| | 84 | Author: | Crane, Stephen, 1871-1900 | Add | | | Title: | The Red Badge of Courage  | | | | Published: | 1996 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THE cold passed reluctantly from the earth,
and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched
out on the hills, resting. As the landscape
changed from brown to green, the army awakened,
and began to tremble with eagerness at the
noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the roads,
which were growing from long troughs of liquid
mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber
tinted in the shadow of its banks, purled at the
army's feet; and at night, when the stream had
become of a sorrowful blackness, one could see
across it the red, eyelike gleam of hostile campfires
set in the low brows of distant hills. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 96 | Author: | Davis, Rebecca Harding, 1831-1910 | Add | | | Title: | Margret Howth: A Story of To-Day | | | | Published: | 1996 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | LET me tell you a story of To-Day,—very
homely and narrow in its scope and aim. Not
of the To-Day whose significance in the history
of humanity only those shall read who will
live when you and I are dead. We can bear
the pain in silence, if our hearts are strong
enough, while the nations of the earth stand
afar off. I have no word of this To-Day to
speak. I write from the border of the battlefield,
and I find in it no theme for shallow argument
or flimsy rhymes. The shadow of death
has fallen on us; it chills the very heaven. No
child laughs in my face as I pass down the
street. Men have forgotten to hope, forgotten
to pray; only in the bitterness of endurance,
they say "in the morning, `Would God it were
even!' and in the evening, `Would God it were
morning!' '' Neither I nor you have the prophet's
vision to see the age as its meaning stands
written before God. Those who shall live when
we are dead may tell their children, perhaps,
how, out of anguish and darkness such as the
world seldom has borne, the enduring morning
evolved of the true world and the true man.
It is not clear to us. Hands wet with a brother's
blood for the Right, a slavery of intolerance,
the hackneyed cant of men, or the blood-thirstiness of women, utter no prophecy to us
of the great To-Morrow of content and right
that holds the world. Yet the To-Morrow is
there; if God lives, it is there. The voice of
the meek Nazarene, which we have deafened
down as ill-timed, unfit to teach the watchword
of the hour, renews the quiet promise of its
coming in simple, humble things. Let us go
down and look for it. There is no need that
we should feebly vaunt and madden ourselves
over our self-seen rights, whatever they may
be, forgetting what broken shadows they are
of eternal truths in that calm where He sits
and with His quiet hand controls us. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 97 | Author: | Davis, Rebecca Harding, 1831-1910 | Add | | | Title: | A Middle-Aged Woman | | | | Published: | 1996 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THE clock was pointing to six when Mrs. Shore and her son's wife
turned into a shaded street on their way home. The air blew sharply
up from the sea. Mrs. Shore buttoned her fur cape and quickened
her pace. Maria, as usual, lagged a step behind her. Maria was a
tall, willowy girl with delicate features and milk and rose tints in her
skin. She had the conscious pose of the acknowledged beauty in a
small town, for in her old home, Ford City, Kansas, newspapers had
ranked her with Helen of Troy and Recamier. But her blue eyes
were dull and evasive; she laughed at the end of every sentence, as
if not sure of herself or her companion or of anything else. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 98 | Author: | Davis, Rebecca Harding, 1831-1910 | Add | | | Title: | One Week an Editor | | | | Published: | 1996 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | TO preach a sermon or edit a newspaper were the two things in life
which I always felt I could do with credit to myself and benefit to
the world, if I only had the chance. As a lawyer I knew I had not
been a success; as a member of society I weighed little weight; as
librarian for the Antiquarian Society I was but a drudge, earning
bread and meat; my one chance, I was assured, lay in the pulpit or
editor's desk. The chance was slow in coming. Clergymen in even
the broadest of churches are not apt to open their pulpits to lay
old bachelors. Years ago I lobbied in one newspaper office and
another through New York to get a footing as manager, city or
financial editor, or even reporter; my friends pushed me as a young
man of "fine literary tastes," but all to no purpose. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 99 | Author: | Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 | Add | | | Title: | American Notes | | | | Published: | 1996 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | I SHALL never forget the one-fourth serious and three-fourths
comical astonishment with which, on the morning of the
third of January, eighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, I opened
the door of, and put my head into, a "state-room" on board the
Britannia steam-packet, twelve hundred tons burden per register,
bound for Halifax and Boston, and carrying her Majesty's mails. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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