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181Author:  Derby George Horatio 1823-1861Add
 Title:  Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Of a Military Survey and Reconnoissance of the route from San Francisco to the Mission of Dolores, made with a view to ascertain the practicability of connecting those points by a Railroad.* * The Mission Dolores is only 2½ miles from the City Hall of San Francisco, and is a favorite suburban locality, lying within the limits of the City Survey. This fact is noted for the benefit of distant readers of these sketches. It having been definitely determined, that the great Railroad, connecting the City of San Francisco with the head of navigation on Mission Creek, should be constructed without unnecessary delay, a large appropriation ($120,000) was granted, for the purpose of causing thorough military examinations to be made of the proposed routes. The routes, which had principally attracted the attention of the public, were “the Northern,” following the line of Brannan Street, “the Central,” through Folsom Street, and “the extreme Southern,” passing over the “Old Plank Road” to the Mission. Each of these proposed routes has many enthusiastic advocates; but “the Central” was, undoubtedly, the favorite of the public, it being more extensively used by emigrants from San Francisco to the Mission, and therefore more widely and favorably known than the others. It was to the examination of this route, that the Committee, feeling a confidence (eminently justified by the result of my labors) in my experience, judgment and skill as a Military Engineer, appointed me on the first instant. Having notified that Honorable Body of my acceptance of the important trust confided to me, in a letter, wherein I also took occasion to congratulate them on the good judgment they had evinced, I drew from the Treasurer the amount ($40,000) appropriated for my peculiar route, and having invested it securely in loans at three per cent a month (made, to avoid accident, in my own name), I proceeded to organize my party for the expedition. Miss Pelican.—Never during our dramatic experience, has a more exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright, resplendent and particular star, whose honored name shines refulgent at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded, almost unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen across the plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm in her favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the San Diego Lyceum, last evening, in the trying and difficult character of Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to describe our sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her superhuman efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by far the superior of any living actress; and, as we believe hers to be the perfection of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief that no one hereafter will ever be found to approach her. Her conception of the character of Ingomar was perfection itself; her playful and ingenuous manner, her light girlish laughter, in the scene with Sir Peter, showed an appreciation of the savage character, which nothing but the most arduous study, the most elaborate training could produce; while her awful, change to the stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the tragic scene of Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss Pelican is about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and most thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably, as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her most truthfully, perfection. Mr. John Boots took the part of Parthenia very creditably, etc., etc. Miss Pelican.—As this lady is about to leave us to commence an engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should regret exceedingly if any thing we have said about her, should send with her a prestige which might be found undeserved on trial. The fact is, Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed, one of the most indifferent ones we ever happened to see. She came here from the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised her so injudiciously that she became completely spoiled. She has performed a round of characters during the last week, very miserably, though we are bound to confess that her performance of King Lear last evening, was superior to any thing of the kind we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about forty-three years of age, singularly plain in her personal appearance, awkward and embarrassed, with a cracked and squeaking voice, and really dresses quite outrageously. She has much to learn—poor thing! “PISTOL SHOOTING—A CHALLENGE. By Mr. Orion W. Mudge, Esq. The Committee on Antiquities left at once, in the night boat, for Vallejo, the residence of their Chairman, who had informed them of the existence at that place of some specimens of a substance termed “Old Monongahela” lately discovered by a scientific gentleman residing at the Capitol; —the Committee on Geology were seen eagerly inquiring for the omnibus for Yerba Buena Island; that on Ethnology appointed a sub-committee for the City of San Francisco, and made arrangements for the departure of its main body to the upper counties of the State, for the purpose of holding interviews with the primitive inhabitants, while the Castilian savant in the glazed hat, who had been appointed Chairman of the Committee on Toxicology, repaired incontinently to a drinking saloon, where he commenced a series of experiments in hydrostatics, with the endeavor to ascertain the quantity of fluid possible to be raised from a glass in a given time, by a straw applied to his mouth, which resulted so much to his satisfaction that he was seen to emerge therefrom at four o'clock on the following morning, in a high state of pleasurable excitement, chanting huskily as he meandered down the street, that highly refreshing Mexican anthem— My Dear Friend:—I presume you will be perfectly surrounded this morning, as usual, by a crowd of heartless office-seekers; I therefore take this method of addressing you. I thank God, I want no office for myself or others. You have known me for years, and have never known me to do a mean or dishonorable action. I saw W— up at Stockton the other day, and he is very anxious that I should be appointed Inspector of Steamboats. He said that I needed it, and deserved it, and that he hoped you would give it to me; but I told him I was no office-seeker—I should never ask you for any office. He said he would write to you about it. Please write to me as soon as you receive this, care of Parry & Batten. My Dear Sir:—Allow me to congratulate you on your success in obtaining your wishes. I have called twice to see you, but have not been able to find you in. You were kind enough to assure me, before leaving for Washington, that I might depend upon your friendship. I think it very improbable that I shall be re-nominated. The water-front Extension project has not been received with that favor that I expected, and what with Roman and the Whigs and that d—d Herald, I feel very doubtful. You will oblige me by retaining in your possession, until after the Convention, the office of — to the Custom House. I must look about me to command the means of subsistence. I will see you again on this subject. Mon Amie:—I ave been ver malade since that I hav arrive, I ver muche thank you for you civilite on la vapor which we come ici, juntos. The peoples here do say to me, you si pued give to me the littel offices in you customs house. I wish if si usted gustan you me shall make to be Inspectors de cigarritos. Je l' entends muy bien. Come to me see. Sir:—I have been a dimocrat of the Jackson School thank God for twenty years. If you sir had been erected to an orifice by the pusillanimous sufferings of the people as I was onst I would have no clam but sir you are appointed by Pierce for whom I voted and King who is dead as Julia's sister and I expectorate the office for which my friends will ask you sir I am a plane man and wont the orifice of Prover and taster of Brandy and wish you write to me at the Niantic where I sick three days and have to write by a young gentleman or come to see me before eleven o'clock when I generally get sick Yours Mr. Colected H—. Detor Sir:—I have held for the last four years the appointment of Surveyor of Shellfish in the Custom House, and have done my duty and understand it. I have been a Whig, but never interfered in politics, and should have voted for Pierce—it was my intention—but a friend by mistake gave me a wrong ballot, and I accidentally put it in, having been drinking a little. Dear sir, I hope you will not dismiss me; no man in this city understands a clam as I do, and I shall be very much indebted to you to keep my office for the present though have much finer offers but don't wish at present to accept. I would respectfully call the attention of the Evening Journal to the following fable, to be found in Esop's collection, page 194: On receiving my long-promised file of The Pioneer, accompanied by your affecting entreaty to “Come over into Macedonia and help us,” deeply impressed with the importance of the crisis, I rushed about this village as wildly as a fowl decapitated, but with purpose more intent. Dear Sir:—Perceiving by perusal of your interesting article on Astronomy, that you have an organ which it is presumed you would like to dispose of, I am instructed by the vestry of the meeting-house on — street, to enter into a negotiation with you for its purchase. Please state by return of mail, whether or no the organ is for sale; if so, the price, and if it is in good repair, and plays serious tunes. Lieut. —, U. S. A., San Diego, Cal. My dear Charles:—I have received your modest request of the 4th of January, that I will give you five or ten per cent. of any sum that Congress may hereafter, in its infinite beneficence, appropriate to my relief; a request which you state you make to me at the instance of “a number of officers stationed in Texas.”
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182Author:  Derby George Horatio 1823-1861Add
 Title:  The Squibob papers  
 Published:  2001 
 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 Sir: — I am requested by a number of your brother officers, and other gentlemen, to solicit you to deliver the oration at the celebration of the approaching Fourth of July, at this post. “Dear Sir: — I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your very polite invitation to address a number of my brother officers, and other gentlemen, on the coming glorious anniversary, at Vancouver. Dear Cate, you know I luv you mor an any uther Girle in the World, and wat's the Reson you allways want Me to tell you so. I no you ar almost gitting tired of waiting for me; I no you luv me fit to brake your hart. I no we ort to git marid, but how kin we if we kant — sa! Wat's the use in thinkin bout it. I thort wen I sold mi mule that I wud have nough to pay the precher and by you nice goun. But I tried mi luk at poker and got strapt the fust nite. Cate, you never played poker — in korse not. Wel, it's a confounded mity nice game as long as you kin sit behind a smorl par; but when you kant get a par, the pot's gone. I luv you so much, Cate, that I allmost hav a notion to sel me 1 horse wagin and buck a nite or 2 at farow; but how kin I — sa! Mi whol wagin wudent fech more an fore or 5 good staks. ile go back to the mountings an work and dig and swet and do every thing I kin to get money to git marid. I ain't any ways gelus, Cate, but pleze don't hug and kiss and set on J—n B—s lapp any noor. you know he ain't worth shaks, he kant drink mor an 3 hornes 'thout gittin tite; I kin stand up under fiftey. You know I kin lick him 2, and hav dun it and kin do it agin. But I ain't a bit gelus, I no I out to marid long ago. leven years is rether long to kort a gal, but ile hav you yit Cate. Gentlemen, — At a large and respectable meeting held by your guests this evening, in the bar room of your exquisite hotel.
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183Author:  Duganne A. J. H. (Augustine Joseph Hickey) 1823-1884Add
 Title:  Bianca, or, The star of the valley  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: DUSK was deepening over the Alpine summits, and huge shadows stalked slowly downward, broadening gloomily through the valleys. All nature was sinking into the sealed quiet of a winter's night, only to be broken, during the long hours, by the rumbling thunders of shifting fields of snow in the passes and declivities of the mountains, or perchance the sudden rushing crash of an avalanchine slide of gathered ice, bearing terror and destruction to the slumbering villages below.
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184Author:  Duganne A. J. H. (Augustine Joseph Hickey) 1823-1884Add
 Title:  The Prince Corsair, or, The three brothers of Guzan  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
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185Author:  Duganne A. J. H. (Augustine Joseph Hickey) 1823-1884Add
 Title:  The tenant-house, or,, Embers from poverty's hearthstone  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: WHEN a stranger, under guidance and protection of police, or a home missionary, fearlessly breaking bread with outcasts, penetrates some gloomy court or narrow alley in the great Christian city of New York, he beholds destitution and squalor of most repulsive feature: he discovers tottering buildings crowded with sickly and depraved human beings; stalwart, malign-looking men, glancing furtively at every passer-by; brazen-browed women, with foul words upon their reeking lips; children of impure thoughts and actions, leering with wicked precocity. When he enters the wretched abiding-places of these unhappy people, he may find, amid associations of vice and uncleanness, many suffering and patient souls bearing earthly martyrdom with serene trust in their Heavenly Father, and plucking, even out of their “ugly and venomous” adversity, the “jewel” of immortal peace. Such struggling ones do not dwell long in the darkness and dolor of their probation; for the celestial ladders, let down from Mercy's throne, rest quite as often upon the black pavement of a tenant-court as amid the flowers that tesselate a palace garden; and up, unceasingly, on the shining rounds, glide disenthralled spirits of the poor and lowly watchers for their Lord. “Your letter was received yesterday, and I have spent the hours since in weeping and prayer. I have prayed for you, dear Charles! with my heart sobbing, well-nigh to break. O could I ever dream that you would leave me for another? But I must not chide you—God knows how I love you, dearest—I would lay down my life for you cheerfully, without a murmur. But it is a hard sacrifice you require of me—to give you up to another woman, Charles! when you have sworn to love no other one but your Margaret. You tell me you do not love the lady—that you will marry her only for your worldly prospeets! O Charles! I feel this is all wrong; but, alas! what dare I say to you? I am poor—without fortune but my deep love—God knows, I would resign a throne for your affection, if I were a queen, instead of a portionless girl. Charles! what was it that you said?—O Heaven! did I understand your meaning?—that your love for me would remain unchanged, and we should be happy after your marriage! After your marriage, Charles! Do you not know me better? Do you think I would consent to do wrong, even of my great love for you? No, Charles! after your marriage, we must never meet more! Beloved, bear with me—it is the last time I shall annoy you. You will wed the lady, Charles! Do not wrong her trust!— be kind to her when she becomes your—wife! make her happy! love her—and forget me! I shall not live a great while, dear Charles; for my heart will break, in thinking of the past, and of my hopes, all, all withered. Farewell, dearest! I submit to your wishes, but I must never see you after you are another's. Adieu, Charles!— for the last time, my Charles! God bless and protect you! Dear, dear Charles — husband!—I resign you. Farewell, forever! “My dearest Rebecca,”—so the note ran—“I am thinking of you by day, dreaming of you at night, adoring you always. I have much to tell you, sweet one, and must see you to-day. Fail not to meet me, at the usual hour, at our trysting-place, darling of my soul.
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186Author:  Smith Seba 1792-1868Add
 Title:  My thirty years out of the Senate  
 Published:  2001 
 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 will be seen by the date above that I wrote this little history of my life twenty odd years ago. It was the time the Boston folks published a little vollum of my first Letters, and the Life was writ to head the vollum with. But I've seen a great deal more of the world since then, and have writ a great many more Letters, and seen a great deal more of the workings of American Politicians. And they'll all have to come into my Thirty Years' View. But there'll be a kind of gap near the close of Gineral Jackson's time, and for awhile after, because a lot of my letters, written at that time, was lost in a fire some years afterward, and I don't suppose I can now find the papers they was published in. But I will bridge over the gap as well as I can, and there'll be a pretty long road to travel both sides of it. And this reminds me how strange the parallel runs between me and Colonel Benton; for he lost a lot of his letters and speeches and dockyments by fire, and had a good deal of a hard job to go over the ground again in getting up his work. But I and Colonel Benton are hard to beat. We generally go ahead, let what will stand in the way. Dear Cousin Ephraim:—I now take my pen in hand to let you know that I am well, hoping these few lines will find you enjoying the same blessing. When I come down to Portland I didn't think o' staying more than three or four days, if I could sell my load of ax handles, and mother's cheese, and cousin Nabby's bundle of footings; but when I got here I found Uncle Nat was gone a freighting down to Quoddy, and aunt Sally said as how I shouldn't stir a step home till he come back agin, which won't be this month. So here I am, loitering about this great town, as lazy as an ox. Ax handles don't fetch nothing; I couldn't hardly give 'em away. Tell Cousin Nabby I sold her footings for nine-pence a pair, and took it all in cotton cloth. Mother's cheese come to seven-and-sixpence; I got her half a pound of shushon, and two ounces of snuff, and the rest in sugar. When Uncle Nat comes home I shall put my ax handles aboard of him, and let him take 'em to Boston next time he goes; I saw a feller tother day, that told me they'd fetch a good price there. I've been here now a whole fortnight, and if I could tell ye one half I've seen, I guess you'd stare worse than if you'd seen a catamount. I've been to meeting, and to the museum, and to both Legislaters, the one they call the House, and the one they call the Sinnet. I spose Uncle Joshua is in a great hurry to hear something about these Legislaters; for you know he's always reading newspapers, and talking politics, when he can get anybody to talk with him. I've seen him when he had five tons of hay in the field well made, and a heavy shower coming up, stand two hours disputing with Squire W. about Adams and Jackson—one calling Adams a tory and a fed, and the other saying Jackson was a murderer and a fool; so they kept it up, till the rain began to pour down, and about spoilt all his hay. GRAND CAUCUS AT DOWNINGVILLE—THE LONG AGONY OVER, AND THE NOMINATION OUT. My Dear Old Friend:—I've jest got the Union, containing the broadside you fired at me, and I'm amazingly struck up, and my feelins is badly hurt, to see that you've got so bewildered that you seemingly don't know me. It's a melancholy sign when old folks get so bewildered that they mistake their oldest and best friends, one for t'other. Why, your head is turned right round. How could you say that I was “a fictitious Major Jack Downing?” and that my last letter to you was a “trashy forgery?” and that you would “strip the mask from me?” I feel bad now about writing my last letter to you, for I'm afraid you took it too hard. I beg of you now, my dear friend, to let all drop right where 'tis; leave Mr. Burke to do the burkin' and the fightin', and you go right out into the country and put yourself under the “cold-water cure” somewhere, and see if your head won't come right again. I “fictitious,” and you going to “strip the mask from me!” Why, my dear friend, if you could only be up here five minutes, and jest lift the mask off of my face one minute, you'd know me jest as easy as the little boy knew his daddy. Your head couldn't be so turned but what you'd know me; for you'd see then the very same old friend that stood by you and Gineral Jackson fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen years ago; the same old friend that coaxed up Gineral Jackson, and made him forgive you for calling him such hard names before he was elected. It's very ungrateful for you to forget me now— that is, if you was in your right mind. For I'm the same old friend, the same Jack Downing that was born and brought up in Downingville, away Down East, in the State of Maine, and that drove down to Portland in Jinnerwary, 1830, with a load of ax-handles and bean-poles, and found the Legislater in a dreadful snarl, all tied and tangled, and see-sawin' up and down a whole fortnight, and couldn't choose their officers. I found my ax-handles and bean-poles wouldn't sell, so I took to polytix, and went to writin' letters. The Legislater fout and fout all winter; but I kept writin', and at last I got 'em straitened out. I kept on writin' for a whole year, and got the polytix of Maine pretty well settled. Then I see Gineral Jackson was getting into trouble, and I footed it on to Washington to give him a lift. And you know I always stuck by him afterward as long as he lived. I helped him fight the battles with Biddle's monster bank till we killed it off. I helped him put down nullification, and showed exactly how it would work if it got the upper hand, in my letter about carrying the raft of logs across Sebago Pond, when Bill Johnson got mad and swore he'd have his log all to himself, and so he cut the lashings and paddled off on his log alone; and then his log begun to roll, and he couldn't keep it steady, and he got ducked head over heels half a dozen times, and come pesky near being drowned. And that wasn't all I did to keep off nullification and help put it down. I brought on my old company of Downingville malitia to Washington, under the command of Cousin Sargent Joel, and kept 'em there, with their guns all loaded, till the danger was over. And I used to go up top of the Congress House every day, and keep watch, and listen off toward South Carolina, so as to be ready, the first moment nullification bust up there, to order Sargent Joel to march and fire. The Gineral always said the spunk I showed was what cowed nullification down so quick, and he always felt very grateful to me for it. Well, I stuck by the Gineral all weathers; and I kept writin' letters from Washington to my old friend, the editor of the Portland Courier, and kept old Hickory's popularity alive among the people, and didn't let nobody meddle with his Administration to hurt it. Well, then, you know, the Gineral, in the summer of 1832, started off on his grand tower Down East, and I went with him. You remember, when we got to Philadelphy, the people swarmed round him so thick they almost smothered him to death; and the Gineral got so tired shakin' hands that he couldn't give another shake, and come pretty near faintin' away; and then I put my hand round under his arm, and shook for him half an hour longer, and so we made out to get through. I sent the whole account of it to my old friend of the Portland Courier. Well, then we jogged along to New York; and there, you remember, we come pesky near getting a ducking when the bridge broke down at Castle Garden. I sent the whole account of it to my old Portland friend. Well, the next day your “original” Major Downing published his first original letter in a New York paper, giving an account of the ducking at Castle Garden. Nobody couldn't dispute but this was the true, ginuine, “original” Downing document, although my “vile imitations” of it had been going on and published almost every week for two years. I say nobody couldn't dispute it, because 'twas proved by Scripture and poetry both. For the Bible says, “The first shall be last, and the last first;” and poetry says, “Coming events cast their shadows before.” So the shadows, the “vile imitations,” had been flying about the country for more than two years before the original event got along. I hope your head will get settled again, so that you can see through these things and understand 'em, and know me jest as you used to. I can't bear the idea of your not knowing me, and thinking I'm “fictitious.” My Dear Old Friend:—I'm alive yet, though I've been through showers of balls as thick as hailstones. I got your paper containing my letter that I wrote on the road to the war. The letters I wrote afterward, the guerrillas 12 and robbers are so thick, I think it's ten chances to one if you got 'em. Some of Gineral Scott's letters is missing just in the same way. Now we've got the city of Mexico annexed, I think the Postmaster-General ought to have a more regular line of stages running here, so our letters may go safe. I wish you would touch the President and Mr. Johnson up a little about this mail-stage business, so they may keep all the coach makers at work, and see that the farmers raise horses as fast as they can, for I don't think they have any idea how long the roads is this way, nor how fast we are gaining south. If we keep on annexin' as fast as we have done a year or two past, it wouldn't take much more than half a dozen years to get clear down to t'other end of South America, clear to Cape Horn, which would be a very good stopping place; for then, if our Government got into bad sledding in North America, and found themselves in a dilemma that hadn't no horn to suit 'em, they would have a horn in South America that they might hold on to. Dear Sir:—I've done my best, according to your directions, to get round Santa Anna, but it is all no use. He's as slippery as an eel, and has as many lives as a cat. Trist and I together can't hold him, and Scott and Taylor can't kill him off. We get fast hold of him with our diplomatics, but he slips through our fingers; and Scott and Taylor cuts his head off in every town where they can catch him, but he always comes to life in the next town, and shows as many heads as if he had never lost one. I had a long talk with him in the city, and pinned him right down to the bargain he made with you when you let him into Vera Cruz, and asked him “why he didn't stick to it.” He said he “did stick to it as far as circumstances rendered it prudent.” My Dear Old Friends:—Gineral Scott and I find a good deal of bother about getting our dispatches through to Vera Cruz, or else you'd hear from me oftener. I do think the President is too backward about clearing out this road from here to Vera Cruz, and keeping it open, and introducing the improvements into the country that we stand so much in need of here. He and Mr. Ritchie pretends to have constitutional scruples about it, and says the Constitution don't allow of internal improvements; and Mr. Ritchie says the resolutions of '98 is dead agin it, too; and, besides, Mr. Ritchie says these internal improvements is a Federal doctrine, and he'd always go agin 'em for that, if nothin' else. But 'tis strange to me the President hasn't never found out yet that where there's a will there's a way, Constitution or no Constitution. All he's got to do is, to call all these roads round here in Mexico “military roads,” and then he'd have the Constitution on his side, for everbody knows the Constitution allows him to make military roads. I know the President is very delicate about fringing on the Constitution, so I don't blame him so much for holding back about the internal improvements here in Mexico, though I don't think there's any other part of the United States where they are needed more. But there's no need of splitting hairs about the roads; military roads isn't internal improvements, and he's a right to make military roads as much as he pleases. And as them is jest the kind of roads we want here, and shall want for fifty years (for our armies will have to keep marching about the country for fifty years before they'll be able to tame these Mexicans, and turn 'em into Americans), it is confounded strange to me that the President is so behind-hand about this business. What's the use of our going on and annexin' away down South here, if he don't back us up and hold on to the slack? And there's no way to hold on to it but to keep these military roads open so our armies can go back and forth, and bring us in victuals, and powder, and shot, and money. Dear Colonel:—Things is getting along here as well as could be expected, considerin' the help we have, but we are all together too weak-handed to work to profit. If you want us to hurry along down South, we need a good deal more help and more money. It wouldn't be no use to give that three millions of dollars to Santa Anna now, for the people have got so out with him that he couldn't make peace if he had six millions. He's skulking about the country, and has as much as he can do to take care of himself. So I think you had better give up the notion about peace altogether, it 'll be such a hard thing to get, and send on the three millions here to help us along in our annexin'. It's dangerous standin' still in this annexin' business. It's like the old woman's soap—if it don't go ahead, it goes back. It would be a great help to us in the way of holdin' on to what we get, if you would carry out that plan of giving the Mexican land to settlers from the United States, as fast as we annex it. I've been very impatient to see your proclamation offering the land to settlers to come out here. You've no idea how much help it would be to us if we only had a plenty of our folks out here, so that as fast as we killed a Mexican, or drove him off from his farm, we could put an American right on to it. If we could only plant as we go, in this way, we should soon have a crop of settlers here that could hold on to the slack themselves, and leave the army free to go ahead, and keep on annexin'. I thought when I left Washington, you was agoing to put out such a proclamation right away. And I think you are putting it off a good deal too long, for we've got land and farms enough here now for two hundred thousand at least; and, if they would only come on fast enough, I think we could make room for twenty thousand a week for a year to come. But I'm afraid you're too delicate about doing your duty in this business; you are such a stickler for the Constitution. I'm afraid you're waiting for Congress to meet, so as to let them have a finger in the pie. But I wouldn't do it. From all I can hear, it looks as if the Whigs was coming into power; and if they should, it would be a terrible calamity, for they are too narrowminded and too much behind the age to understand the rights of this annexin' business, and it's ten chances to one if they don't contrive some way to put a stop to it. GREAT BATTLE IN THE COURT-MARTIAL. Dear Colonel:—I've been stumping it round all over the lot for two or three months, tight and tight, for our American friend, Gineral Cass, and as I s'pose you are very anxious and uneasy to know how it's coming out, I thought I would set down and make out a private report, and send it on to you by the telegraph wires, for they say they go like lightening, and give you some of the premonitory symptons, so that when the after-clap comes you may be a little prepared for it, and not feel so bad. As I said afore, I've been all round the lot, sometimes by the steamboats, and sometimes by the railroads, and sometimes by the telegraph, and when there wasn't no other WRITING BY TELEGRAPH. 688EAF. Page 310. In-line image. A man sits upon a telephone pole writing a telegraph on a piece of paper perched on top of his tophat. way to go, I footed it. And I'm satisfied the jig is up with us, and it's no use in my trying any longer; and Mr. Buchanan's speech was all throwed away, too. I'm very sure we shall get some of the States, but I'll be hanged if I can tell which ones. There an't a single State that I should dare to bet upon alone, but taking 'em all in the lump, I should still stick out strong for half a dozen at least. I see where all the difficulty is, as plain as day. You may depend upon it, we should elect Gineral Cass easy enough if it wasn't for Gineral Taylor; but he stands peskily in the way, jest as much as he stood in the way of the Mexicans at Bony Vista. As for Mr. Van Buren, if he stood agin us alone, we should tread him all to atoms; he couldn't make no headway at all, especially after we got the nomination at Baltimore. Jest between you and me, I don't think much of Mr. Van Buren now. I don't believe he ever was a Democrat. I think he only made believe all the time; and I'd bet two to one he's only making believe now. I wish the Old Gineral, dear Old Hickory, that's dead and gone, could be here now to have the handling of him for a little while; if he didn't bring him into the traces I wouldn't guess agin. Dear Gineral:—I'm afraid you've thought strange of it that I haint writ to you afore now, for so long time past; but I couldn't, I've been so busy cruising round among the fishermen down to New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, that I couldn't get no time to write, nor couldn't find no Post-Office to send it. Ye see, Gineral, I didn't accept your invitation to take a seat in your Cabinet, 'cause I'm one of them sort that can't bear setting a great deal. I can't stan' it without I'm up and knocking about pretty much every day; and I understood the Cabinet had to set nigh about half the time, so I told you I should a good deal rather have some foreign appointment, where I could stir myself. And you told me the foreign appointments was pretty much all spoken for, twenty times over, but you would give me a commission as Minister-Gineral, and I might go round and look after the interests of the country wherever I thought MAJOR DOWNING'S VISIT TO THE FISHING SMACKS. 688EAF. Illustration page. The Major is standing up in a rowboat, being addressed by a sailor who is standing on the deck of a larger fishing boat next to which the rowboat has drawn. The sailor points to the mast of the boat, and another sailor is bending over some ropes at the prow of the boat. In the background there are many more fishing boats. One bears an "S" on its mainsail. best. Now that was jest what I liked; you couldn't a gin me no appointment that would suit me better.
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187Author:  University of Virginia Board of VisitorsAdd
 Title:  Board of Visitors minutes  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia::Board of Visitors | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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188Author:  University of Virginia Board of VisitorsAdd
 Title:  Board of Visitors minutes  
 Published:  2001 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia::Board of Visitors | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text 
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