In the deep glen or the close shade of pines,—
'Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke
Roll up among the maples of the hill,
Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes
The shriller echo, as the clear pure lymph...
#echotwitter#ImDownWithWCB#CBBvsWCB
I'm used to 19th-century moralists sneering at novels as cheap sensation and morally corrupt. I laughed at their priggishness, but then I read Charles Brockden Brown's "Wieland" (1798). All of the above, plus appallingly written. Like a festival of poor taste.