Charles Dudley Warner

Less than a year after landing at Jamestown, Captain John Smith arrives in Werowocomoco ("meeting place of chiefs"), in what will become Gloucester County. He is a prisoner of Chief Powatan, a powerful leader of Indians throughout eastern Virginia. Smith later asserts that he was saved from execution by the intercessions of Powatan's young daughter, Pocahontas. The location of Werowocomoco is variously ascribed to the present Wicomico region around Shelly or possibly at Purtan Bay (previously "Poetan", which may have derived from "Powatan"). According to legend, the ancient "Powatan's Chimney" in Wicomico is the remains of a house known to have been built by Dutchmen at the direction of Captain Smith as a peace offering to the Indian chief, but archeaological evidence does not support that.

xv, 330 p. 23 cm

The relation of literature to life -- Simplicity -- "Equality"--What is your culture to me? -- Modern fiction -- Thoughts suggested by Mr. Froude's "Progress"--England -- The English volunteers during the late invasion -- The novel and the common school -- A night in the garden of the Tuileries.

Famed essayist and journalist Charles Dudley Warner (1829-1900) was the editor of the Hartford, Connecticut, Courant and a contributing editor to Harper's Magazine. Our Italy (1891) is Warner's account of a trip he made to Southern California in 1890. He describes conditions after the collapse of the 1886-1887 real estate boom and dubs the state south of the Sierra Madres "our Italy." He focuses on the region's economic future: its promise as a healthy, productive residence, agricultural developments (particularly the citrus industry), climate and industry. He devotes less attention to beauty spots and tourist attractions, but he does discuss the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, and Monterey.

From the book:One of the best things in the world to be is a boy; it requires no experience, though it needs some practice to be a good one. The disadvantage of the position is that it does not last long enough; it is soon over; just as you get used to being a boy, you have to be something else, with a good deal more work to do and not half so much fun. And yet every boy is anxious to be a man, and is very uneasy with the restrictions that are put upon him as a boy. Good fun as it is to yoke up the calves and play work, there is not a boy on a farm but would rather drive a yoke of oxen at real work. What a glorious feeling it is, indeed, when a boy is for the first time given the long whip and permitted to drive the oxen, walking by their side, swinging the long lash, and shouting "Gee, Buck!" "Haw, Golden!" "Whoa, Bright!" and all the rest of that remarkable language, until he is red in the face, and all the neighbors for half a mile are aware that something unusual is going on. If I were a boy, I am not sure but I would rather drive the oxen than have a birthday. The proudest day of my life was one day when I rode on the neap of the cart, and drove the oxen, all alone, with a load of apples to the cider-mill.