Marietta Holley: 23 books

IN WHICH THE CONEY ISLAND MICROBE ENTERS OUR QUIET HOME When Serenus Gowdey got back last fall from Brooklyn, where his twin brother, Sylvester, lives, he couldn’t talk about anything but Coney Island. He slighted religion, stopped runnin’ down relations, politics wuz left in the lurch, and cows,...

I had noticed for some time that Josiah Allen had acted queer. He would seem lost in thought anon or oftener, and then seemin'ly roust himself up and try to act natural. And anon he would drag his old tin chest out from under the back stairway and pour over musty old deeds and papers, drawed up by his...

Our son, Thomas Jefferson, and his wife, Maggie, have been wadin’ through a sea of trouble. He down with inflamatory rumatiz so a move or jar of any kind, a fly walkin’ over the bedclothes, would most drive him crazy; and she with nervious prostration, brought on I spoze by nussin’ her pardner...

When Josiah read my dedication he said “it wuz a shame to dedicate a book that it had took most a hull bottle of ink to write, to a lot of creeters that he wouldn't have in the back door yard.

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Our son, Thomas Jefferson, and his wife, Maggie, have been wadin' through a sea of trouble. He down with inflamatory rumatiz so a move or jar of any kind, a fly walkin' over the bedclothes, would most drive him...

A SORT OF PREFACE. WHICH IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ. When Josiah read my dedication he said "it wuz a shame to dedicate a book that it had took most a hull bottle of ink to write, to a lot of creeters that he wouldn't have in the back door yard." But I explained it to him, that I didn't mean tramps...

Again it come to pass, in the fulness of time, that my companion, Josiah Allen, see me walk up and take my ink stand off of the manteltry piece, and carry it with a calm and majestick gait to the corner of the settin' room table devoted by me to literary pursuits. And he sez to me: "What are you goin'...

TO THE SAD-EYED MOTHERS, WHO, LIKE CICELY, ARE LOOKING ACROSS THE CRADLE OF THEIR