I need such protection—for, don't you think Mr.
Brainard is a pope, or a papist, I forget which they call
'em, and he goes to a chapel and calls it a meeting, when
it is no more like our meetings than it is like a ball. I
have been twice, but I am determined to go no more,
and I say everything I can against it, for it is so different
from our christian worship I am sure it must be
wrong. I am sure you will be very much shocked to
hear of this, and I was when I discovered it; and I have
a thousand times wished myself in New England. But
don't say a word about it—you know who I would not
have hear of it for all the world. Your letter was the first consolation I have received
since we parted. You have not then forgotten me; you
will not then forget me, though my father has treated
you so angrily. But he is my father, and has always
been so kind, I must bear with his severity now without
murmuring. He says I am too young and inexperienced
to know what will most conduce to my own happiness;
but I know my own heart, and feel that my affections
can never be altered or divided. By your letter I perceive
you judge it best to accept the proposal of Mr.
Lee, and perhaps it is so. O! these cruel prejudices of
my father, that make such a sacrifice necessary. Why
should riches be thought so indispensable to happiness?
I would rather live in poverty all my life, than have
you exposed to the dangers of the seas to acquire wealth.
Yet, if you think it best to accept your friend's offer, I
will not urge your stay; only do not let time or distance
blot Zemira from your memory or your heart. You
need not bid me be faithful: I cannot be otherwise, for
the idea of you is blended with every thought, every
sentiment, and lesson you have taught me. And when
I read over those passages in my books your pencil
marked, I almost fancy I can hear your voice. I shall
read them constantly during your absence; but what
will remind you of My Dear Romilly,—When I tell you we reached
home in safety, and are now enjoying excellent health,
you will know that I, at least, am happy. But it is that
kind of happiness which makes no figure in description.
It is the quiet consciousness of peace, the calm security
of reciprocated affection, in short, the `sober certainty
of waking bliss.' And for much of this felicity we must
thank you; certainly for the final reconciliation, without
which Zemira's mind never would have been at rest.
And how shall we requite your disinterestedness?—your
heroism? We pray daily that God would bless you,
and assuredly He will, if to obey His command and do
as you would be done by is holy in His sight. Property
you do not want; yet, I will acknowledge my selfishness,
I have sometimes wished you did, that we might
show how highly we rate the favors you have conferred.
But gold cannot gain friendship, nor can it requite the
sacrifices you made for me. I will tell you how I propose
to reward you—even by furnishing you with wise
precepts for the better guidance of your sublunary course.
You, I presume, will allow that those who have done us
the most essential and generous services, are always most
willing to pardon our officiousness. The inference is
obvious. I feel secure of your favor although I should
harass you with my old saws by way of advice. My Dear Stuart—I have made a new acquaintance,
and one from which I promise myself much pleasure;
yet for fear you should call me romantic, I will describe
the man and relate the accident which introduced him,
and then I think you will allow there is a necessity—I
hope not a fatal one—for the present intercourse. “Friend Stuart,—Frankford certainly has, as you
intimated, his prejudices against America; still he is a
reasonable man, and although admitting conviction slowly
and only on the most irrefragable proofs, yet I think he
is becoming not only tolerant but liberal in his estimation
of our character and customs. Neither is it strange that
the aristocratical spirit of the old world should be alarmed
and revolt at the democratical influence which the new
is so rapidly obtaining. We cannot expect those who
pride themselves on an ancestry, whose pure blood has
flowed through proud veins for many hundred years,
will forget at once this fancied superiority, and look on
what they call our plebeian origin, without feelings of
contempt. “My ever Dear Nephew:—The sickness that oppresses
me, and which is hurrying me to the grave, is
on my heart. I am sick of the follies and vices of the
world; I am miserable when reflecting on my own. I
have longed and pined to write and confide to you all
my troubles and griefs; but I could not persuade myself
to damp the pleasures I hoped you were enjoying with
your friends. My Dear Mr. Romilly:—Your uncle is no more;
and his earnest request, must be my apology for addressing
you, and detailing some of the unfortunate circumstances
which have occurred to him since you left the
city. It is an unpleasant office, and one I would gladly
have been excused from performing; but I could not
refuse Mr. Brainard, and I trust your good sense will not
confound the narrator of evil tidings with the unpleasant
intelligence he must communicate. My ever Dear Friend,—It is but a short time since
I despatched you a packet so voluminous that it might
undoubtedly claim the respectable name of folio, and I
then promised I would not again intrude under, at least,
a quarter; but I must write, for there are feelings impossible
to be restrained when we are blessed with a
friend to whom they may be communicated. “My dear Miss Redington,—I hardly dare write
what necessity compels me; and yet I know, in my situation,
sincerity is the most atoning virtue I can practice.
Let me then spare all circumlocution, and briefly
state that our connexion must, from this time be at an
end. Circumstances which I cannot explain make it
impossible I should ever visit New England again, or
not till a distant period. I lament I ever saw you; I
lament our engagement. But these reflections are now
too late. Write not—forget me—or think me unworthy
your affection. May heaven bless you. Farewell! My Dear Romilly,—This is the third letter I have
written you since the misfortunes and decease of Mr.
Brainard, your excellent uncle. To the two others I
have received no answer: had they reached your hand
you could not have neglected me, so I flatter myself;
and I must believe they miscarried. To obviate all possibility
of a like fate befalling this, I have engaged Mr.
Tracy, who is on a tour to Boston, a friend of mine, and
one well entitled to your confidence, to take a trip to
New Hampshire and deliver it into your hands. Mr. Romilly,—Sir, we have traced Cox to New
Orleans, and recovered the money. It is all safe in my
hands, waiting the disposal you shall order. I hope it
will be convenient for you to come here immediately;
indeed, it is absolutely necessary if you intend to redeem
the estate of your late uncle. Dunbar was a good man,
but he has transferred the property to another; subject,
however, to the articles of redemption he entered into
with your uncle. “Sir—I have received your letter, and am glad of
your good fortune; but I think it my duty to inform
you our correspondence must be at an end. I know you
will want me to reside at the South; but to go there and
be a partaker in the sin of slavery is what I will not do.
You can doubtless find, in Charleston, some fair lady
more worthy your love, and more congenial to your
manner of life than my education and principles would
permit me to be. You need not write, for my resolution
is taken. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 23 | Author: | Halpine
Charles G.
(Charles Graham)
1829-1868 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Baked meats of the funeral | | | | 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: | [January 1st, 1860.] My Dear Brady—Yours of the 16th, covering an invitation
of the New York National Club, to pay honor to
Generals Sherman and Thomas, has come to hand; but I
cannot be with you, though the movement has all my
sympathies. We had great difficulty in finding the right
kind of tools at first; but they are now being discovered
by experience: and in Sherman and Thomas, as you say,
we have two of the keenest edge and finest mettle. Even
had I time, why should I attend your festival? Things are
all going well to-day; and it is only when disaster happens
that the Secretary of War is asked after or remembered by
an indignant public. THE SECESH THINK IF GRANT REMAINS IN POWER
THEY ARE GONE. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the
receipt of a communication from the Adjutant-General
of the Army, dated June 13, 1862, requesting
me to furnish you with the information
necessary to answer certain Resolutions introduced
in the House of Representatives, June 9, 1862, on
motion of the Hon. Mr. Wickliffe of Kentucky—
their substance being to inquire: “Sir:—While recently in command of the
Department of the South, in accordance with
the laws of war and the dictates of common sense,
I organized and caused to be drilled, armed, and
equipped a regiment of enfranchised bondmen,
known as the 1st South Carolina Volunteers. “BIG THINGS AROUND—HUSH! HUSH!” “I am sorry to see such a disposition to condemn
a brave old soldier, as General Hunter is
known to be, without a hearing. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 24 | Author: | Harris
George Washington
1814-1869 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Sut Lovingood | | | | 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: | “Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath.” “He's a
fixin fur the heavings.” “He's a spreadin his tail
feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready
tu go up'ards.” “Wo, Shavetail.” “Git a fiddil; he's
tryin a jig.” “Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove
co'm didn't yu?” “Taint co'n, hits redpepper.” I mayn't git the chance tu talk eny tu yu, so
when Wat gits home, an' axes enything 'bout the comb an' calliker, yu
tell him yer mam foun the bundil in the road. She'll back yu up in
that ar statemint, ontil thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu kill snap-beans. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 25 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Mliss | | | | 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: | Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside
in gentler undulations, and the river grows less
rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red
mountain stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from
the red road at sunset, in the red light and the
red dust its white houses look like the outcroppings
of quartz on the mountain-side. The red
stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost
to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent,
turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way
places, and vanishing altogether within a hundred
yards of the town. It is probably owing
to this sudden twist in the road that the advent
of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended
with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting
from the vehicle at the stage office the too-confident
traveler is apt to walk straight out of
town under the impression that it lies in quite
another direction. It is related that one of the
tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of
these self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag,
umbrella, New York Mercury, and other evidences
of civilization and refinement, plodding
along over the road he had just ridden, vainly
endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's
Pocket. “Respected Sir:—When you read this I am run
away. Never to come back. Never, never never.
You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my
Amerika's Pride (a highly-colored lithograph from a
tocacco-box) to Sally Flanders. But don't you give
anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dair to. Do
you know what my oppinion of her, it is this, she is
perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present
from yours respectfully, “Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county
seat. Our case is won. We leave here next week. “Dear Papa:—Please tell Mr. Gray that his protege
is safe. Mr. Gray:—If you care a damn for Mliss, come and
take care of her. The devil has got her, and his name
is Wade. Dear Lissy:—Trust the hearer of this as you would the
writer. We long for your return. Your suit is won. I
would write more, but I do not know whose hands this letter
may fall into. Regina sends her love. Your waiting friend, Dear Sister:—Just got a letter from Mr. Gray, telling me
that I am wanted at home. Been wanting to come home for
two months, but don't see just how to get away. Truth is,
little Clytie is the prettest girl in Smith's Pocket, and I got a
little sweet on her. Couldn't help it. That's the kind of fellow
I am. Now, if you'll write to Clytie, and invite her to
spend a few months with you, it'll be all right. Big brother'll
go along to make sure it's all right. If you don't I'm afraid
there'll be a row, and the boys up here are all crack shots
Your erring brother, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 26 | Author: | Harte
Bret
1836-1902 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Tales of the Argonauts, and other sketches | | | | 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: | “Dear Steve, — I've been thinking over your proposition
to buy Nichols's quarter-interest, and have concluded
to go in. But I don't see how the thing will pay
until you have more accommodation down there, and for
the best class, — I mean my customers. What we want
is an extension to the main building, and two or three
cottages put up. I send down a builder to take hold of
the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him; and
you are to look after them as you would for one of us. “My dear Sir, — I do not know whether the bearer
will suit you; but, unless the office of `devil' in your
newspaper is a purely technical one, I think he has all
the qualities required. He is very quick, active, and
intelligent; understands English better than he speaks
it; and makes up for any defect by his habits of observation
and imitation. You have only to show him how to
do a thing once, and he will repeat it, whether it is an
offence or a virtue. But you certainly know him already.
You are one of his godfathers; for is he not Wan Lee, the
reputed son of Wang the conjurer, to whose performances
I had the honor to introduce you? But perhaps
you have forgotten it. “Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on
Heavytree Hill on Christmas Day. Invite what friends
you choose. “O Frank! — Don't you remember what we agreed
upon anent the baby? Well, consider me as dead for the
next six months, or gone where cubs can't follow me, —
East. I know you love the baby; but do you think, dear
boy, — now, really, do you think you could be a father
to it? Consider this well. You are young, thoughtless,
well-meaning enough; but dare you take upon yourself
the functions of guide, genius, or guardian to one so
young and guileless? Could you be the Mentor to this
Telemachus? Think of the temptations of a metropolis.
Look at the question well, and let me know speedily; for
I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking up an
awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like a
maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 27 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Cousin Maude ; And, Rosamond | | | | 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 doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know
the old place. Thar's a big dining-room run out to the
South, with an expansion-table mighty nigh a rod long,
and what's more, it's allus full, too, of city stuck-ups—
and the way they do eat! I haint churned nary pound
of butter since you went away. Why, bless yer soul, we
has to buy. Do you mind that patch of land what the
Doctor used to plant with corn? Well, the garden sass
grows there now, and t'other garden raises nothin' but
flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on purpose
to tend 'em. He's writin' this for me. Thar's a tower
run up in the North-east eend, and when it's complete,
she's goin' to have a what you call 'em—somethin' that
blows up the water—oh, a fountain. Thar's one in the
yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's got one of Cary's
rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin' crazy about,
and every hot day she keeps John a turnin' the injin' to
squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like
a thunder-shower! Thar's a bath-room, and when them
city folks is here some on 'em is a washin' in thar all the
time. I don't do nothin' now but wash and iron, and if
I have fifty towels I have one! But what pesters me
most is the wide skirts I has to do up; Miss Canady wears
a hoop bigger than an amberell. They say Miss Empress,
who makes these things, lives in Paris, and I wish you'd
put yourself out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to
quit sendin' over them fetched hoops. Thar aint no sense
in it! We've got jiggers in every chamber where the
water spirts out. Besides turnin' the injin, John drives
the horses in the new carriage. Dr. Canady looks poorly,
and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but I knows
the claws is thar. She's about broke him of usin' them
maxims of his, and your poor marm would enjoy it a
spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity him after a while.
I do, and if things continners to grow wus, I shall just ask
pra'rs for him in my meetin'. Elder Blossom is powerful
at that. My health is considerable good, but I find I grow
old. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 28 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The War-path | | | | 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: | A dense fog hung over the placid surface of the Delaware
River, and enveloped in its folds many of the ancient
buildings of Burlington, then the capital of the colony of
New Jersey. The stately mansion of the British governor,
William Franklin, situated on the beautiful green bank so
much admired at the present day, was wrapped in the
vapour, and, as was often said of its occupant, seemed
lost in a mist. Even the haunted tree in front of the
governor's residence—the witches' sycamore—was reported
by fearful pedestrians to have vanished, or at least to have
become invisible. “Oh, my dear Julia! I have just learned, by a letter from
Mr. Cameron, brought to my father by the dumb but faithful
Skippie, that you have been seized by the Indians and carried
a captive into the wilderness! But the letter says a
great Indian-fighter, named Hugh McSwine, and a band
of Scots, are in pursuit, and will certainly overtake your
captors. This is startling intelligence, indeed, and distressing,
though relieved somewhat by the comfortable assurance—which
is sanctioned by the prophetic looks and decisive
gestures of Skippie—that you will soon be restored to
your friends. And Skippie, in two words, has told me to
write this letter, making me understand, I scarcely know
how, that it will certainly be delivered into your hands.
He sets out on his return in the morning, and I am resolved
to write all night!” | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 31 | Author: | Phelps
Elizabeth Stuart
1844-1911 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Hedged in | | | | 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: | “HOUSES in streets are the places to live
in”? Would Lamb ever have said it
if he had spent, as I did, half a day in, and in
the region of, No. 19 Thicket Street, South
Atlas? “And how, if it were lawful, I could pray for
greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake.”
John Bunyan provided you and me with a morning's
discussion when he said that. Do you remember?
Because I am writing to you, and
because Nixy sits studying beside me, are reasons
sufficient why I should recall the words on this
particular occasion. I am crowded for time, but I write to
tell you — for I would prefer that you should
hear it from me — that we have at length identified
and brought home Eunice's child. Whatever there is to tell you this time
is the quiet close of a stormy epoch in our
family history, — rich in wrecks, like all stormy
things. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 32 | Author: | Warner
Anna Bartlett
1824-1915 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Dollars and cents | | | | 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 WAS but a young thing, not yet
“Standing with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet”—
when there came a change in our outward circumstances.
During my first years, we had enjoyed what some of our
ancestors had toiled for; and my father after each day's
soaring and diving into philosophy and science walked about
our garden in silk stockings and with a rose in his mouth,—
at that time I was a little thing that the rose-bushes looked
down upon. And I looked up to them, with admiring eyes
that often went higher still, and took in the straw hat that
Mr. Howard wore of an afternoon: certainly that hat was
a miracle for all purposes of shade and adornment. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 35 | Author: | Evans
Augusta J.
(Augusta Jane)
1835-1909 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" | | | | 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 CAN hear the sullen, savage roar of the breakers, if
I do not see them, and my pretty painted bark —
expectation — is bearing down helplessly upon them.
Perhaps the unwelcome will not come to-day. What then? I
presume I should not care; and yet, I am curious to see him, —
anxious to know what sort of person will henceforth rule the
house, and go in and out here as master. Of course the pleasant,
peaceful days are at an end, for men always make din and strife
in a household, — at least my father did, and he is the only one I
know much about. But, after all, why borrow trouble? — the
interloper may never come.” “I congratulate you, my young friend, on the correctness of
your French themes, which I leave in the drawer of the library-table.
When I return I will examine those prepared during my
absence; and, in the interim, remain, “Dr. Grey: For God's sake come as quick as possible.
I am afraid my mother is dying. “Edith, — No lingering vestige of affection, no remorseful
tenderness, prompted that mission from which I have recently
returned, and only the savage scourgings of implacable duty
could have driven me, like a galley-slave, to my hated task.
The victim of a horrible and disfiguring disease which so completely
changed his countenance that his own mother would
scarcely have recognized him, — and the tenant of a charity hospital
in the town of —, I found that man who has proved the
Upas of your life and of mine. During his delirium I watched
and nursed him — not lovingly (how could I?) but faithfully,
kindly, pityingly. When all danger was safely passed, and his
clouded intellect began to clear itself, I left him in careful
hands, and provided an ample amount for his comfortable
maintenance in coming years. I spared him the humiliation
of recognizing in his nurse his injured and despised wife; and,
as night after night I watched beside the pitiable wreck of a
once handsome, fascinating, and idolized man, I fully and freely
forgave Maurice Carlyle all the wrongs that so completely
stranded my life. To-day he is well, and probably happy, while
he finds himself possessed of means by which to gratify his
extravagant tastes; but how long his naturally fine constitution
can hold at bay the legion of ills that hunt like hungry wolves
along the track of reckless dissipation, God only knows. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 38 | Author: | Winthrop
Theodore
1828-1861 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | John Brent | | | | 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 write in the first person; but I shall not
maunder about myself. I am in no sense the
hero of this drama. Call me Chorus, if you
please, — not Chorus merely observant and impassive;
rather Chorus a sympathizing monitor
and helper. Perhaps I gave a certain crude
momentum to the movement of the play, when
finer forces were ready to flag; but others bore
the keen pangs, others took the great prizes,
while I stood by to lift the maimed and cheer
the victor. “We are hastening on. I can write you but
one word. Our journey has been prosperous.
Mr. Armstrong is very kind. My dear father,
I fear, is shattered out of all steadiness. God
guard him, and guide me! My undying love
to your friend. “We sail at once for home. My father cannot
be at peace until he is in Lancashire again.
Don't forget me, dear friends. I go away sick
at heart. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 40 | Author: | Woolson
Constance Fenimore
1840-1894 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Castle nowhere | | | | 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: | NOT many years ago the shore bordering the head
of Lake Michigan, the northern curve of that
silver sea, was a wilderness unexplored. It is a wilderness
still, showing even now on the school-maps
nothing save an empty waste of colored paper, generally
a pale, cold yellow suitable to the climate, all
the way from Point St. Ignace to the iron ports on
the Little Bay de Noquet, or Badderknock in lake
phraseology, a hundred miles of nothing, according to
the map-makers, who, knowing nothing of the region,
set it down accordingly, withholding even those
long-legged letters, “Chip-pe-was,” “Ric-ca-rees,” that
stretch accommodatingly across so much townless territory
farther west. This northern curve is and always
has been off the route to anywhere; and mortals, even
Indians, prefer as a general rule, when once started,
to go somewhere. The earliest Jesuit explorers and
the captains of yesterday's schooners had this in common,
that they could not, being human, resist a crosscut;
and thus, whether bark canoes of two centuries
ago or the high, narrow propellers of to-day, one and
all, coming and going, they veer to the southeast or
west, and sail gayly out of sight, leaving this northern
curve of ours unvisited and alone. A wilderness
still, but not unexplored; for that railroad of the
future which is to make of British America a garden
of roses, and turn the wild trappers of the Hudson's
Bay Company into gently smiling congressmen, has it
not sent its missionaries thither, to the astonishment
and joy of the beasts that dwell therein? According
to tradition, these men surveyed the territory, and
then crossed over (those of them at least whom the
beasts had spared) to the lower peninsula, where,
the pleasing variety of swamps being added to the
labyrinth of pines and sand-hills, they soon lost
themselves, and to this day have never found what
they lost. As the gleam of a camp-fire is occasionally
seen, and now and then a distant shout heard
by the hunter passing along the outskirts, it is supposed
that they are in there somewhere, surveying
still. “Respected Sir, — I must see you, you air in
danger. Please come to the Grotter this afternoon
at three and I remain yours respectful, “Mr. Solomon Bangs: My cousin Theodora Wentworth
and myself have accepted the hospitality of
your house for the night. Will you be so good as
to send tidings of our safety to the Community, and
oblige, “E. Stuart: The woman Dorcas Bangs died this
day. She will be put away by the side of her husband,
Solomon Bangs. She left the enclosed picture,
which we hereby send, and which please acknowledge
by return of mail. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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