Susan Warner

Susan Warner
Susan Warner (1819-1885) was an American author best known for her novel "The Wide, Wide World," which became one of the first American bestsellers. Writing under the pen name Elizabeth Wetherell, Warner produced numerous novels that often focused on themes of Christianity and domestic life. Alongside her sister, Anna Warner, she also wrote hymns, including the widely known "Jesus Loves Me."

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THE RUINS.   "She look'd and saw that all was ruinous,  Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;  And here had fall'n a great part of a tower,  Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,  And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers,  And high above a piece of turret stair,  Worn by the feet that now were silent,  Bare to the sun." The first thing... more...

CHAPTER I. The door stands open of a handsome house in Walnut Street—the Walnut Street which belongs to the city of William Penn; and on the threshold stands a lady, with her hand up to her brows, shielding her eyes from the light. She is watching to see what will come out of a carriage just driving up to the curbstone. The carriage stops; there descends first the figure of a handsome, very... more...

THE SEWING SOCIETY. I am thinking of a little brown house, somewhere in the wilds of New England. I wish I could make my readers see it as it was, one June afternoon some years ago. Not for anything very remarkable about it; there are thousands of such houses scattered among our hills and valleys; nevertheless one understands any life story the better for knowing amid what sort of scenes it was... more...

CHAPTER I. DAISY'S QUESTION. A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom, she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that rested on the... more...

CHAPTER I. A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom, she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that rested on the marble there, and looked... more...

CHAPTER I. "He that has light within his own clear breast,May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day."MILTON. The farming plan succeeded beyond Fleda's hopes thanks not more to her wisdom than to the nice tact with which the wisdom was brought into play. The one was eked out with Seth Plumfield's; the other was all her own. Seth was indefatigably kind and faithful. After his... more...

WHO IS SHE? "Tom, who was that girl you were so taken with last night?" "Wasn't particularly taken last night with anybody." Which practical falsehood the gentleman escaped from by a mental reservation, saying to himself that it was not last night that he was "taken." "I mean the girl you had so much to do with. Come, Tom!" "I hadn't much to do with her. I... more...

CHAPTER I. The next day turned out so warm, that the carriage was not brought for Daisy till late in the afternoon. Then it came, with her father and Dr. Sandford; and Daisy was lifted in Mr. Randolph's arms and carefully placed on the front seat of the carriage, which she had all to herself. Her father and the doctor got in and sat opposite to her; and the carriage drove away. The parting with... more...

CHAPTER I. IN THE SPRING.   "Let no one ask me how it came to pass;  It seems that I am happy, that to me  A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,  A purer sapphire melts into the sea." Eleanor could not stay away from the Wednesday meetings at Mrs. Powlis's house. In vain she had thought she would; she determined she would; when the day came round she found herself drawn with a... more...

CHAPTER I. Low stirrings in the leaves, before the windWakes all the green strings of the forest lyre.LOWELL. The light of an early Spring morning, shining fair on upland and lowland, promised a good day for the farmer's work. And where a film of thin smoke stole up over the tree-tops, into the sunshine which had not yet got so low, there stood the farmer's house. It was a little brown house,... more...

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