Violets And Other Tales
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Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar Nelson was born Alice Ruth Moore on 19th July, 1875 in New Orleans, Louisiana to a seamstress mother who had been a former slave and merchant marine father. Her ancestry of mixed white, black and Indian from her Creole forebears gave rise to her strawberry blonde curly hair and fair skin who occasionally passed for white, which allowed her to participate in the cultural life of New Orleans at a time where darker skins were often excluded. Alice was among the first generation of black people to be born free in the South and so benefitted from a good education. This allowed her to be part of a small minority of African Americans that continued to University. After graduation she became a teacher in her native New Orleans and published her first book of poetry and prose in 1895. A courtship correspondence with poet Paul Laurence Dunbar led to a secret marriage in New York in 1898. Their marriage ended allegedly after he nearly beat her to death citing that he could not tolerate her lesbian affairs. Depression and alcoholism killed him a few years later. Alice moved to Wilmington, Delaware where she continued to write whilst working at Howard High School. Here she met and married physician and professor Henry Arthur Callis though this too was to end in divorce a few years later. However this period saw her engage in political activism and a fight for social justice for black people, particularly women. She married the poet and civil rights activist Robert Nelson (who she stayed with until her death) and became a journalist, co-editing a progressive black newspaper and being a field organiser for the women's suffrage movement. Alice continued to write poetry and prose but with her other work, that included lectures and the campaign for the Dyer Anti Lynching Bill to become law, her time for creative writing was limited. In her time she received little recognition but has steadily gained an influence and authority that places her at the heart of American writing. Alice died in Philadelphia from heart problems on 18th September 1935.
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Violets And Other Tales - Alice Ruth Moore
Violets And Other Tales by Alice Ruth Moore
Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar Nelson was born Alice Ruth Moore on 19th July, 1875 in New Orleans, Louisiana to a seamstress mother who had been a former slave and merchant marine father. Her ancestry of mixed white, black and Indian from her Creole forebears gave rise to her strawberry blonde curly hair and fair skin who occasionally passed for white, which allowed her to participate in the cultural life of New Orleans at a time where darker skins were often excluded. Alice was among the first generation of black people to be born free in the South and so benefitted from a good education. This allowed her to be part of a small minority of African Americans that continued to University. After graduation she became a teacher in her native New Orleans and published her first book of poetry and prose in 1895. A courtship by correspondence with poet Paul Laurence Dunbar led to a secret marriage in New York in 1898. Their marriage ended allegedly after he nearly beat her to death citing that he could not tolerate her lesbian affairs. Depression and alcoholism killed him a few years later.
Alice moved to Wilmington, Delaware where she continued to write whilst working at Howard High School. Here she met and married physician and professor Henry Arthur Callis though this too was to end in divorce a few years later. However this period saw her engage in political activism and a fight for social justice for black people, particularly women.
She married the poet and civil rights activist Robert Nelson (who she stayed with until her death) and became a journalist, co-editing a progressive black newspaper and being a field organiser for the women's suffrage movement. Alice continued to write poetry and prose but with her other work, that included lectures and the campaign for the Dyer Anti Lynching Bill to become law, her time for creative writing was limited.
In her time she received little recognition but has steadily gained an influence and authority that places her at the heart of American writing.
Alice died in Philadelphia on 18th September 1935.
INTRODUCTION.
In this day when the world is fairly teeming with books, good books, books written with a motive, books inculcating morals, books teaching lessons, it seems almost a piece of presumption too great for endurance to foist another upon the market. There is scarcely room in the literary world for amateurs and maiden efforts; the very worthiest are sometimes poorly repaid for their best efforts. Yet, another one is offered the public, a maiden effort, a little thing with absolutely nothing to commend it, that seeks to do nothing more than amuse.
Many of these sketches and verses have appeared in print before, in newspapers and a magazine or two; many are seeing the light of day for the first time. If perchance this collection of idle thoughts may serve to while away an hour or two, or lift for a brief space the load of care from someone's mind, their purpose has been served, the author is satisfied.
A. R. M.
INDEX OF CONTENTS
VIOLETS
THREE THOUGHTS
THE WOMAN
TEN MINUTES' MUSING
A PLAINT
IN UNCONSCIOUSNESS
TITEE
ANARCHY ALLEY
IMPRESSIONS
SALAMMBO
LEGEND OF THE NEWSPAPER
A CARNIVAL JANGLE
PAUL TO VIRGINIA (Fin de Siecle)
THE MAIDEN'S DREAM
IN MEMORIAM
A STORY OF VENGEANCE
AT BAY ST. LOUIS
NEW YEAR'S DAY
UNKNOWN LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST
IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
FAREWELL!
LITTLE MISS SOPHIE
IF I HAD KNOWN!
CHALMETTE
AT EVENTIDE
THE IDLER
LOVE AND THE BUTTERFLY
THE BEE-MAN
AMID THE ROSES
PREFACE.
These fugitive pieces are launched upon the tide of public opinion to sink or swim upon their merit. They will float for a while, but whether they will reach the haven of popularity depends upon their enduring qualities. Some will surely perish, many will reach some port, but time alone will tell if any shall successfully breast the ocean of thought and plant its standard upon the summit of fame.
When one enters the domain of authorship, she places herself at the mercy of critics. Were she as sure of being commended by the best and most intelligent of her readers, as she is sure of being condemned by the worst and most ignorant, there would still be a thrill of pleasure in all criticism, for the satisfaction of having received the praise of the first would compensate for the harshness of the latter. Just criticism is wholesome and never wounds the sensibilities of the true author, for it saves her from the danger of an excess of pride which is the greatest foe to individual progress, while it spurs her on to loftier flights and nobler deeds. A poor writer is bad, but a poor critic is worse, therefore, unjust criticism should never ruffle the temper of its victim. The author of these pages belongs to that type of the brave new woman who scorns to sigh,
but feels that she has something to say, and says it to the best of her ability, and leaves the verdict in the hands of the public. She gives to the reader her best thoughts and leaves him to accept or reject as merit may manifest itself. No author is under contract to please her readers at all times, nor can she hope to control the sentiments of all of them at any time, therefore, the obligation is reciprocal, for the fame she receives is due to the pleasure she affords.
The author of these fugitive pieces is young, just on the threshold of life, and with the daring audacity of youth makes assertions and gives decisions which she may reverse as time mellows her opinions, and the realities of life force aside the theories of youth, and prosy facts obscure the memory of that happy time when the heart overflowing with
The joy Of young ideas painted on the mind, In the warm glowing colors Fancy spreads On objects, not yet known, when all is new, And all is lovely.
There is much in this book that is good; much that is crude; some that is poor: but all give that assurance of something great and noble when the bud of promise, now unfolding its petals in the morning glow of light, will have matured into that fuller growth of blossoming flower ere the noonday sun passes its zenith. May the hope thus engendered by this first attempt reach its fruition, and may the energy displayed by one so young meet the reward it merits from an approving public.
SYLVANIE F. WILLIAMS.
VIOLETS.
I.
And she tied a bunch of violets with a tress of her pretty brown hair.
She sat in the yellow glow of the lamplight softly humming these words. It was Easter evening, and the newly risen spring world was slowly sinking to a gentle, rosy, opalescent slumber, sweetly tired of the joy which had pervaded it all day. For in the dawn of the perfect morn, it had arisen, stretched out its arms in glorious happiness to greet the Saviour and said its hallelujahs, merrily trilling out carols of bird, and organ and flower-song. But the evening had come, and rest.
There was a letter lying on the table, it read:
"Dear, I send you this little bunch of flowers as my Easter token. Perhaps you may not be able to read their meaning, so I'll tell you. Violets, you know, are my favorite