| | 161 | Author: | Neal
John
1793-1876 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | True womanhood  | | | | 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 a cold, bright clear day, in the troubled winter of 1857-8,
when the great city of New York seemed to be struck with
paralysis, and the “boldest held their breath” for awhile, a
large crowd were gathered just outside of the Park; while, on
the opposite side of the way, there was another and yet
larger collection, filling the street and side-walks, and surging
and struggling about the open doors of a theatre. “Dear Elizabeth, — I hope to be at home to-day. Be of
good cheer. The gentleman who hands you this — Mr. Winthrop
Fay — is my legal adviser just now. He may desire to
see Julia by herself. Whatever he advises, you will be safe in
doing. On the card of Mr. Fay was written: “You may look for me
within the hour; and it may be well for Miss Parry and Mr.
Maynard to be prepared for a short drive. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 162 | Author: | Parkman
Francis
1823-1893 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Vassall Morton | | | | 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: | “Macknight on the Epistles, — that's the name of
the book?” Sir: I am a native of the United States, who, for the
past four years, have been a prisoner in the Castle of Ehrenberg,
confined for no offence, political or otherwise, but
on a groundless suspicion. I escaped by the assistance
of a soldier in the garrison, and have made my way thus far
in the dress of a peasant. I am anxious to reach Genoa, or
some other port beyond the power of Austria, but am embarrassed
and endangered by my ignorance of the routes and
the state of the country. Information on these points, and
the means of communicating with an American consul, are the
only aid of which I am in necessity; and I take the liberty
of applying to you in the hope of obtaining it. By giving it,
you will oblige me in a matter of life and death. The people
of the country cannot be trusted; but I may rely securely on
the generosity of an English gentleman. Dear M.: Uncle Sam in a deuse of a hurry. Ordered to
the island this afternoon. Off for Mexico to-morrow. Sorry
not to see you, but haven't a minute to spare. Good luck. —
Au revoir. Dear Sir: You cannot have forgotten some interviews
and correspondence which formerly passed between us concerning
a person who soon after was unfortunate enough to
fall under the notice of the Austrian police. Nothing has
since been heard of him, and it is commonly believed here
that he is dead. It is my desire to have this opinion confirmed;
and having found you honorable and efficient on another
occasion, I cannot doubt that I shall find you so in this.
May I beg your services in the following particulars? I heard all. I have learned, at last, to know you. These
were your bad dreams! This was the cloud that overshadowed
you! No wonder that your eye was anxious, your
forehead wrinkled, and your cheek pale. To have led that
brave and loyal heart through months and years of anguish!
— to have buried him from the light of day! — to have
buried him in darkness and despair, if despair could ever touch
a soul like his! And there he would have been lost forever,
if you had had your will, — if a higher hand had not been
outstretched to save him. One whom you dared not meet
face to face; one as far above your sphere as the eagle is
above the serpent to which he likened you! You have taught
me how sin can cringe and cower under the anger of a true
and deeply outraged man. That I should have lived to hear
my husband called a villain! — and still live to tell him that
the word was just! My husband! You are not my husband.
It was not a criminal, a traitorous wretch, whom I
pledged myself to love and honor. You have insnared me;
you have me, for a time, safely entangled in your meshes.
The same cause which led me to this yoke must withhold me
from casting it off. I cannot imbitter my father's dying moments.
I cannot bring distress and horror to his tranquil
death bed. For his sake, I will play the hypocrite, and
stoop to pass in the world's eye as your wife. For the few
weeks he has to live, I will lodge, if I must, under your roof;
I will sit, if I must, at your table; but when my father is
gone, let the world impute to me what blame it will, I will
leave you forever. You need not fear that I shall expose
your crimes. If he could spare you, it does not become me
to speak. Live on, and make what atonement you may;
but meanwhile there is a gulf between us wider than death. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 163 | Author: | Roe
Edward Payson
1838-1888 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Barriers burned away | | | | 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: | From its long sweep over the unbroken prairie, a
heavier blast than usual shook the slight frame house.
The windows rattled in the casements, as if shivering in
their dumb way in the December storm. So open and
defective was the dwelling in its construction, that eddying
currents of cold air found admittance at various
points—in some instances carrying with them particles
of the fine, sharp, hail-like snow that the gale was driving
before it in blinding fury. “Dear Mother:—I arrived safely, and am very well.
I did not, yesterday, find a situation suited to my taste,
but expect better success to-day. I am just on the point
of starting out on my search, and when settled will write
you full particulars. Many kisses for yourself and the
little girls. Your affectionate son, “My dear Wife:—Perhaps before this reaches you,
our best friend, our human saviour, will be in heaven. There
is a heaven, I believe as I never did before; and when
Mrs. Fleet prays the gate seems to open, and the glory to
stream right down upon us. But I fear now that not even
her prayers can keep him. Only once he knew her; then
he smiled and said, “Mother, it is all right,” and dropped
asleep. Soon fever came on again, and he is sinking fast.
The doctor shakes his head and gives no hope. My heart
is breaking. Marguerite, Mr. Fleet is not dying a natural
death; he has been slain. I understand all his manner
now, all his desperate hard work. He loved one above
him in wealth—none could be above him in other respects
—and that one was Miss Ludolph. I suspected it, though,
till delirious, he scarcely ever mentioned her name. But
now I believe she played with his heart—the noblest that
ever beat—and then threw it away, as it were a toy instead
of the richest offering ever made to a woman. Proud fool
that she was; she had done more mischief than a thousand
such frivolous lives as hers can atone for. I can write no
more—my heart is breaking with grief and indignation.” “Would Miss Ludolph be willing to come and see a
dying woman? “I have been compelled to supply your place in your
absence: therefore your services will be no longer needed
at this store. Inclosed you will find a check for the small
balance still due you. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 164 | Author: | Roe
Edward Payson
1838-1888 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | From jest to earnest | | | | 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 a cloudy December morning, a gentleman,
two ladies, and a boy, stepped down from the
express train at a station just above the Highlands
on the Hudson. A double sleigh, overflowing with
luxurious robes, stood near, and a portly coachman
with difficulty restrained his spirited horses while
the little party arranged themselves for a winter
ride. Both the ladies were young, and the gentleman's
anxious and almost tender solicitude for one
of them seemed hardly warranted by her blooming
cheeks and sprightly movements. A close observer
might soon suspect that his assiduous attentions
were caused by a malady of his own rather than
indisposition on her part. IT is a common impression that impending disasters
cast their shadows before; and especially in
the realm of fiction do we find that much is made
of presentiments, which are usually fulfilled in a
very dramatic way. But the close observer of real
life, to a large degree, loses faith in these bodings
of ill. He learns that sombre impressions result
more often from a defective digestion and
disquieted conscience than any other cause; and
that, after the gloomiest forebodings, the days pass
in unusual sereneness. Not that this is always
true, but it would almost seem the rule. Perhaps
more distress is caused by those troubles which
never come, but which are feared and worried over,
than by those which do come, teaching us, often,
patience and faith. “Mr. Hemstead, I sincerely ask your forgiveness
for my folly, which you cannot condemn as
severely as I do. Though unworthy, indeed, of your
friendship and esteem, can you believe that I am
not now the weak, wicked creature that I was when
we first met? But I have not the courage to plead
my own cause. I know that both facts and appearances
are against me. I can only ask you,
Who told His disciples to forgive each other,
`seventy times seven'? “My Friend: “I am in receipt of your splendid book. It is full of valuable information,
not only to beginners but to those of the ripest experience. In fact, it is the most elegant in
its illustrations and execution, comprehensive in its investigations, and judicious in its
teachings, of any work on the same subject ever published in our country. More than
this, it is a fine illustration of what industry, intelligence, and devotion can accomplish.
I give it a hearty welcome. Success to `Success with Small Fruits.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 166 | Author: | Roe
Edward Payson
1838-1888 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | What can she do? | | | | 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 a very cold blustering day in early January,
and even brilliant thronged Broadway felt
the influence of winter's harshest frown. There
had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in
the main cleared from the sidewalks, lay in the
streets comparatively unsullied and unpacked.
Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and
whirled it in every direction. From roof, ledges,
and window sills, miniature avalanches suddenly
descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air
was here and there loaded with falling flakes from
wild hurrying masses of clouds, the rear guard of
the storm that the biting northwest wind was
driving seaward. “In your request and reproaches, I see the influence
of another mind. Left to yourself you
would not doubt me. And yet such is my love for
you, I would comply with your request were it not
for what passed that fatal evening. My feelings
and honor as a man forbid my ever meeting your
sister again till she has apologized. She never
liked me, and always wronged me with doubts.
Elliot acted like a fool and a villain, and I have
nothing more to do with him. But your sister, in
her anger and excitement, classed me with him.
When you have been my loved and trusted wife
for some length of time, I hope your family will do
me justice. When you are here with me you will
soon see why our marriage must be private for the
present. You have known me since you were a
child. I will be true to my word and will do
exactly as I agreed. I will meet you any evening
you wish on the down boat. Awaiting your reply
with an anxiety which only the deepest love can
inspire, I remain “I am going, Edith, to meet Mr. Van Dam, as he
told me. I cannot—I will not believe that he will
prove false to me. I leave his letter, which I received
to-day. Perhaps you never will forgive me
at home; but whatever becomes of poor little Zell,
she will not cease to love you all. I would only be
a burden if I stayed. There will be one less to
provide for, and I may be able to help you far more
by going than staying. Don't follow me. I've
made my venture, and chosen my lot. “Mother, Edith, farewell! When you read these
sad words I shall be dead. I fear death—I cannot
tell you how I fear it, but I fear that dreadful gulf
which daily grows nearer more. I must die. There
is no other resource for a poor, weak woman like
16
me. If I were only strong—if I had only been
taught something—but I am helpless. Do not be
too hard upon poor little Zell. Her eyes were
blinded by a false love; she did not see the black
gulf as I see it. If God cares for what such poor
forlorn creatures as I do, may He forgive. I have
thought till my brain reels. I have tried to pray,
but hardly knew what I was praying to. I don't
understand God—He is far off. The world scorns
us. There is none to help. There is no other
remedy save the drug at my side, which will soon
bring sleep which I hope will be dreamless. Farewell! “Miss Edith Allen: You need not fear that I
shall offend again by either writing or speaking
such rash words as those which so deeply pained
you this morning. They would not have been
spoken then, perhaps never, had I not been startled
out of my self-control—had I not seen that you
suspected me of evil. I was very unwise, and I sincerely
ask your pardon. But I meant no wrong,
and as you referred to my sister, I can say, before
God, that I would shield you as I would shield
her. “Guilliam:—You cannot know where I am.
You cannot know what has happened. You could
not be such a fiend as to cast me off and send me
here to die—and die I shall. The edge of the grave
seems crumbling under me as I write. If you have
a spark of love for me, come and see me before I
die. Oh, Guilliam, Guilliam! what a heaven of a
home I would have made you, if you had only married
me. It would have been my whole life to make
you happy. I said bitter words to you—forgive
them. We both have sinned—can God forgive us?
I will not believe you know what has happened.
You are grieving for me—looking for me. They
took me away while you were gone. Come and see
me before I die. Good-bye. I'm writing in the dark
—I'm dying in the dark—my soul is in the dark—
I'm going away in the dark—where, O God, where? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 167 | Author: | Sargent
Epes
1813-1880 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Peculiar | | | | 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 is a small and somewhat faded room in an unpretending
brick house in one of the streets that intersect Broadway,
somewhere between Canal Street and the Park. A woman
sits at a writing-table, with the fingers of her left hand thrust
through her hair and supporting her forehead, while in her
right hand she holds a pen with which she listlessly draws
figures, crosses, circles and triangles, faces and trees, on the
blotting-paper that partly covers a letter which she has been
inditing. DEAR HENRY: You kindly left word for me to write
you. I have little of a cheering nature to say in regard
to myself. We have moved from the house in Fourteenth
Street into a smaller one nearer to the Park and to Mr. Charlton's
business. His complaints of his disappointment in regard
to my means have lately grown more bitter. Your allowance,
liberal as it is, seems to be lightly esteemed. The other day
he twitted me with setting a snare for him by pretending to be
a rich widow. O Henry, what an aggravation of insult! I
knew nothing, and of course said nothing, as to the extent of
your father's wealth. I supposed, as every one else did, that
he left a large property. His affairs proved to be in such a
state that they could not be disentangled by his executors till
two years after his death. Before that time I was married to
Mr. Charlton. “To Carberry Ratcliff, Esq.: — Sir: By the time this letter
reaches you I shall be out of your power, and with my freedom
assured. Still I desire to be at liberty to return to New
Orleans, if I should so elect, and therefore I request you to name
the sum in consideration of which you will give me free papers.
A friend will negotiate with you. Let that friend have your
answer, if you please, in the form of an advertisement in the
Picayune, addressed to “To Estelle: For fifty dollars, I will give you the papers
you desire. “What shall I call thee? Dearest? But that word implies
a comparative; and whom shall I compare with thee? Most
precious and most beloved? O, that is not a tithe of it! Idol?
Darling? Sweet? Pretty words, but insufficient. Ah! life
of my life, there are no superlatives in language that can interpret
to thee the unspeakable affection which swells in my
heart and moistens my eyes as I commence this letter! Can
we by words give an idea of a melody? No more can I put on
paper what my heart would be whispering to thine. Forgive
the effort and the failure. “Judge Onslow, late of Mississippi, and his son saved themselves
by swimming. Among the bodies they identified was
that of Mrs. Berwick of New York, wounded in the head.
From the nature of the wound, her death must have been instantaneous.
Her husband was badly scalded, and, on recognizing
the body of his wife, and learning that his child was
among the drowned, he became deeply agitated. He lingered
till the next day at noon. The child had been in the keeping
of a mulatto nurse. Mr. Burgess of St. Louis, who was saved,
saw them both go overboard. It appears, however, that the
nurse, with her charge in her arms, was seen holding on to a
life-preserving stool; but they were both drowned, though
every effort was made by Colonel Hyde, aided by Mr. Quattles
of South Carolina, to save them. “To Perdita: I shall not be able to see you again to-day.
Content yourself as well as you can in the company of
Mozart and Beethoven, Bellini and Donizetti, Irving and Dickens,
Tennyson and Longfellow. The company is not large, but
you will find it select. Unless some very serious engagement
should prevent, I will see you to-morrow. “Dear Brother: I have called, as you requested, on
Mr. Charlton in regard to his real estate in New Orleans.
Let me give you some account of this man. He is taxed for
upwards of a million. He inherited a good part of this sum
from his wife, and she inherited it from a nephew, the late Mr.
Berwick, who inherited it from his infant daughter, and this
last from her mother. Mother, child, and father — the whole
Berwick family — were killed by a steamboat explosion on the
Mississippi some fifteen or sixteen years ago. “Will you come and dine with me at five to-day without
ceremony? Please reply by the bearer. “I thank you for all the hospitality I have received at your
hands. Enclosed you will find my hotel bill receipted, also
five dollars for the use of such dresses as I have worn. With
best wishes for your mother's restoration to health and for your
own welfare, I bid you good by. “Stricken down by a death-wound, I write this. When it
reaches you, my son, you will be the last survivor of your
family. The faithful negro who bears this letter will tell you
all. You may rely on what he says. This crafty, this Satanic
Slave Power has — I can use the pen no longer. But I
can dictate. The negro must be my amanuensis.” “This Slave Power, which, for many weeks past, has been
hunting down and hanging Union men, has at last laid its
14 * U
bloody hand on our innocent household. Should you meet
Colonel A. J. Hamilton,*
* Late member of Congress from Texas. In his speech in New York
(1862) he said: “I know that the loyalists of Texas have died deaths not
heard of since the dark ages until now; not only hunted and shot, murdered
upon their own thresholds, but tied up and scalded to death with boiling
water; torn asunder by wild horses fastened to their feet; whole neighborhoods
of men exterminated, and their wives and children driven away.”
It is estimated by a writer in the New Orleans Crescent (June, 1863), that
at least twenty-five hundred persons had been hung in Texas during the preceding
two years for fidelity to the Union.
The San Antonio (Texas) Herald, a Rebel sheet of November 13th, 1862,
taunted the Unionists with the havoc that had been made among them! It
says: “They (Union men) are known and will be remembered. Their numbers
were small at first, and they are becoming every day less. In the
mountains near Fort Clark and along the Rio Grande their bones are bleaching
in the sun, and in the counties of Wire and Denton their bodies are
suspended by scores from black-jacks.”
Such are the shameless butchers and hangmen that Slavery spawns!
he will tell you something of what
the pro-slavery butchers have been doing. “The scoundrels have cut the telegraph wires, and we can't
communicate with the forts. I leave here at once to engage a
boat for the pursuit. Shall go in her myself. You must do
this one thing for me without fail: Take up your abode at
once, this very night, in my house, and stay there till I come
back. Use every possible precaution to prevent another escape
of that young person of whom I spoke to you. Do not
let her move a step out of doors without you or your agents
know precisely where she is. I shall hold you responsible for
her security. I may not be back for a day or two, in which
case you must have my wife's interment properly attended to. “Dear Mr. Vance: On leaving you at the Levee I drove
straight for the stable where my horses belonged. I passed
the night with my friend Antoine, the coachman. The next
day I went to your house, where I have stayed with those kind
people, the Bernards, ever since. “Do not think me fanciful, Mr. Vance, but the moment I
set eyes on this young woman the conviction struck me, She
is the lost Clara for whom we are seeking. The coincidence
of age and the fact that I have had the search of her on my
mind, may fully explain the impression. May. But you know
I believe in the phenomena of Spiritualism. Belief is not the
right word. Knowledge would be nearer the truth. “My dear little Granddaughter: This comes to you
from one to whom you seem nearer than any other she leaves
behind. She wishes she could make you wise through her
experience. Since her heart is full of it, let her speak it. In
that event, so important to your happiness, your marriage, may
you be warned by her example, and neither let your affections
blind your reason, nor your reason underrate the value of the
affections. Be sure not only that you love, but that you are
loved. Choose cautiously, my dear child, if you choose at all;
and may your choice be so felicitous that it will serve for the
next world as well as this. “Poor Peek, — rather let me say fortunate Peek! He fell
nobly, as he always desired to fall, in the cause of freedom and
humanity. His son, Sterling, is now with me; a bright, brave
little fellow, who is already a great comfort and help.” “My dear Cousin: I received last night your letter from
Meade's headquarters. 'T was a comfort to be assured you
escaped unharmed amid your many exposures. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 169 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The cassique of Kiawah | | | | 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: | Suppose the day to be a fine one — calm, placid, and without
a cloud — even such a day as frequently comes to cheer us in
the benign and bud-compelling month of April; — suppose the
seas to be smooth; at rest, and slumbering without emotion; with
a fair bosom gently heaving, and sending up only happy murmurs,
like an infant's after a late passion of tears; suppose the hour
to be a little after the turn of noon, when, in April, the sun, only
gently soliciting, forbears all ardency; sweetly smiles and softly
embraces; and, though loving enough for comfort, is not so oppressive
in his attachments as to prompt the prayer for an iceberg
upon which to couch ourselves for his future communion; supposing
all these supposes, dear reader, then the voyager, running
close in for the land — whose fortune it is to traverse that portion
of the Atlantic which breaks along the shores of Georgia and the
Carolinas — beholds a scene of beauty in repose, such as will be
very apt to make him forgetful of all the dangers he has passed! | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 170 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Charlemont, or, The pride of the village | | | | 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 stormy and rugged winds of March were overblown
— the first fresh smiling days of April had come at last —
the days of sunshine and shower, of fitful breezes, the breath
of blossoms, and the newly-awakened song of birds. Spring
was there in all the green and glory of her youth, and the
bosom of Kentucky heaved with the prolific burden of the
season. She had come, and her messengers were everywhere,
and everywhere busy. The birds bore her gladsome
tidings to
“Alley green,
Dingle or bushy dell of each wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side—”
nor were the lately-trodden and seared grasses of the forests
left unnoted; and the humbled flower of the wayside
sprang up at her summons. Like some loyal and devoted
people, gathered to hail the approach of a long-exiled and
well-beloved sovereign, they crowded upon the path over
which she came, and yielded themselves with gladness at
her feet. The mingled songs and sounds of their rejoicing
might be heard, and far-off murmurs of gratulation, rising
from the distant hollows, or coming faintly over the hilltops,
in accents not the less pleasing because they were the
less distinct. That lovely presence which makes every
land blossom, and every living thing rejoice, met, in the
happy region in which we meet her now, a double tribute
of honor and rejoicing. “Dear Barnabas: The strangest adventure — positively
the very strangest — that ever happened to a son of Murkey's,
will keep me from the embraces of the brethren a few weeks
longer. I am benighted, bewildered, taken with art-magic,
transmuted, transmogrified, not myself nor yet another, but,
as they say in Mississippi, `a sort of betweenity.' Fancy
me suddenly become a convert to the bluest presbyterianism,
as our late excellent brother Woodford became, when
he found that he could not get Moll Parkinson on any other
terms — and your guess will not be very far from the true
one. I am suddenly touched with conviction. I have seen
a light on my way from Tarsus. The scales have fallen
from my eyes. I have seen the wickedness of my ways,
and yours too, you dog; and, having resolved on my own
repentance, I am taking lessons which shall enable me to
effect yours. Precious deal of salt will it need for that!
Salt river will fall, while its value rises. But the glory of
the thing — think of that, my boy! What a triumph it will
be to revolutionize Murkey's! — to turn out the drinkers,
and smokers, and money-changers; to say, `Hem! my
brethren, let us pay no more taxes to sin in this place!'
There shall be no more cakes and ale. Ginger shall have
no heat i' the mouth there; and, in place of smoking meats
and tobacco, give you nothing but smoking methodism!
Won't that be a sight and a triumph which shall stir the
dry bones in our valley — ay, and bones not so dry? There
shall be a quaking of the flesh in sundry places. Flam will
perish in the first fit of consternation; and if Joe Burke's
sides do not run into sop and jelly, through the mere humor
of the thing, then prophecy is out of its element quite. “Sir: If I understood your last assurance on leaving
you this day, I am to believe that the stroke of my whip has
made its proper impression on your soul — that you are
willing to use the ordinary means of ordinary persons, to
avenge an indignity which was not confined to your cloth.
If so, meet me at the lake with whatever weapons you choose
to bring. I will be there, provided with pistols for both, at
any hour from three to six. I shall proceed to the spot as
soon as I receive your answer. “I will meet you as soon as I can steal off without provoking
suspicion. I have pistols which I will bring with
me. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 171 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | | | | 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 district of Orangeburg, in South Carolina, constitutes
one of the second tier (from the seaboard) of the political and
judicial divisions or districts of that state. It is a vast plain,
with a surface almost unbroken, in the southern and western
portions, by elevations of any sort. In this region, it is irrigated
by numerous watercourses, rivers, and creeks, that make
their way through swamps of more or less width and density.
These are all thickly covered with a wild and tangled forest-growth,
skirted with great pines, and dwarf-oaks, to say nothing
of a vast variety of shrub-trees; the foliage of which,
massed together by gadding vines, usually presents, in midsummer,
the appearance of a solid wall, impervious to sight and
footstep. “These, old Sinkeler, are to signify that ef you don't surrender
up our friend and brother officer and sodger, Leftenant Joel
Andrews sometimes called `Hell-fire Dick,' of his royal majesty's
regiment of loyal rangers, third company of foragers,
we'll have your heart's blood out of your body, and thar shant
be stick or stone standing of your big house after we've gone
through it. These is to say to you that you must give him up
to the barrer of dispatches, in hafe an hour after you reads 'em,
or you may expeck the eternal vengeance of all consarned. “If he of H— D— [Holly-Dale] is honest, and will
speak the truth, giving proof as he promises, he shall have the
guaranty which he seeks. I will give him the meeting. See
to the arrangemeuts for it as soon as possible. We have reached
that stage of the game, when the loss of a pawn may be
that of a castle; when the gain, even of a pawn, may enable us
to give check-mate to a king! “Let him of H. D. know that I see no reason to depart from
our arrangement as originally made. “I shall take the liberty, my dear Captain Porgy, of bringing
with me a couple of additional guests, in General Greene
and Colonel Lee, knowing that your provision will not only be
ample, but that the taste which usually presides over your banquets
will give to our friends from Rhode Island and Virginia
such a notion of the tastes of Apicius and Lucullus, as certainly
never yet dawned upon them in their own half-civilized regions.
Your own courtesy will do the rest and will, I trust, sufficiently
justify the confidence with which I have insisted upon their
coming. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 172 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The golden Christmas | | | | 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 during that premature spell of cold weather which we so
unseasonably had this year in October,—anticipating our usual
winter by a full month or more,—cutting off the cotton crop a
fourth, and forcing us into our winter garments long before they
were ordered from the tailor,—when, one morning, as I stood shivering
before the glass, and clumsily striving, with numbed fingers,
to adjust my cravat à la nœud Gordien,—my friend, Ned Bulmer,
burst into my room, looking as perfect an exquisite as Beau
Brummell himself. He was in the gayest clothes and spirits, a
thousand times more exhilarated than usual—and Ned is one of
those fellows upon whom care sits uneasily, whom, indeed, care
seldom sets upon at all! He laughed at my shiverings and
awkwardness, seized the ends of my handkerchief, and, with the
readiest fingers in the world, and in the most perfect taste, adjusted
the folds of the cravat, and looped them up into a rose beneath
my chin, in the twinkling of an eye, and to my own perfect satisfaction. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 173 | Author: | Simms
William Gilmore
1806-1870 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Marie de Berniere | | | | 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: | “Start not, dear Marie; nor, if possible, exhibit the
least surprise or emotion as you discover the writing to
be mine, or note the character of its contents. At all
events, make no remark on what you read, and let
your answer be in writing also, and addressed to Madame
de Chateauneuve, though really intended for
myself. There are reasons, believe me, for all these
precautions. In brief, dear Marie, I have come to the
conclusion, after deep study and long reflection, that
you are the victim of a cunning and monstrous imposition,
to combat which, successfully, requires the utmost
vigilance, and a distrust even of the walls of your
chamber. So well am I persuaded of this, that I feel
it unwise to whisper to you here the several processes
of reasoning by which I have reached these suspicions,
or to urge my inquiries farther towards a discovery of
the truths. My purpose, therefore, is to entreat that,
if you really love me, if you really desire my happiness,
as well as your own, and, if you would really revolt
at the idea of being deluded by a most audacious piece
of jugglery, you will contrive to give me a meeting at
my sister's to-morrow morning at 11 o'clock; when I
will unfold to you the whole progress of my conjectures.
In consenting to this arrangement, I must
warn you to suffer no person to know your intentions,
not even your servants. Do not order your carriage,
but wait for that of Madame de Chateauneuve, who
will call for you, a little before this hour. Let me
implore you, dear Marie, to accede to this application.
Your health will now admit—nay, require some such
exercise; exertion, and the fresh pure air of these
pleasant days will exhilarate and strengthen you.
Supposing even that the decree which you have heard
is really the voice of an almighty Providence, His benevolence
will not be offended, nor His sense of authority
outraged, if you resort to all reasonable and proper
means to be assured of its divine origin. Scripture
itself counsels us that the world shall be full of false
prophets and false signs in these latter days—and there
are spirits of evil as well as of good—perhaps a far
greater number, who are still permitted, for purposes
of mischief, to hover around the habitations of earth.
You owe it to me, dear Marie, no less than to yourself
—to my future and my heart as well as your own—
not to yield to a decree which threatens the wreck of
both, until it has been narrowly searched by every
probe and principle which human reason has ever invented
or conceived for the detection of error, and
the discovery of truth. As this revelation appears
to be so entirely miraculous—so far beyond all the
ordinary events of life—it requires that it should be
scrutinized in proportion to its eccentricity, and in
just degree with the vital interests which depend upon
its execution. Yield to this entreaty, dear Marie, even
though you should persist, finally, in the cruel resolution
to hearken to no other from the lips of one whose
every prayer will still eternally be yours. “Sense of duty, &c. Foreclosure of mortgage, &c.
Unavoidable, &c. Very sorry, &c. “Dear Sir: Meeting with the sheriff, and being
in want of a sufficient force for my Cedar Island
plantation, I have ventured to assume your bond,
with interest, being perfectly satisfied to pay the
same price for the negroes at which you bought
them. As I hold them to be amply worth the
amount, I leave it entirely with yourself to retain
them, if you please, paying me at your leisure;
though I should prefer to have them, on my assumption
of your several responsibilities in regard to this
property. Whatever may be your decision, which
you can make at your leisure, it will at least be proper
that they should remain in your keeping until
after the holidays. Very faithfully, and with great
respect, I am, my dear sir, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 174 | Author: | Smith
Seba
1792-1868 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | 'Way down East, or, Portraitures of Yankee life | | | | 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 pilgrim fathers of New England, and their
children of the first and second generations, are justly
renowned for their grave character, their moral
uprightness, which sometimes was rather more than
perpendicular, and the vigilant circumspection which
each one exercised over his neighbor as well as himself.
It is true that Connecticut, from an industrious
promulgation of her “Blue Laws,” has acquired more
fame on this score than other portions of the “universal
Yankee nation,” but this negative testimony
against the rest of New England ought not to be
allowed too much weight, for wherever the light of
history does gleam upon portions further “Down East,”
it shows a people not a whit behind Connecticut in
their resolute enforcement of all the decencies of life,
and their stern and watchful regard for the well-being
of society. The justice of this remark will sufficiently
appear by a few brief quotations from their
judicial records. In the name of Captain Kidd, Amen.—On Jewell's
So saying, he opened the paper, which was so much worn at the folds as to drop into several pieces, and read from it as follows:-- PAGE 180.
689EAF. Illustration page. A man sits at a table and reads from a piece of paper. Two other men are looking on listening as he reads the paper. One is stting at the table and the other is standing hunched over the table, leaning forward. There is a woman standing behind the table who is listening in as well.
Island, near the harbor of Falmouth, in the District
of Maine, is buried a large iron pot full of gold, with
an iron cover over it, and also two large iron pots full
of silver dollars and half dollars, with iron covers
over them; and also one other large iron pot, with an
iron cover over it, full of rich jewels, and gold rings
and necklaces, and gold watches of great value. In
this last pot is the paper containing the agreement of
the four persons who buried these treasures, and the
name of each one is signed to it with his own blood.
In that agreement it is stated that this property
belongs equally to the four persons who buried it, and
is not to be dug up or disturbed while the whole four
are living, except they be all present. And in case it
shall not be reclaimed during the lifetime of the four,
it shall belong equally to the survivors, who shall be
bound to each other in the same manner as the four
were bound. And in case this property shall never
be dug up by the four, or any of them, the last survivor
shall have a right to reveal the place where it is
hid, and to make such disposition of it as he may
think proper. And in that same paper, the evil spirit
of darkness is invoked to keep watch over this
money, and to visit with sudden destruction any one
of the four who may violate his agreement. This
property was buried at the hour of midnight, and only
at the hour of midnight can it ever be reclaimed.
And it can be obtained only in the most profound
silence on the part of those who are digging for it.
Not a word or syllable must be uttered from the time
the first spade is struck in the ground, till a handful
of the money is taken out of one of the pots. This
arrangement was entered into with the spirit of darkness,
in order to prevent any unauthorized persons
from obtaining the money. I am the last survivor of
the four. If I shall dispose of this paper to any one
before my death, or leave it to any one after I am
gone, he may obtain possession of this great treasure
by observing the following directions. Go to the
north side of the island, where there is a little cove,
or harbor, and a good landing on a sandy beach.
Take your compass and run by it due south a half a
mile, measuring from high-water mark. Then run
fifty rods east by compass, and there you will find a
blue stone, about two feet long, set endwise into the
ground. From this stone, measure fifteen rods
brandy-way, and there, at the depth of five feet from
the surface of the ground, you will find the pots of
money. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 176 | Author: | Spofford
Harriet Elizabeth Prescott
1835-1921 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Azarian | | | | 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: | Life, which slips us along like beads on a
leash, strung summer after summer on Ruth
Yetton's thread, yet none so bright as that
one where the Azarian had pictured his sunny
face and all his infinite variety of pranksome
ways. Ruth's mother had thrown her
up in despair, as good for nothing under the
sun, but her father always took her on his
knee at twilight, listened to her little idealities,
and dreamed the hour away with her. Yet
without the mother's constructive strength,
all Ruth's inherited visioning would have
availed her ill. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 177 | Author: | Spofford
Harriet Elizabeth Prescott
1835-1921 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Sir Rohan's ghost | | | | 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: | THERE is a Ghost in all aristocratic families,
and therefore it is not to be presumed that
the great house of Belvidere was destitute. But
though it had dragged on a miserable existence
some three hundred years without one, at last
that distinction was to arrive. Sir Rohan had a
Ghost. Not by any means a common ghost that
appeared at midnight on the striking of a bell,
and trailed its winding-sheet through the upper
halls nearest the roof, but a Ghost that, sleeping
or waking, never left him, a Ghost whose long
hair coiled round and stifled the fair creations
of his dreams, and whose white garments swept
leprously into his sunshine. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 178 | Author: | Spofford
Harriet Elizabeth Prescott
1835-1921 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The thief in the night | | | | 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 garden lay sparkling under the earliest light
of a June morning. A heaven everywhere a
field of rose and azure soared over it; charming
bird-songs trilled from its thickets; a breeze, that
was only living fragrance, rifled its roses, swept
up its avenues, and struck leaf and bough and
blossom into light before it stripped them of their
dewdrops in a shower. The Triton at the lower
end of the little lake sent up a shaft of water-streams
from his horn to catch the sunbeams and
sprinkle them over the surface beneath, and beds
of faintly blue forget-me-nots crept out to meet
the pickerel-weed and lily-pads, — blue flags,
and bluer weed, and waxen-white lilies just unclasping
their petals, with here and there a floating
ball of gold among them, — where the breeze
dipped again in a shining ripple, and weeds and
flags and lilies rocked and swayed before it. On
the one side, the sweet-brier, climbing a pear-tree
to reach the robin's nest, looked back with a
hundred blushing blossoms, and blew a breath of
delight to the damask-rose on the other. The
damask said good-morning to the moss-rose; the
moss-rose to the red; the red would have passed
on the cheerful salutation, but the pale-white
rose, upon its lofty stem, had been awake all
night, had looked into the sick man's chamber,
and learned what the ruddy-cheeked flowers,
which hung their heads and went to sleep with
the birds, were not to know. Nevertheless, a
red-winged blackbird, lighting there and leaving,
shook it so that half its petals fluttered away in
pursuit; a little piece of jewel-work of a humming-bird
darted by to join the frolic; a bluebird
dropped a measure of melody from the
spray where he was tilting, and followed after.
Every thing, in all the bright and blooming
garden, moved and glanced and blushed and
glittered. Every thing spoke of life and joy
and hope and health: nothing spoke of sad
secrets or ill deeds. Every thing told of beauty
and breath, the luxury of living: nothing told
of death, or desolation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 179 | Author: | Holland
J. G.
(Josiah Gilbert)
1819-1881 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Arthur Bonnicastle | | | | 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: | Life looks beautiful from both extremities. Prospect and
retrospect shine alike in a light so divine as to suggest that the
first catches some radiance from the gates, not yet closed, by
which the soul has entered, and that the last is illuminated from
the opening realm into which it is soon to pass. “I should like to see you here next Monday morning, in regard to some
repairs about The Mansion. Come early, and if your little boy Arthur is
well enough you may bring him. “I have lost my ball. I don't know where in the world it can be. It
seemed to get away from me in a curious style. Mr. Bird is very kind,
and I like him very much. I am sorry to say I have lost my Barlow knife
too. Mr. Bird says a Barlow knife is a very good thing. I don't quite
think I have lost the twenty-five cent piece. I have not seen it since yesterday
morning, and I think I shall find it. Henry Hulm, who is my
chum, and a very smart boy, I can tell you, thinks the money will be found.
Mr. Bird says there must be a hole in the top of my pocket. I don't know
what to do. I am afraid Aunt Sanderson will be cross about it. Mr.
Bird thinks I ought to give my knife to the boy that will find the money,
and the money to the boy that will find the knife, but I don't see as I
should make much in that way, do you? I love Mrs. Bird very much.
Miss Butler is the dearest young lady I ever knew. Mrs. Bird kisses us all
when we go to bed, and it seems real good. I have put the testament in
the bottom of my trunk, under all the things. I shall keep that if possible.
If Mrs. Sanderson finds out that I have lost the things, I wish you would
explain it and tell her the testament is safe. Miss Butler has dark eyebrows
and wears a belt. Mr. Bird has killed another woodchuck. I wonder
if you left the key of my trunk. It seems to be gone. We have real
good times, playing ball and taking walks. I have walked out with Miss
Butler. I wish mother could see her hair, and I am your son with ever so
much love to you and mother and all, “Bring home your Attlus. “The Bell is a noble vessel. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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