1855
1855:
Elizabeth Gaskell: "North and South" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/4276
Also made into a TV mini series: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0417349/
'I am only sorry it has been so unsuccessful,' replied he, with a
quick glance towards Mr. Bell, as if reconnoitering how much he
might say before him. Margaret, as if she read his thought,
addressed herself to Mr. Bell, both including him in the
conversation, and implying that he was perfectly aware of the
endeavors that had been made to clear Frederick.
'That Horrocks--that very last witness of all, has proved as
unavailing as all the others. Mr. Lennox has discovered that he
sailed for Australia only last August; only two months before
Frederick was in England, and gave us the names of----'
'Frederick in England! you never told me that!' exclaimed Mr.
Bell in surprise.
'I thought you knew. I never doubted you had been told. Of
course, it was a great secret, and perhaps I should not have
named it now,' said Margaret, a little dismayed.
'I have never named it to either my brother or your cousin,' said
Mr. Lennox, with a little professional dryness of implied
reproach.
'Never mind, Margaret. I am not living in a talking, babbling
world, nor yet among people who are trying to worm facts out of
me; you needn't look so frightened because you have let the cat
out of the bag to a faithful old hermit like me. I shall never
name his having been in England; I shall be out of temptation,
for no one will ask me. Stay!' (interrupting himself rather
abruptly) 'was it at your mother's funeral?'
'He was with mamma when she died,' said Margaret, softly.
Mary Virginia Hawes: "The Hidden Path" Mary was the Martha Stewart of her day. See her works:
Alone (Morris, 1854)
The Hidden Path (Derby, 1855)
Moss - Side (Derby & Jackson, 1857)
Nemesis (Derby & Jackson, 1860)
Miriam (Sheldon, 1863)
Husks; or Colonel Floyd's Wards (Sheldon, 1865)
Husbands and Homes (Sheldon, 1865)
Colonel Floyd's Wards (Sheldon, 1866)
Sunnybank (Sheldon, 1866)
The Christmas Holly (Sheldon, 1867)
Phemie's Temptation (Sheldon, 1869)
Ruby's Husband (Sheldon, 1869)
Against Odds (Hearth and Home, 1869)
At Last (Carleton, 1870)
Helen Gardner's Wedding Day; or, Colonel Floyd's Wards (Carleton, 1870)
Common Sense in the Household: A Manual of Practical Housewifery (Scribners, 1871)
The Empty Heart: or, Husks (Carleton, 1871)
True As Steel (Carleton, 1872)
Jessamine (Carleton, 1873)
From My Youth Up (Carleton, 1874)
Breakfast, Luncheon & Tea (Scribners & Armstron, 1875)
My Little Love (Carleton, 1876)
The Dinner Yearbook (Scribners, 1878)
Loiterings in Pleasant Paths (Scribners, 1880)
Our Daughters: What Shall We Do With Them? (Carleton, 1880)
Handicapped (Scribners, 1880)
Eve's Daughters (Anderson & Allen, 1875)
The Cottage Kitchen (Scribners, 1883)
Judith (Our Continent, 1883)
Housekeeping & Homemaking (Lovell, 1883)
Cookery for Beginners (Lothrop, 1884)
Common Sense In The Nursery (Scribners, 1885)
Not Pretty, But Precious (Watson, 1887)
Our Baby's First & Second Years (Reed & Carnick, 1887)
A Gallant Fight (Dodd, Mead, 1888)
House & Home (Ziegler, 1889)
Two Ways Of Keeping A Wife (Walker, 189-)
Country Living For City People (American Bank Note Company, 1890)
Stepping Stones (Street & Smith, 1890)
With The Best Intentions (Scribners, 1890)
His Great Self (Scribners, 1890)
The Story Of Mary Washington (Houghton, Mifflin, 1892)
Mr. Wayt's Wife's Sister (Cassell, 1894)
The Premium Cook Book (American Technical Book Company, 1894)
The Royal Road (Randolph, 1894)
The Home Of The Bible (Monarch, 1895)
Talks Upon Practical Subjects (Warner Bros., 1895; with a chapter by Dr. Fiske Bryson, the mother of Albert Payson Terhune's first wife)
Under The Flag Of The Orient (Historical Publishing Company, 1896)
The Art Of Cooking By Gas (American Technical Book Company, 1896)
The Ladies' Home Cook Book (Manufacturers, 1896)
The Secret Of A Happy Home (Christian Herald, 1896)
The National Cook Book (Scribners, 1896)
An Old - Field School - Girl (Scribners, 1897)
Ruth Bergen's Limitations (Revell, 1897)
Some Colonial Homesteads And Their Stories (Putnam, 1897)
The Comfort Of Cooking And Heating By Gas (Crane, 1898)
Where Ghosts Walk (Putnam, 1899)
Charlotte Bronte At Home (Putnam, 1899)
Cooking Hints (Home Topics, 1899)
Home Topics (Home Topics, 1899)
Household Management (Home Topics, 1899)
Health Topics (Home Topics, 1899)
More Colonial Homesteads And Their Stories (Putnam, 1899)
When Grandmama Was New (Lothrop, 1899)
William Cowper (Putnam, 1899)
Marion Harland's Cook Book Of Tried And True Recipes (International, 190-)
365 Desserts (George W. Jacobs, 1900)
Dr. Dale: A Story Without A Moral (Dodd, Mead, 1900; with Albert Payson Terhune)
Hannah More (Putnam, 1900)
John Knox (Putnam, 1900)
In Our Country (Putnam, 1901)
Marion Harland's Complete Cook Book (Bobbs - Merrill, 1903)
Everyday Etiquette (Bobbs - Merrill, 1905)
The New England Cook Book (Chas. E. Brown, 1905)
The Distraction Of Martha (Scribners, 1906)
Marion Harland's Complete Etiquette (Bobbs - Merrill, 1907, with Virginia Terhune van der Water)
The Housekeeper's Week (Bobbs - Merrill, 1908)
The Housekeeper's Guide And Family Physician (Bobbs - Merrill, 191-)
Marion Harland's Autobiography (Harpers, 1910) (Currently in print.)
The Story Of Canning And Recipes (National Canners Association, 1910)
Home Helps: A Pure Food Cook Book (N. K. Fairbank Co., 1910)
House Making (Hall & Locke, 1911)
Colonial Homesteads And Their Stories (Putnam, 1912)
The Helping Hand Cook book (Moffat, Yard, 1912)
Looking Westward (Scribners, 1914)
A Long Lane (Hearsts, 1915)
The Carringtons Of High Hill (Scribners, 1919)
The New Common Sense In the Household (Stokes, 1926)
There are just a few of her works online: Her pen name was Marion Harland, See: http://www.gutenberg.org/browse/authors/h#a1818
Washington Irving: "Wolfert's Roost" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/8571
An excerpt:
About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so poetically yet truly
described by Wilson. His appearance gladdens the whole landscape.
You hear his soft warble in every field. He sociably approaches your
habitation, and takes up his residence in your vicinity. But why should
I attempt to describe him, when I have Wilson's own graphic verses to
place him before the reader?
When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more,
Green meadows and brown furrowed fields re-appearing:
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore,
And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering;
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing,
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
O then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring,
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.
The loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm glows the weather;
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,
And spice-wood and sassafras budding together;
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair,
Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure;
The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air,
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure.
He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree,
The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossoms;
He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be,
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms;
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours,
The worms from the webs where they riot and welter;
His song and his services freely are ours,
And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter.
The ploughman is pleased when he gleams in his train,
Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him;
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him.
The slow lingering school-boys forget they'll be chid,
While gazing intent, as he warbles before them,
In mantle of sky-blue and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.
The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one that rivals the
European lark, in my estimation, is the Boblincon, or Bobolink, as he is
commonly called. He arrives at that choice portion of our year, which,
in this latitude, answers to the description of the month of May, so
often given by the poets. With us, it begins about the middle of May,
and lasts until nearly the middle of June. Earlier than this, winter is
apt to return on its traces, and to blight the opening beauties of
the year; and later than this, begin the parching, and panting, and
dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial interval, nature is in
all her freshness and fragrance: "the rains are over and gone, the
flowers appear upon the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." The trees are now in
their fullest foliage and brightest verdure; the woods are gay with the
clustered flowers of the laurel; the air is perfumed by the sweet-briar
and the wild rose; the meadows are enameled with clover-blossoms; while
the young apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to swell, and the cherry
to glow, among the green leaves.
This is the chosen season of revelry of the Bobolink. He comes amidst the
pomp and fragrance of the season; his life seems all sensibility and
enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms
of the freshest and sweetest meadows; and is most in song when the
clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, or on
some long flaunting weed; and as he rises and sinks with the breeze,
pours forth a succession of rich tinkling notes; crowding one upon
another, like the outpouring melody of the skylark, and possessing the
same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the summit of a
tree, begins his song as soon as he gets upon the wing, and flutters
tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his own
music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his paramour; always in full
song, as if he would win her by his melody; and always with the same
appearance of intoxication and delight.
Charles Kingsley: "Westward Ho!" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/1860
Interesting chapters:
I. HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD
II. HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME
III. OF TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES, AND HOW THEY HUNTED WITH THE HOUNDS, AND
YET RAN WITH THE DEER
IV. THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE
V. CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME
VI. THE COMBES OF THE FAR WEST
VII. THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH
VIII. HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED
IX. HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY
X. HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK WITH HIS OWN FLESH
XI. HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE'S LEGATE
XII. HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE
XIII. HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN
XIV. HOW SALVATION YEO SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS
XV. HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH
XVI. THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE
XVII. HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, AND FOUND NO MEN THEREIN
XVIII. HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA
XIX. WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA
XX. SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS
XXI. HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION UNDER THE TREE AT HIGUEROTE
XXII. THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES
XXIII. THE BANKS OF THE META
XXIV. HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL
XXV. HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN
XXVI. HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON
XXVII. HOW SALVATION YEO FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN
XXVIII.HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME
XXIX. HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS STOPPED BY THE QUEEN'S COMMAND
XXX. HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS
XXXI. THE GREAT ARMADA
XXXII. HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA
XXXIII. HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL
Gerard de Nerval: "Aurelia" Romantic French Poet: This is the only poem I could find of his online:
AN OLD TUNE
GERARD DE NERVAL.
There is an air for which I would disown
Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, -
A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs,
And keeps its secret charm for me alone.
Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,
Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;
The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold
A green land golden in the dying day.
An old red castle, strong with stony towers,
The windows gay with many coloured glass;
Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,
That bathe the castle basement as they pass.
In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,
A lady looks forth from her window high;
It may be that I knew and found her fair,
In some forgotten life, long time gone by.
Anthony Trollope: "The Warden" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/619/619-8.txt
An excerpt:
"My mind is not in doubt," at last he said, rising. "I could never
respect myself again were I to give way now, because Eleanor Harding
is beautiful. I do love her: I would give a hand to hear her tell
me what you have said, speaking on her behalf; but I cannot for her
sake go back from the task which I have commenced. I hope she may
hereafter acknowledge and respect my motives, but I cannot now go as
a guest to her father's house." And the Barchester Brutus went out
to fortify his own resolution by meditations on his own virtue.
Poor Mary Bold sat down, and sadly finished her note, saying that she
would herself attend the party, but that her brother was unavoidably
prevented from doing so. I fear that she did not admire as she should
have done the self-devotion of his singular virtue.
The party went off as such parties do. There were fat old ladies, in
fine silk dresses, and slim young ladies, in gauzy muslin frocks; old
gentlemen stood up with their backs to the empty fire-place, looking
by no means so comfortable as they would have done in their own
arm-chairs at home; and young gentlemen, rather stiff about the neck,
clustered near the door, not as yet sufficiently in courage to attack
the muslin frocks, who awaited the battle, drawn up in a semicircular
array. The warden endeavoured to induce a charge, but failed
signally, not having the tact of a general; his daughter did what she
could to comfort the forces under her command, who took in refreshing
rations of cake and tea, and patiently looked for the coming
engagement: but she herself, Eleanor, had no spirit for the work; the
only enemy whose lance she cared to encounter was not there, and she
and others were somewhat dull.
Loud above all voices was heard the clear sonorous tones of the
archdeacon as he dilated to brother parsons of the danger of the
church, of the fearful rumours of mad reforms even at Oxford, and of
the damnable heresies of Dr Whiston.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "The Song of Hiawatha" (One of my favorites!) See: http://wiretap.area.com/ftp.items/Library/Classic/hiawatha.txt
An excerpt:
Downward through the evening twilight,
In the days that are forgotten,
In the unremembered ages,
From the full moon fell Nokomis,
Fell the beautiful Nokomis,
She a wife, but not a mother.
She was sporting with her women,
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines,
When her rival the rejected,
Full of jealousy and hatred,
Cut the leafy swing asunder,
Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines,
And Nokomis fell affrighted
Downward through the evening twilight,
On the Muskoday, the meadow,
On the prairie full of blossoms.
"See! a star falls!" said the people;
"From the sky a star is falling!"
There among the ferns and mosses,
There among the prairie lilies,
On the Muskoday, the meadow,
In the moonlight and the starlight,
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter.
And she called her name Wenonah,
As the first-born of her daughters.
And the daughter of Nokomis
Grew up like the prairie lilies,
Grew a tall and slender maiden,
With the beauty of the moonlight,
With the beauty of the starlight.
And Nokomis warned her often,
Saying oft, and oft repeating,
"Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis,
Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis;
Listen not to what he tells you;
Lie not down upon the meadow,
Stoop not down among the lilies,
Lest the West-Wind come and harm you!"
But she heeded not the warning,
Heeded not those words of wisdom,
And the West-Wind came at evening,
Walking lightly o'er the prairie,
Whispering to the leaves and blossoms,
Bending low the flowers and grasses,
Found the beautiful Wenonah,
Lying there among the lilies,
Wooed her with his words of sweetness,
Wooed her with his soft caresses,
Till she bore a son in sorrow,
Bore a son of love and sorrow.
Thus was born my Hiawatha,
Thus was born the child of wonder;
But the daughter of Nokomis,
Hiawatha's gentle mother,
In her anguish died deserted
By the West-Wind, false and faithless,
By the heartless Mudjekeewis.
For her daughter long and loudly
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis;
"Oh that I were dead!" she murmured,
"Oh that I were dead, as thou art!
No more work, and no more weeping,
Wahonowin! Wahonowin!"
By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
There the wrinkled old Nokomis
Nursed the little Hiawatha,
Rocked him in his linden cradle,
Bedded soft in moss and rushes,
Safely bound with reindeer sinews;
Stilled his fretful wail by saying,
"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!"
Lulled him into slumber, singing,
"Ewa-yea! my little owlet!
Who is this, that lights the wigwam?
With his great eyes lights the wigwam?
Ewa-yea! my little owlet!"
Many things Nokomis taught him
Of the stars that shine in heaven;
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet,
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses;
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits,
Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs,
Flaring far away to northward
In the frosty nights of Winter;
Showed the broad white road in heaven,
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows,
Running straight across the heavens,
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows.
At the door on summer evenings
Sat the little Hiawatha;
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,
Heard the lapping of the waters,
Sounds of music, words of wonder;
'Minne-wawa!" said the Pine-trees,
Mudway-aushka!" said the water.
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,
Flitting through the dusk of evening,
With the twinkle of its candle
Lighting up the brakes and bushes,
And he sang the song of children,
Sang the song Nokomis taught him:
"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly,
Little, flitting, white-fire insect,
Little, dancing, white-fire creature,
Light me with your little candle,
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!"
Saw the moon rise from the water
Rippling, rounding from the water,
Saw the flecks and shadows on it,
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"Once a warrior, very angry,
Seized his grandmother, and threw her
Up into the sky at midnight;
Right against the moon he threw her;
'T is her body that you see there."
Saw the rainbow in the heaven,
In the eastern sky, the rainbow,
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"'T is the heaven of flowers you see there;
All the wild-flowers of the forest,
All the lilies of the prairie,
When on earth they fade and perish,
Blossom in that heaven above us."
When he heard the owls at midnight,
Hooting, laughing in the forest,
'What is that?" he cried in terror,
"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"That is but the owl and owlet,
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding at each other."
Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in Summer,
Where they hid themselves in Winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."
Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."
Then Iagoo, the great boaster,
He the marvellous story-teller,
He the traveller and the talker,
He the friend of old Nokomis,
Made a bow for Hiawatha;
From a branch of ash he made it,
From an oak-bough made the arrows,
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers,
And the cord he made of deer-skin.
Then he said to Hiawatha:
"Go, my son, into the forest,
Where the red deer herd together,
Kill for us a famous roebuck,
Kill for us a deer with antlers!"
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows;
And the birds sang round him, o'er him,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
Up the oak-tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
In and out among the branches,
Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat erect upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"
But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he.
Hidden in the alder-bushes,
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And a deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered,
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch-leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.
Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck started,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him!
Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer,
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward,
And Iagoo and Nokomis
Hailed his coming with applauses.
From the red deer's hide Nokomis
Made a cloak for Hiawatha,
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis
Made a banquet to his honor.
All the village came and feasted,
All the guests praised Hiawatha,
Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha!
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!
Walt Whitman: "Leaves of Grass" See: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/1322
An excerpt: Earth, My Likeness
Earth, my likeness,
Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there,
I now suspect that is not all;
I now suspect there is something fierce in you eligible to burst forth,
For an athlete is enamour'd of me, and I of him,
But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me eligible
to burst forth,
I dare not tell it in words, not even in these songs.
I Dream'd in a Dream
I dream'd in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the
whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream'd that was the new city of Friends,
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love, it led the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.
David Brewster: "Memoirs of the Life, Writings and Discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton"
David Brewster is chiefly remembered today for his invention of the kaleidoscope. See a site dedicated for him: http://www.brewstersociety.com/
Washington Irving: "The Life of George Washington" Vol 1 & 2 See: http://www.online-literature.com/irving/george-washington/
An excerpt:
On the 10th there was agitation in the camp. Scouts hurried in with word, as Washington understood them, that a party of ninety Frenchmen were approaching. He instantly ordered out a hundred and fifty of his best men; put himself at their head, and leaving Major Muse with the rest, to man the fort and mount the swivels, sallied forth "in the full hope" as he afterwards wrote to Governor Dinwiddie, "of procuring him another present of French prisoners."
It was another effervescence of his youthful military ardor, and doomed to disappointment. The report of the scouts had been either exaggerated or misunderstood. The ninety Frenchmen in military array dwindled down into nine French deserters.
According to their account, the fort at the fork was completed, and named Duquesne, in honor of the Governor of Canada, It was proof against all attack, excepting with bombs, on the land side. The garrison did not exceed five hundred, but two hundred more were hourly expected, and nine hundred in the course of a fortnight.
Washington's suspicions with respect to La Force's party were justified by the report of these deserters; they had been sent out as spies, and were to show the summons if discovered or overpowered. The French commander, they added, had been blamed for sending out so small a party.
On the same day Captain Mackay arrived, with his independent company of South Carolinians. The cross-purposes which Washington had apprehended, soon manifested themselves. The captain was civil and well disposed, but full of formalities and points of etiquette. Holding a commission direct from the king, he could not bring himself to acknowledge a provincial officer as his superior. He encamped separately, kept separate guards, would not agree that Washington should assign any rallying place for his men in case of alarm, and objected to receive from him the parole and countersign, though necessary for their common safety.
Washington conducted himself with circumspection, avoiding every thing that might call up a question of command, and reasoning calmly whenever such question occurred; but he urged the governor by letter, to prescribe their relative rank and authority. "He thinks you have not a power to give commissions that will command him. If so, I can very confidently say that his absence would tend to the public advantage."
George Sand: "The Story of My Life" Amandine Aurore Lucile Dupin, Baroness Dudevant, b1804 d1876, best known by her pseudonym George Sand. She was a feminist and a novelist.
Works by George Sand: http://www.gutenberg.org/browse/authors/s#a851
An excerpt of The Devil's Pool:
I knew that young man and that beautiful child; I knew their story, for
they had a story, everybody has his story, and everybody might arouse
interest in the romance of his own life if he but understood it.
Although a peasant and a simple ploughman, Germain had taken account of
his duties and his affections. He had detailed them to me ingenuously
one day, and I had listened to him with interest. When I had watched him
at work for a considerable time, I asked myself why his story should not
be written, although it was as simple, as straightforward, and as devoid
of ornament as the furrow he made with his plough.
Next year that furrow will be filled up and covered by a new furrow.
Thus the majority of men make their mark and disappear in the field of
humanity. A little earth effaces it, and the furrows we have made
succeed one another like graves in the cemetery. Is not the furrow of
the ploughman as valuable as that of the idler, who has a name, however,
a name that will live, if, by reason of some peculiarity or some absurd
exploit, he makes a little noise in the world?
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Charlotte Bronte died: See: http://www.online-literature.com/brontec/
Alexander II of Russia starts to rule. http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/history/inourtime/inourtime_20050106.shtml
May 15m 1855 The Great Gold Robbery in England. A Brilliant Crime: http://www.btp.police.uk/History%20Society/Publications/History%20Society/Crime%20on%20line/The%20Great%20Gold%20Robbery.htm
David Livingstone becomes the first European to see Victoria Falls in what is now called Zimbabwe.
See: Livingstone, David, Missionary Travels and Researches In South Africa (1858)
Mary Russell Mitford died. See: http://www.berkshirehistory.com/bios/mrmitford.html