| | 22 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Rosalie Du Pont, or, Treason in the camp  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was on a fine, pleasant morning, toward
the latter part of September, 1780, that a
heavy double knock resounded through the
elegant mansion of Graham Percy, in Queen-street.
The servant who opened the door,
beheld a stranger, dressed in deep black, with
a strongly-marked, deadly-pale countenance,
and small, black, fiery eyes, that seemed capable
of penetrating to his very soul. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 24 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Viola, or, Adventures in the far South-west | | | | 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: | “Away! away! away! three cheers
for freedom! and ho for the sunny
South!” “Dear Morton—We meet strangely
—we have from the first—and since I
saw you on the boat at New Orleans, I
have thought there may be such a thing
as a special Providence. Oh, Morton, if
you love me—if you ever loved me—
forsake me not now! Till I saw you
last, despair had for months sat like an
incubus upon my heart. Hope had fled
me, and in vain I labored to lure her
back. She came with you; and since
then has fluttered in sight, but ready to
take wing and leave me forever. You,
Morton, and hope, are so united, that
neither can come alone. Oh, misery!
misery! how well I know the meaning
of the term! What shall I say of the
past? I could pour out my soul to you
in words, were we together; but I can
say nothing on paper. Yet something
I must say. My mother is dead. My
father—oh! that he better deserved the
name!—what shall I say of him? Morton,
to be brief, my father has sold me
to a man I detest, and is now on his
way to deliver me to my purchaser.
In other words, and to speak without
enigma, my father having failed in business,
is resolved to retrieve his fortune
by disposing of my hand to a French
count, who boasts of a distant connection
with Louis Philippe. He is rich,
and owns a country seat somewhere
near the Brazos; but I cannot direct you
to it, nor do I even know the vicinity.
I only know it is called D'Estang Ville.
You may perhaps find it from the name
—that is, should you care to trouble
yourself about it. Thither I am to be
transported; and once there my father
has solemnly sworn I shall become the
wife of D'Estang, or take the alternative
of ending my days in a convent, in the
interior of Mexico. Of the two, my
choice is already made. I will never
wed this count. Morton, my hope is
in you, or death. If you fail me, the
latter may not. I would not die now—
but can I live a life of misery? I have
knelt and prayed to my father to forego
his terrible resolve. In vain. He is
inexorable. Oh! how he has changed
of late! He is another being. Mother
and wealth were his idols. One is
dead—the other lost; and now he would
rebuild his fortunes on the crushed
hopes and broken heart of his only
child. He cannot love me, Morton, and
I have learned to fear him. Could he
have loved my mother? If so, why am
I treated thus? Of M. D'Estang—he
once visited my father in the city of
Mexico. I was then a child—but it
seems he conceived a passion for me
even then, which years have strengthened
rather than weakened. I say passion;
for had he ever loved, he would
not buy me like a slave now. How he
and my father met within a year, and
how one bought and the other sold me,
I cannot tell you now—perhaps I may
when we meet, should God permit us
to meet again on earth. My hand trembles,
and tears dim my eyes. Morton,
dear Morton, I cannot write more. I
have stolen away to do this. Will it
ever reach you? and can you assist me
if it does? Oh, Morton, by the sweet
past! by our then happy hopes of the
future! I conjure you to come to my aid!
But you must come disguised. If seen
and recognised, I verily believe your
life will be taken. It is fearful to think
so, Morton—it is terrible! No more. “I am a prisoner in the tower; secure
the bearers of this; let no one
leave the Ville, on pain of death, and
come instantly to my release. “Let the bearers of this, my particular
friends, be provided with four
good horses, and be permitted to leave
the Ville without question or hindrance. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 25 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Walde-Warren: | | | | 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: | Far up towards the headwaters
of one of the tributaries
of the Cumberland river,
and not many leagues distant
from that portion of the Cumberland
mountains which divides
the state of Tennessee,
there is a wild, beautiful, romantic
valley. This valley
is about three miles in extent,
oval in shape, with the breadth
of a mile and a half in the
centre, closing up at either
end by the peculiar curve of
the hills which environ it, and
leaving just sufficient space
for the passage of the stream
alluded to, and a traveled
road which winds along its
banks and slightly cuts the
southern base of the projecting
eminences. About central
way of this valley, is a quiet,
picturesque village, of neat
white houses, overlooked by
the mountains, and as rural
and sequestered as one could
wish to find. This village occupies
both sides of the
stream, which is spanned by
an arched wooden bridge, beneath
which the waters
sparkle, foam and roar, as
they dash over a rocky bed,
and dart away with the frolic-someness
of youth. In fact
the stream itself may not inappropriately
be likened to a
youth just freed from the
trammels and helplessness
of infancy, when budding
strength begins to give buoyancy,
independence, ambition,
and love of wild adventure;
for, nurtured among the
mountains, and fed to a good
estate, it has burst from the
control of parental nature, and
now comes hopping, skipping
and dancing along, with childish
playfulness—occasionally
sobered for a moment as it
glides past some steep overhanging
cliff, like a youth full
of timid curiosity on entering
a place of deep shadow—but
in the main, wild, merry and
sportive—laughing in the sunshine—rollicking,
gamboling,
purling and roaring—now
playing hide and seek among
the bushes, and now rushing
away, with might and main,
to explore the world that lays
before it, unconscious that
aught of difficulty may lie in
its path. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 26 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Wild Scenes on the Frontiers, Or, Heroes of the West | | | | 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: | We talk of the ferocity, the vindictiveness, the treachery,
and the cruelty of the native savage; and, painting him
in the darkest colors, tell how, when his hunting grounds
covered the sites of our now proudest cities, he was wont
to steal down upon a few harmless whites, our forefathers,
and butcher them in cold blood, sparing neither sex nor
age, except for a painful captivity, to end perhaps in
the most demoniac tortures; and we dwell upon the
theme, till our little innocent children shudder and creep
close to our sides, and look fearfully around them, and
perhaps wonder how the good God, of whom they have
also heard us speak, could ever have permitted such human
monsters to encumber His fair and beautiful earth. But
do we reverse the medal and show the picture which
impartial Truth has stamped upon the other side—and
which, in a great measure, stands as a cause to the opposite
effect—stands as a cause for savage ferocity, vindictiveness,
treachery and cruelty? Do we tell our young
and eager listeners that the poor Indian, living up to the
light he had, and not unfrequently beyond it, knew no
better than to turn, like the worm when trampled upon,
and bite the foot that crushed him? That we had taken
the land of his father's graves and driven him from his
birthright hunting grounds? That we had stolen his cattle,
robbed him of his food, destroyed his growing fields,
burned his wigwams, and murdered his brothers, fathers,
wives and little ones, besides instigating tribe to war
against tribe—and that, knowing nothing of the Christian
code, to return good for evil, he fulfilled the law of his
nature and education in taking his “great revenge” upon
any of the pale-faced race he should chance to meet? No!
we seldom show this side of the medal—for the natural
inquiry of the innocent listener might contain an unpleasant
rebuke: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 28 | Author: | Ward
Artemus
1834-1867 | Add | | | Title: | Artemus Ward's panorama | | | | 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: | YOU are entirely welcome ladies and gentlemen
to my little picture-shop.1
1 “My little picture-shop.”—I have already stated that the
room used was the lesser of the two on the first-floor of the
Egyptian Hall. The panorama was to the left on entering,
and Artemus Ward stood at the south-east corner facing the
door. He had beside him a music-stand, on which for the
first few days he availed himself of the assistance afforded by
a sheet of foolscap on which all his “cues” were written out
in a large hand. The proscenium was covered with dark
cloth, and the picture bounded by a great gilt frame. On the
rostrum behind the lecturer was a little door giving admission
to the space behind the picture where the piano was placed.
Through this door Artemus would disappear occasionally in
the course of the evening, either to instruct his pianist to play
a few more bars of music, to tell his assistants to roll the
picture more quickly or more slowly, or to give some instructions
to the man who worked “the moon.” The little
lecture-room was thronged nightly during the very few
weeks of its being open.
My dear Sir,—My wife was dangerously unwell for over sixteen
years. She was so weak that she could not lift a teaspoon to her mouth.
But in a fortunate moment she commenced reading one of your lectures.
She got better at once. She gained strength so rapidly that she lifted the
cottage piano quite a distance from the floor, and then tipped it over on
to her mother-in-law, with whom she had had some little trouble. We
like your lectures very much. Please send me a barrel of them. If you
should require any more recommendations, you can get any number of
them in this place, at two shillings each, the price I charge for this one,
and I trust you may be ever happy. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 30 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far South-west | | | | 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 first of October, of the year of our Lord 1845,
found me a guest of the Tremont House, in the goodly city
of Galveston, Texas. An invalid guest, I may add—for I
had been confined to my room for some days, suffering
much pain from a couple of flesh wounds received in a
recent skirmish with a party of Texan brigands, somewhere
between my present abode and the river Brazos,
while in the act of making my escape with some friends
from the head-quarters of a notorious villain, counterfeiter,
etcetera, known as Count D'Estang. The reader
who has been so fortunate, or unfortunate, (I leave him to
decide which,) as to peruse a portion of my narrative, under
the title of “Viola,” will readily understand to what I
allude; but in order to refresh his memory with the past
events of my career, and also give those before whom I
may now appear for the first time an inkling of what has
already been recorded of my adventures, I will here transcribe
a letter, which about this period I wrote home to
my worthy parent in Virginia: “In my last, dated at New Orleans, you will recollect I
made some mention of a very eccentric travelling companion,
by the name of Harley, who, having been introduced
to me one night at a ball in Swansdown, renewed acquaintance
on the boat at Louisville, and kept me company down
the river; and I think I also added, that we had in contemplation
a trip to Mexico, merely to gratify curiosity and
have some adventures. Well, we have not been to Mexico
as yet—but we have had some adventures notwithstanding.
If memory serves me right, I told you there was a certain
mystery about my friend—for even then I regarded him as
such—which I had not been able to fathom; but this has
since been explained away, and I now know his whole
history. “I have just received a letter from home, which requires
my presence there immediately. My poor father has been
taken suddenly ill, and is not expected to recover. I shall
leave to-day for Macon, via Savannah, taking Viola with
me, to whom I now expect my friends to be reconciled,
since the blood of the St. Auburns is not in her veins. As
I cannot fix on any time for my return, you had better not
wait for me; but write to Macon, and keep me advised of
your whereabouts. It grieves me to part with so dear a
friend—but necessity compels me. Can you not come to
Macon? Think of it seriously—I will assure you of a
cordial reception. Dear Viola, with tearful eyes, sends
her love to you. Do not fail to write, and keep me
advised of your doings; and believe me, my dear Harry, “Pardon my seeming uncourteousness of last night! I
was agitated, and troubled, but not without cause. After
what has already passed between us, I think it no more
than right that I should, to some extent, give you the explanation
you desired. This cannot be done in the presence
of a third party; and I must entreat you not to mention
aught of last night's interview to any one! Destroy this
as soon as read! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 31 | Author: | Bennett
Emerson
1822-1905 | Add | | | Title: | The phantom of the forest | | | | 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: | Probably no region of the globe ever presented
more attractions to the genuine hunter and lover of
the backwoods, than the territory known as Kentucky
previous to its settlement by the race that
now holds possession of its soil. Its location, happily
intermediate between the extremes of heat and cold,
afforded a most congenial climate; its surface was
diversified by steep hills and deep valleys, stupendous
cliffs and marshy levels, dense woods and flowery
glades, immense caverns and tangled brakes, large
streams and wonderful licks; and hither came all the
beasts of the forest, to roam in unrestrained freedom
through wilds seldom trod by human feet, and gay-plumed
songsters from every region swept along the
balmy air and made the sylvan retreats ring with
their silvery strains. When first discovered by the
white man, no human beings claimed ownership of
this enchanting land. The red man of the North,
and the red man of the South, came here to hunt and
fight; but the victor bore off his spoils, and the vanquished
went back in dismay, and neither put up
his wigwam on the neutral ground. For years after
its discovery by the white man, Kentucky could not
boast a hundred of the race within its borders; but
then the tide of emigration set in strongly toward
this western land of promise, and a few years more
beheld its broad surface dotted here and there with
the rude fortresses and dwellings of incipient civilization.
Every step forward, however, was marked
with blood. The red man was jealous of the white,
and there was for a long period an almost continuous,
fierce, and sanguinary struggle for the mastery;
while the midnight yells, the wailing shrieks and
the burning homes, too often proclaimed the horrid
work of death and desolation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 32 | Author: | Jacobs
Harriet A.
(Harriet Ann)
1813-1897 | Add | | | Title: | Incidents in the life of a slave girl | | | | 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 born a slave; but I never knew it till six
years of happy childhood had passed away. My father
was a carpenter, and considered so intelligent and
skilful in his trade, that, when buildings out of the
common line were to be erected, he was sent for from
long distances, to be head workman. On condition
of paying his mistress two hundred dollars a year, and
supporting himself, he was allowed to work at his
trade, and manage his own affairs. His strongest
wish was to purchase his children; but, though he
several times offered his hard earnings for that purpose,
he never succeeded. In complexion my parents
were a light shade of brownish yellow, and were
termed mulattoes. They lived together in a comfortable
home; and, though we were all slaves, I was so
fondly shielded that I never dreamed I was a piece
of merchandise, trusted to them for safe keeping, and
liable to be demanded of them at any moment. I had
one brother, William, who was two years younger
than myself — a bright, affectionate child. I had also
a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who
was a remarkable woman in many respects. She was
the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, who, at
his death, left her mother and his three children free,
with money to go to St. Augustine, where they had
relatives. It was during the Revolutionary War; and
they were captured on their passage, carried back, and
sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my
grandmother used to tell me; but I do not remember
all the particulars. She was a little girl when she was
captured and sold to the keeper of a large hotel. I
have often heard her tell how hard she fared during
childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so
much intelligence, and was so faithful, that her master
and mistress could not help seeing it was for their
interest to take care of such a valuable piece of property.
She became an indispensable personage in the
household, officiating in all capacities, from cook and
wet nurse to seamstress. She was much praised for
her cooking; and her nice crackers became so famous
in the neighborhood that many people were desirous
of obtaining them. In consequence of numerous requests
of this kind, she asked permission of her mistress
to bake crackers at night, after all the household
work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided
she would clothe herself and her children from
the profits. Upon these terms, after working hard all
day for her mistress, she began her midnight bakings,
2
assisted by her two oldest children. The business
proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little,
which was saved for a fund to purchase her children.
Her master died, and the property was divided among
his heirs. The widow had her dower in the hotel,
which she continued to keep open. My grandmother
remained in her service as a slave; but her children
were divided among her master's children. As she
had five, Benjamin, the youngest one, was sold, in
order that each heir might have an equal portion of
dollars and cents. There was so little difference in
our ages that he seemed more like my brother than
my uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly
white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother
had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors.
Though only ten years old, seven hundred and twenty
dollars were paid for him. His sale was a terrible
blow to my grandmother; but she was naturally hopeful,
and she went to work with renewed energy, trusting
in time to be able to purchase some of her children.
She had laid up three hundred dollars, which her
mistress one day begged as a loan, promising to pay
her soon. The reader probably knows that no promise
or writing given to a slave is legally binding; for,
according to Southern laws, a slave, being property,
can hold no property. When my grandmother lent
her hard earnings to her mistress, she trusted solely
to her honor. The honor of a slaveholder to a slave! “$300 Reward! Ran away from the subscriber,
an intelligent, bright, mulatto girl, named Linda, 21
years of age. Five feet four inches high. Dark
eyes, and black hair inclined to curl; but it can
be made straight. Has a decayed spot on a front
tooth. She can read and write, and in all probability
will try to get to the Free States. All persons are forbidden,
under penalty of the law, to harbor or employ
said slave. $150 will be given to whoever takes her
in the state, and $300 if taken out of the state and
delivered to me, or lodged in jail. “Dear Grandmother: I have long wanted to write
to you; but the disgraceful manner in which I left you
and my children made me ashamed to do it. If you
knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you
would pity and forgive me. I have purchased freedom
at a dear rate. If any arrangement could be
made for me to return to the south without being a
slave, I would gladly come. If not, I beg of you to
send my children to the north. I cannot live any
longer without them. Let me know in time, and I
will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever
place best suits my uncle's convenience. Write
as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 33 | Author: | Child
Lydia Maria Francis
1802-1880 | Add | | | Title: | Autumnal leaves | | | | 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: | “What a remarkably pretty girl Mrs. Barton
has for a nursery maid,” said Mrs. Vernon to her
daughter. “Forgive me for venturing to call you so. I
am compelled to depart for Italy to-morrow; and
that must be my excuse. I have reflected much
upon the subject, and young as I am, I feel that it
is my duty not to refuse the eligible situation my
relatives have procured for me. It has given me
great pain to come to this conclusion; but I console
myself with the reflection that some day or other,
I shall be free to follow my own inclinations. I
can never forget you, never cease to love you; and
I cannot part without saying farewell, and conjuring
you to cherish the memory of the blissful moments
we have passed together. Do ask Mrs. Barton
to allow me an hour's interview with you this
evening. She and your mother can both be present,
if they think proper. They will see by this
3
request that my views are honourable, and my professions
sincere. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 34 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | A book for an hour | | | | 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: | CONTAINING A MORAL. “ `Gentlemen,—What the mischief do you
suppose you want with a post-office
at Baldwin's Ranch? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there,
you
could'nt read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass
through
with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must
perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about
a
post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel that it
would
only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice
substantial
jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you.
These will make
you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. Gentlemen,—You will have to go to the State
Legislature about that speculation of
yours—Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to
go there,
either; because this thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't
expedient—in
fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in
intellect, in morality,
in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop this—you
can't make it work.
You can't issue stock on an incorporation like that—or if you could, it
would only keep
you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and
“bear” it,
and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just
as they would with
one of your silvermines out there—they would try to make all the world
believe it was
“wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring
a sacred thing into
disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what
I think about it.
You close your petition with the words: `And we will ever pray.' I think you
had
better—you need to do it. “ `Gentlemen,—George Washington, the
revered Father of his Country, is dead.
His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! for ever. He was greatly
respected in this
section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole
community.
He died on the 14th day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the
scene
of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best
beloved
that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time as this you speak of
water-lots!
—what a lot was his! “ `Gentlemen,—It is a delicate question
about this Indian trail, but, handled with
proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or
otherwise,
because the place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over
beyond where
those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were
scalped
last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others preferring
something else
in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the
morning, and
passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road
passing
to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right too, and
Dawson's on the
left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's, and onward
thence to
Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at
it and
compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore,
conferring
the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to
hope
we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still futher information
upon the subject, from to time, as you may desire it and the Post
Office Department
be enabled to furnish it to me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 36 | Author: | Twain
Mark
1835-1910 | Add | | | Title: | Mark Twain's sketches, new and old | | | | 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: | 503EAF. Page 017. In-line image of Mark Twain standing at the
counter of a jeweler. The jeweler is examining Twain's watch with a
magnifying glass, as Twain looks on uncomfortably.
“`Gentlemen: What the mischief do you suppose you want with a post-office at Baldwin's
Ranche? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there, you couldn't read them, you
know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass through, with money in them, for other localities,
would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us
all. No, don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and
feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice jail, you know—a nice, substantial
jail and a free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really
contented and happy. I will move in the matter at once. “`Gentlemen: You will have to go to the State Legislature about that speculation of yours—
Congress don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this
thing you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is ridiculous. Your
religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much.
You had better drop this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like
that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time. The other denominations
would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They would do with it just
as they would with one of your silver mines out there—they would try to make all the world believe
it was “wildcat.” You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into
disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You close your
petition with the words: “And we will ever pray.” I think you had better—you need to do it. “`Gentlemen: George Washington, the revered Father of his Country is dead. His long and
brilliant career is closed, alas! forever. He was greatly respected in this section of the country,
and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of
December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements,
the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At
such a time as this, you speak of water-lots!—what a lot was his! “`Gentlemen: It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness
and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the
place where the route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs,
Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the favorite
direction to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon
trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and
then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right of it, and naturally leaving it on the right,
too, and Dawson's on the left of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's and onward
thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it, and
compassing all the desirable objects so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most
good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall. However,
I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still further information upon the subject, from time to
time, as you may desire it and the Post-office Department be enabled to furnish it to me. Whereas, The Constitution guarantees equal rights to all, backed by the Declaration
of Independence; and | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 37 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Doctor Vandyke | | | | 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 man was sitting in a house on Gloucester
Street, in Williamsburg, Virginia,
about a hundred years ago, busy at a
very singular employment. “My dear Lord: I have the honor
to say that I have received your note of
yesterday, informing me of your desire
to return to Scotland, but I trust 'tis not
essential to your plans, or required by
circumstances, that this departure should
be so very sudden. 'Twill subject me, I
fear, to serious inconvenience, as I highly
appreciate your services, my lord,
and should with difficulty supply your
place. “My Lord: You have twice, with
great courtesy, expressed your good-wishes,
in bidding me farewell—it is I
who go from Williamsburg the first, now:
and I can do no less than reciprocate
your lordship's obliging sentiments, and
express the hope that you may enjoy
health and happiness, whether in Virginia
or in Scotland. “Sir: May I beg you to do me the
honor to visit me at my house between
the hour of noon and one o'clock to-day?
An affair of a very extraordinary character
renders your presence desirable,
and I beg that you will not fail to be
present at the hour named. “I am about to leave Virginia forever;
but, before I go, I must see you
once more, or die of despair. I cannot
enter Rivanna, as one of the wedding-guests,
and witness your marriage. That
would kill me, or drive me to some act
of madness which would but make you
still more unhappy. Devise some other
means—at the hour and spot you fix, I
will be present. “I cannot escape from the company
until to-morrow night — my wedding-night.
Come, then, to the oak-tree—
where—that day—O me! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 38 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Ellie, or, The human comedy | | | | 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: | “Sir: You were guilty of an offence and an insult toward
me this morning, which your blood or my own will answer.
I told you as much, and I now repeat, that nothing but
the amplest satisfaction will suffice. You shall learn, sir,
that I am not to be thwarted with impunity—and Captain
Tarnish, the bearer of this note, will make the arrangements
for the meeting. Should you refuse, as I expect, I
will publish your name as coward! coward! coward!
mark me, sir! “Mr. Sansoucy will very much oblige me by releasing
me from my promise to accompany him to the opera to-night.
I feel as if I should not be able to enjoy it. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 39 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Fairfax, or, The master of Greenway Court | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | ON an evening of October, in the year 1748, the
slopes of the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap were all
ablaze with the red light of the sinking sun. “Mr. Falconbridge:—After much doubt I address you,
to warn you, as a friend, against allowing your affections to be ensnared
by Miss B. Argal. I have no right, sir, to pry into your matters, and
maybe I will get no thanks, but your courtesy to me makes it impossible
for me to see you duped. Captain Wagner will not speak out—he
says that he has already said more than he had a right to—and I will,
therefore, do so myself. The paper which I put in this letter will tell
you all. The poor young man was a distant relative of mine, and died
at my house. He wrote the paper just before his death. I will add no
more, except that I have no private grudge against Miss Argal, and so
remain, “I am about to commit suicide. Before putting an end to my miserable
life, I will relate the circumstances which impel me to the act. My
mind is perfectly sane, my memory good—I will speak calmly. This is
my history: “The poor young man was found dead when we ran at
the explosion of his pistol. This paper was lying on the
table. Mr. Harley Austin returned it to me, not wishing to
keep it; he has since left the country.” “I desire, and if necessary require that the prisoner Powell may be
treated with all respect, and especially brought to Court without hand-cuffs. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 40 | Author: | Cooke
John Esten
1830-1886 | Add | | | Title: | Hammer and rapier | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | On the night of the 17th of July, 1861, a man,
standing upon the earthworks at Manassas, was looking
toward Centreville. “If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg,” wrote
Lincoln, “and the tail of it on the Plank Road between
Fredericksburg and Chancellorville, the animal must
be very slim somewhere—could you not break him? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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