Stories by American Authors, Volume 7

In Short

This anthology brings together diverse short stories that capture the anxieties and aspirations of the Gilded Age. Through tales of drifters, social climbers, and young seekers, the writers explore the tension between deep-seated moral duty and the desire for personal liberation. These narratives have endured because they skillfully balance period-specific social observation with universal human struggles. Whether detailing the tragic fate of a traveling bishop or the quiet, interior transformations of an expatriate child, the collection highlights the complex social codes that governed American life at the end of the nineteenth century.

The Story

The volume opens in Aiken, South Carolina, where a dignified bishop interacts with the local "crackers" and Northern tourists. The scene is one of genteel leisure, yet beneath the surface, there is a recurring preoccupation with death and moral redemption. The bishop attempts to reform a local vagabond named Demming, whose colorful, shiftless life serves as a foil to the bishop’s own refined, rigid piety. When a fire breaks out, the bishop is trapped in a train car; despite his own physical suffering and frailty, Demming crawls into the burning wreckage in a desperate, ultimately doomed attempt to save his mentor. This act of sacrificial devotion complicates the bishop’s earlier, more condescending efforts to "reclaim" the man.

The narrative scope then shifts to the academic and social currents of the era. We meet a young man, Randall, who has squandered his time in Bonn, Germany. He finds himself caught in a painful, drawn-out separation from a young woman named Ida. His attempts to find her through "chance" and superstition highlight a desperate, gambler-like obsession that pushes him toward the brink of despair. In another narrative, a self-described "social wreck" named Valentine navigates the treacherous social waters of New York. Valentine, an orphan with expensive tastes and no means, finds himself hired by the Globe Employment Bureau to fill empty seats at high-society dinner tables. His journal reveals the degradation of his position, yet he maintains a peculiar, Ruy Blas-like hope that his queen—a young woman named Miss Courtland—might one day recognize his worth beyond his professional masquerade.

The emotional heart of the volume lies in the story of Cora Brainard and Dr. Enfield. Cora is a woman defined by "sordid care" and the heavy weight of duty, while her counterpart, Stella Grayland, represents a life broadened by cultivation and music. Enfield, long torn between his pity for Cora and his admiration for Stella, finds his own path shaped by the women he loves. He ultimately chooses to marry Cora, driven by a solemn sense of duty, only to realize later that his true self has always yearned elsewhere. Finally, in the story of the Denvil family, we move to Rome, where the young Cecilia waits for her distant father to join her. As she navigates her mother’s shallow social ambitions and her own fragile health, Cecilia clings to the image of Saint Donato. Her recovery and return to America effectively force the family to abandon their expatriate pretenses, settling instead into the quiet, permanent reality of their home in Foundryville.

How It Unfolds

The Aiken scene introduces a lush, floral landscape where the casual observer might miss the underlying exhaustion and physical fragility of the characters. The bishop’s interactions with the locals set a tone of moral inquiry that carries through the volume.

The sacrifice of the vagabond provides a sudden, violent climax to the Southern sketches. It challenges the reader’s initial assumption that the refined bishop is the only one capable of true nobility.

The German romance shifts the focus to the internal, psychological agony of separation. The protagonist’s turn toward superstition reflects the helplessness of those who believe that love can be governed by chance.

The New York social masquerade exposes the transactional nature of the elite. The "social wreck" serves as a mirror for the reader, reflecting the absurdity of a society that values artificial presence over genuine character.

The domestic conflict between Dr. Enfield and his wife marks a transition toward the somber realities of long-term commitment. It questions whether pity can ever truly serve as a foundation for a successful marriage.

The resolution in Rome brings the volume to a close with a stark contrast between European artifice and American industry. The young girl’s return home acts as a stabilizing force, ending the cycle of wandering and pretense.

The People

The Bishop is a man of imposing mien and high moral standing who believes in his duty to "reclaim" the lost. His tragedy is his sudden, helpless end, which forces his peers to confront the limits of their own influence. Demming, the vagabond, serves as his foil—a man of "actual worthlessness" who nevertheless possesses a capacity for tenderness and, ultimately, a courage that defies his low social status.

Randall is a young man governed by feverish infatuation. His search for his lost love leads him to abandon intellectual choice for the whims of fate, revealing the destructive potential of romantic obsession. In New York, Valentine plays the part of the "social wreck." He is a man who knows he is a "round peg in a square hole," using his charm to survive a society that views him as a mere ornament to be hired and discarded.

Dr. Enfield and Cora Brainard occupy the center of a domestic tragedy. Cora is shaped by the narrow, sordid expectations of her upbringing, while Enfield is sustained by his own capacity for forbearance. Stella Grayland provides the necessary contrast; her disciplined, artistic soul acts as a steadying influence on all who encounter her. Finally, Cecilia Denvil begins as a child of fancy and foreign education but ends as the anchor of her family. Her move from a life of balls and diamonds to a wheel-chair-bound life in a quiet home represents a total shift in identity.

In Its Own Voice

"I suppose it is the mystery," said the Bishop, "which causes the unreality of death, its perpetual surprise."

The Bishop reflects on the suddenness of mortality even as he walks through a town defined by its seasonal, transient population.

"I seem to joke; in reality I am in despair."

Valentine admits the bitterness of his position, balancing his outward charm against his internal collapse.

"The tempest had come; her ship was a wreck, the dark waves tumbling about her and dashing her with their salt spray."

The narrative describes Cora's emotional state as the reality of her marriage to Enfield finally begins to fracture.

What It's Really About

The volume is fundamentally concerned with the friction between personal desire and the social duties one is born into or assumes. It asks whether character is forged by adversity or by the cultivation of refined pursuits. There is a deep, recurring question regarding the nature of truth: does a person create their own reality through their perceptions, or is there an objective moral order that exists independently of the individual eye? The stories probe the weight of domestic obligation and the loneliness of the "social wreck," suggesting that the most meaningful lives are often those that find a way to anchor themselves against the shifting tides of the world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the dense, descriptive prose of the late nineteenth century will find much to admire here. The collection captures a specific, vanished world where the social "masquerade" was a serious business and where emotional restraint was a core expectation of the middle and upper classes.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the period’s attitudes and its sometimes slow, meditative pace. The use of dialect in the Southern stories—meant to depict the local color of the 1880s—can feel jarring or difficult to navigate today. The focus on "psychological studies" and internal monologues reflects a Victorian interest in character analysis that occasionally results in long, static passages.

Despite these hurdles, the book remains a resonant experience for those interested in the history of American fiction. What stays with you is the recurring image of the "lost" soul—whether it is the vagabond in the fire, the social climber in the city, or the child in Rome—and the way these authors capture the fragile, often desperate attempts people make to find meaning in a world that feels increasingly disconnected and transient. It is a warm, thoughtful, and often melancholy look at the American character at a turning point in its history.