The Dover Anthology of American Literature, Volume 1: From the Origins to the Civil War

The Dover Anthology of American Literature, Volume 1: From the Origins to the Civil War

Bob Blaisdell

Language: English

Pages: 590

ISBN: 2:00297885

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Compact, inexpensive anthology features contributions from Jonathan Edwards, Anne Bradstreet, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Paine, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar Allan Poe, Frederick Douglass, Walt Whitman, and many others. Includes introductory notes and suggestions for further reading.

Winesburg, Ohio

Tossing and Turning: Poems

The Promise: A Novel of China and Burma

Best Short Stories from The Saturday Evening Post 2015

Beautiful Maria of My Soul

Yellow birds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

another island covered with bushes, and behind it was a deep pool of water while two or three considerable streams coursed over the sand not far off. I was bathing at this place in the afternoon when a white wolf, larger than the largest Newfoundland dog, ran out from behind the point of the island and galloped leisurely over the sand not half a stone’s throw distant. I could plainly see his red eyes and the bristles about his snout; he was an ugly scoundrel with a bushy tail, large head and a

yourself to feel too much.” “Feel too much! Am not I a woman,—a mother? Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl? My God! lay not this sin to our charge.” “What sin, Emily? You see yourself that we have only done what we were obliged to.” “There’s an awful feeling of guilt about it, though,” said Mrs. Shelby. “I can’t reason it away.” “Here, Andy, you nigger, be alive!” called Sam, under the verandah; “take these yer hosses to der barn; don’t ye hear Mas’r a callin’?” and Sam

announced him as only five years of age, it would have been impossible to excite the interest or awaken the curiosity of the public. The thing I aimed at was, to assure them that he was really a dwarf —and in this, at least, they were not deceived. It was of no consequence, in reality, where he was born or where he came from, and if the announcement that he was a foreigner answered my purpose, the people had only themselves to blame if they did not get their money’s worth when they visited the

owned this great island. Their seats extended from the rising to the setting sun. The Great Spirit had made it for the use of Indians. He had created the buffalo, the deer, and other animals for food. He made the bear and the beaver, and their skins served us for clothing. He had scattered them over the country, and taught us how to take them. He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this he had done for his red children because he loved them. If we had any disputes about hunting

influence. The unwonted sounds caught the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more worthy of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his ancient prisoners again at his mercy. “Come,” he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of Cora, “the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not better than this place?” “Away!” cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting

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