1852

1852:
Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville published more work.

Wilkie Collins: "Basil, a story of Modern Life"
"An upstanding young man falls in love with a beautiful daughter of a tradesman but cannot marry her, not because of their inequality in class, but because she is sexually immoral."

Harriet Beecher Stowe: "Uncle Tom's Cabin"
See: http://www.online-literature.com/stowe/uncletom/
Her homestead is a great place to visit in Hartford CT: See: http://www.harrietbeecherstowecenter.org/index_home.shtml
An excerpt:
"Young Mas'r," said Tom, "I specs what he was gwine to say was, that the horse would roll when he was bringing him up from the stable; he's so full of spirits, - that's the way he got that dirt on him; I looked to his cleaning."

"You hold your tongue till you're asked to speak!" said Henrique, turning on his heel, and walking up the steps to speak to Eva, who stood in her riding-dress.

"Dear Cousin, I'm sorry this stupid fellow has kept you waiting," he said. "Let's sit down here, on this seat till they come. What's the matter, Cousin? - you look sober."

"How could you be so cruel and wicked to poor Dodo?" asked Eva.

"Cruel, - wicked!" said the boy, with unaffected surprise. "What do you mean, dear Eva?"
Leo Tolstoy: "Childhood" See: http://www.mostweb.cc/Classics/Tolstoy/childhood/
An excerpt:
"Through the green branches of the young birch-trees the sun glittered and threw little glancing balls of light upon the pattern of my napkin, my legs, and the bald moist head of Gabriel. A soft breeze played in the leaves of the trees above us, and, breathing softly upon my hair and heated face, refreshed me beyond measure, when we had finished the fruit and ices, nothing remained to be done around the empty cloth, so, despite the oblique, scorching rays of the sun, we rose and proceeded to play.
"Well, what shall it be?" said Lubotshka, blinking in the sunlight and skipping about the grass, "Suppose we play Robinson?"
"No, that’s a tiresome game," objected Woloda, stretching himself lazily on the turf and gnawing some leaves, "Always Robinson! If you want to play at something, play at building a summerhouse."

William Makepiece Thackeray: "The History of Henry Esmond" and "Men's Lives." See Thackeray's works online: http://www.online-literature.com/thackeray/
An Excerpt of "Henry Esmond": "The actors in the old tragedies, as we read, piped their iambics to a tune, speaking from under a mask, and wearing stilts and a great head-dress. ‘Twas thought the dignity of the Tragic Muse required these appurtenances, and that she was not to move except to a measure and cadence. So Queen Medea slew her children to a slow music: and King Agamemnon perished in a dying fall (to use Mr. Dryden's words): the Chorus standing by in a set attitude, and rhythmically and decorously bewailing the fates of those great crowned persons. The Muse of History hath encumbered herself with ceremony as well as her Sister of the Theatre. She too wears the mask and the cothurnus, and speaks to measure. She too, in our age, busies herself with the affairs only of kings; waiting on them obsequiously and stately, as if she were but a mistress of court ceremonies, and had nothing to do with the registering of the affairs of the common people. I have seen in his very old age and decrepitude the old French King Lewis the Fourteenth, the type and model of kinghood--who never moved but to measure, who lived and died according to the laws of his Court-marshal, persisting in enacting through life the part of Hero; and, divested of poetry, this was but a little wrinkled old man, pock-marked, and with a great periwig and red heels to make him look tall--a hero for a book if you like, or for a brass statue or a painted ceiling, a god in a Roman shape, but what more than a man for Madame Maintenon, or the barber who shaved him, or Monsieur Fagon, his surgeon? I wonder shall History ever pull off her periwig and cease to be court-ridden? Shall we see something of France and England besides Versailles and Windsor? I saw Queen Anne at the latter place tearing down the Park slopes, after her stag-hounds, and driving her one-horse chaise--a hot, red-faced woman, not in the least resembling that statue of her which turns its stone back upon St. Paul's, and faces the coaches struggling up Ludgate Hill. She was neither better bred nor wiser than you and me, though we knelt to hand her a letter or a wash-hand basin. Why shall History go on kneeling to the end of time? I am for having her rise up off her knees, and take a natural posture: not to be for ever performing cringes and congees like a court-chamberlain, and shuffling backwards out of doors in the presence of the sovereign. In a word, I would have History familiar rather than heroic: and think that Mr. Hogarth and Mr. Fielding will give our children a much better idea of the manners of the present age in England, than the Court Gazette and the newspapers which we get thence."

Catharine Parr Trail: "Canadian Crusoe’s" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/8382
An excerpt: "Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.

"Head them! head them!" shouted Hector.

Wolfe knew what was meant; with the sagacity of a long-trained hunter, he
made a desperate effort to gain the advantage by a circuitous route. Twice
the stag turned irresolute, as if to face his foe, and Wolfe, taking the
time, swam ahead, and then the race began. As soon as the boys saw the herd
had turned, and that Wolfe was between them and the island, they separated,
Louis making good his ambush to the right among the cedars, and Hector
at the spring to the west, while Catharine was stationed at the solitary
pine-tree, at the point which commanded the entrance of the ravine.
Susanna Moodie: "Roughing it in the Bush" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/4389
An excerpt of the Introduction:
In most instances, emigration is a matter of necessity, not of
choice; and this is more especially true of the emigration of
persons of respectable connections, or of any station or position
in the world. Few educated persons, accustomed to the refinements
and luxuries of European society, ever willingly relinquish those
advantages, and place themselves beyond the protective influence of
the wise and revered institutions of their native land, without the
pressure of some urgent cause. Emigration may, indeed, generally be
regarded as an act of severe duty, performed at the expense of
personal enjoyment, and accompanied by the sacrifice of those local
attachments which stamp the scenes amid which our childhood grew, in
imperishable characters, upon the heart. Nor is it until adversity
has pressed sorely upon the proud and wounded spirit of the
well-educated sons and daughters of old but impoverished families,
that they gird up the loins of the mind, and arm themselves with
fortitude to meet and dare the heart-breaking conflict.
An excerpt of the story: "After clearing this low, swampy portion of the wood, with much
difficulty, and the frequent application of the axe, to cut away
the fallen timber that impeded our progress; our ears were assailed
by a low, roaring, rushing sound, as of the falling of waters.

"That is Herriot's Falls," said our guide. "We are within two miles
of our destination."

Oh, welcome sound! But those two miles appeared more lengthy than
the whole journey. Thick clouds, that threatened a snow-storm, had
blotted out the stars, and we continued to grope our way through a
narrow, rocky path, upon the edge of the river, in almost total
darkness. I now felt the chillness of the midnight hour, and the
fatigue of the long journey, with double force, and envied the
servant and children, who had been sleeping ever since we left
Peterborough. We now descended the steep bank, and prepared to
cross the rapids.

Dark as it was, I looked with a feeling of dread upon the foaming
waters as they tumbled over their bed of rocks, their white crests
flashing, life-like, amid the darkness of the night."
Roget's Thesaurus was published -- http://rogetsthesaurus.com/

Thomas Moore the poet died. See: http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/Poetry/ThomasMoore.html
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet
Oh the last rays of feeling and life must depart
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart" Moore

Henry Clay died. See: http://www.henryclay.org/

Daniel Webster died. For his greatest speeches see: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/12606

President Napoleon Bonaparte proclaims a new constitution for the French Second Republic.

Democrat Franklin Pierce defeats Whig Winfield Scott for Presidency.

Devil's Island penal colony opens -- See: http://crimemagazine.com/PrisonsParole/devilsisland.htm

Taiping Rebellion (1851 to 1864) Amy Tan's novel "The Hundred Secret Senses" takes place in part during the time of the Taiping Rebellion.