Frances Fuller Victor

The New Penelope, and Other Stories and Poems


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       Frances Fuller Victor

      The New Penelope, and Other Stories and Poems

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066132750

       PREFACE.

       STORIES.

       The New Penelope and Other Stories And Poems.

       POEMS.

       Table of Contents

      This collection consists of sketches of Pacific Coast life, most of which have appeared, from time to time, in the Overland Monthly, and other Western magazines. If they have a merit, it is because they picture scenes and characters having the charm of newness and originality, such as belong to border life.

      The poems embraced in the collection, have been written at all periods of my life, and therefore cannot be called peculiarly Western. But they embody feelings and emotions common to all hearts, East or West; and as such, I dedicate them to my friends on the Pacific Coast, but most especially in Oregon.

      Portland, August, 1877.

      STORIES.

       Page

       The New Penelope9

       A Curious Interview80

       Mr. Ela's Story96

       On the Sands112

       An Old Fool132

       How Jack Hastings Sold His Mine180

       What They Told Me at Wilson's Bar197

       Miss Jorgensen212

       Sam Rice's Romance231

       El Tesoro247

      POEMS.

       A Pagan Reverie269

       Passing by Helicon272

       Lost at Sea275

       'Twas June, Not I276

       Lines to a Lump of Virgin Gold281

       Magdalena284

       Repose289

       Aspasia291

       A Reprimand296

       To Mrs. ——297

       Moonlight Memories299

       Verses for M——301

       Autumnalia303

       Palo Santo305

       A Summer Day306

       He and She308

       O Wild November Wind308

       By the Sea309

       Polk County Hills310

       Waiting312

       Palma314

       Making Moan316

       Childhood317

       A Little Bird that Every One Knows318

       Wayward Love319

       A Lyric of Life320

       From an Unpublished Poem321

       Nevada324

       The Vine326

       What the Sea Said to Me327

       Hymn328

       Do You Hear the Women Praying?329

       Our Life is Twofold331

       Souvenir334

       I Only Wished to Know335

       Lines Written in an Album335

       Love's Footsteps336

       The Poet's Ministers336

       Sunset at the Mouth of the Columbia340

       The Passing of the Year342

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      THE NEW PENELOPE.

      I may as well avow myself in the beginning of my story as that anomalous creature—a woman who loves her own sex, and naturally inclines to the study of their individual peculiarities and histories, in order to get at their collective qualities. If I were to lay before the reader all the good and bad I know about them by actual discovery, and all the mean, and heroic, attributes this habit I have of studying people has revealed to me, I should meet with incredulity, perhaps with opprobrium. However that may be, I have derived great enjoyment from having been made the recipient of the confidences of many women, and by learning therefrom to respect the moral greatness that is so often coupled with delicate physical structure, and almost perfect social helplessness. Pioneer life brings to light striking characteristics in a remarkable manner; because, in the absence of conventionalities and in the presence of absolute and imminent necessities, all real qualities come to the surface as they never would have done under different circumstances. In the early life of the Greeks, Homer found his Penelope; in the pioneer days of the Pacific Coast, I discovered mine.

      My wanderings, up and down among the majestic mountains and the sunny valleys of California and Oregon, had made me acquainted with many persons, some of whom were to me, from the interest they inspired me with, like the friends of my girlhood. Among this select number was Mrs. Anna Greyfield, at whose home among the foot-hills of the Sierras in Northern California, I had spent one of the most delightful summers of my life. Intellectual and intelligent without being learned or particularly bookish; quick in her perceptions and nearly faultless in her judgment of others; broadly charitable, not through any laxity of principle on her own part, but through knowledge of the stumbling-blocks of which the world is full for the unwary, she was a constant surprise and pleasure to me. For, among the vices of women I had long counted uncharitableness; and among their disadvantages want of actual knowledge of things—the latter accounting for the former.

      I had several times heard it mentioned that