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Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 3 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.), Index (search)
How I found Livingstone, 163 Howison, 246 n., 247, 247 n., 248, 249 How Marcus Whitman saved Oregon, 137 How Old Brown took Harper's Ferry, 45 How sweetly flowed the Gospel sound, 499 How the United States became a nation, 193 How to tell a story, 7 How we think, 423 Hoyt, Charles, 279 Hubbard, Lucius L., 162 Huckleberry Finn, 17, 20 Hudson, Capt., 136 Hudson, H. N., 481, 483 Hueffer, F. M., 105 Hughes, H., 437 Hughes, John T., 144 Hughes, Rupert, 295 Hugo, Victor, 592, 595, 596, 603 Huguenots and Henry of Navarre, the, 180 Huguenots and the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, the, 180 Hugh Wynne, 90, 91, 287 Huliet, Huliet, Boese Winten, 602 Human mind, the, 240 Humboldt, Alexander von, 185, 455, 518, 580 Hume, David, 227, 233, 250, 251 Hume, Robert, 213 Humphrey, James, 432 Humphreys, M. W., 463 n. Hunt, Leigh, 455 Hunt, William Morris, 101 Hurd, John C., 347 Hurlbut, W. J., 296 Hurwitch, M., 607, 608 Hurwitz, Isr
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Atlantic Essays, Americanism in literature. (search)
nstruction ever gave these, only the inspiration of a great soul, a great need, or a great people. We all know that a vast deal of oxygen may go into the style of a man; we see in it not merely what books he has read, what company he has kept, but also the food he eats, the exercise he takes, the air he breathes. And so there is oxygen in the collective literature of a nation, and this vital element proceeds, above all else, from liberty. For want of this wholesome oxygen, the voice of Victor Hugo comes to us uncertain and spasmodic, as of one in an alien atmosphere where breath is pain; for want of it, the eloquent English tones that at first sounded so clear and bell-like now reach us only faint and muffled, and lose their music day by day. It is by the presence of this oxygen that American literature is to be made great. We are lost if we permit this inspiration of our nation's life to sustain only the journalist and the stump-speaker, while we allow the colleges and the books
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Carlyle's laugh and other surprises, I. Carlyle's laugh (search)
I. Carlyle's laugh None of the many sketches of Carlyle that have been published since his death have brought out quite distinctly enough the thing which struck me more forcibly than all else, when in the actual presence of the man; namely, the peculiar quality and expression of his laugh. It need hardly be said that there is a great deal in a laugh. One of the most telling pieces of oratory that ever reached my ears was Victor Hugo's vindication, at the Voltaire Centenary in Paris, of that author's smile. To be sure, Carlyle's laugh was not like that smile, but it was something as inseparable from his personality, and as essential to the account, when making up one's estimate of him. It was as individually characteristic as his face or his dress, or his way of talking or of writing. Indeed, it seemed indispensable for the explanation of all of these. I found in looking back upon my first interview with him, that all I had known of Carlyle through others, or through his own
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Oldport days, with ten heliotype illustrations from views taken in Newport, R. I., expressly for this work., Oldport wharves. (search)
admitted more of the suffocating wave. After each long heave, she went visibly a few inches deeper, and then paused. The face of the benign Emperor, her namesake, was on the stern; first sank the carven beard, then the rather mutilated nose, then the white and staring eyes, that gazed blankly over the engulfing waves. The figure-head was Trajan again, at full length, with the costume of an Indian hunter, and the face of a Roman sage; this image lingered longer, and then vanished, like Victor Hugo's Gilliatt, by cruel gradations. Meanwhile the gilded name upon the taffrail had slowly disappeared also; but even when the ripples began to meet across her deck, still her descent was calm. As the water gained, the hidden fire was extinguished, and the smoke, at first densely rising, grew rapidly less. Yet when it had stopped altogether, and all but the top of the cabin had disappeared, there came a new ebullition of steam, like a hot spring, throwing itself several feet in air, and
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Oldport days, with ten heliotype illustrations from views taken in Newport, R. I., expressly for this work., A drift-wood fire. (search)
r fuel shall warm us twice, as the country people say,once in the getting, and again in the burning. Yet no work seems to have more of the flavor of play in it than that of collecting drift-wood on some convenient beach, or than this boat-service of ours, Annie, when we go wandering from island to island in the harbor, and glide over sea-weed groves and the habitations of crabs,--or to the flowery and ruined bastions of Rose Island,--or to those caves at Coaster's Harbor where we played Victor Hugo, and were eaten up in fancy by a cuttle-fish. Then we voyaged, you remember, to that further cave, in the solid rock, just above low-water-mark, a cell unapproachable by land, and high enough for you to stand erect. There you wished to play Constance in Marmion, and to be walled up alive, if convenient; but as it proved impracticable on that day, you helped me to secure some bits of drift-wood instead. Longer voyages brought waifs from remoter islands,--whose very names tell, perchance
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 1: Europe revisited--1877; aet. 58 (search)
o no purpose. He constantly cries, in piteous tone: Gentlemen, a little silence, if you please. She tells how one of the ushers with great pride pointed out Victor Hugo in his seat, and says further: I have seen this venerable man of letters several times,--once in his own house. ... We were first shown into an anteroom, r times. He was of middle height, reasonably stout. His eyes were dark and expressive, and his hair and beard were snowwhite. Several guests were present.... Victor Hugo seated himself alone upon a sofa, and talked to no one. While the rest of the company kept up a desultory conversation, a servant announced M. Louis Blanc, and our expectations were raised only to be immediately lowered, for at this announcement Victor Hugo arose and withdrew into another room, from which we were able to hear the two voices in earnest conversation.... November 27. Packing to leave Paris to-night for Turin. The blanks left in my diary do not mark idle days. I have be
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 3: Newport 1879-1882; aet. 60-63 (search)
.. A cloud seems to lift itself from that part of my mind which concerns, or should concern, itself with spiritual things. Sometimes a strong unwillen seizes me in this direction. I feel in myself no capacity to comprehend any features of the unseen world. My belief in it does not change, but my imagination refuses to act upon the basis of the things not seen. March 5. Longfellow to dine. March 30. In the evening to the ever-pleasing Hasty-Pudding Theatrical Play, a burlesque of Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris, with many saucy interjections. The fun and spirits of the young men were very contagious, and must have cheered all present who needed cheering..... To Laura 129 Mount Vernon Street, March 24, 1881. My darling Laura, The March wind blows, and gives me the spleen. I don't care about anything, don't want my books, nor my friends, nor nothing. But you, poor child, may not be in this wicked, not caring condition, and so I will write you, having oughted to for
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Index (search)
II, 3, 6, 23, 43-45, 63, 74, 77, 118, 120, 127, 134, 141, 145, 146, 164, 174, 175, 233, 252, 269, 292, 293, 296, 300, 332, 363. Letters and Journals of, I, 106, 339. Howe, S. G., Jr., I, 178-85, 199, 200, 207, 220, 234, 250, 290, 298, 352; II, 120, 198, 328. Howe Memorial Club, II, 357. Howells, W. D., I, 244; II, 66, 399. Howells, Mrs. W. D., I, 244. Hudson River, I, 18. Hudson-Fulton Centennial, II, 395, 396, 398. Hughes, Mr., II, 168. Hughes, Thomas, II, 168. Hugo, Victor, II, 24, 63. Huguenots, I, 10, 12. Hunt, Helen, II, 48. Hunt, Louisa, I, 230, 245; II, 68. Hunt, Richard, I, 230. Hunt, Wm., I, 227, 237; II, 99. Hurlburt, Mrs., II, 247, 251. Hurlburt, J. W., II, 345. Hurlburt, S. A., II, 345. Hyacinthe, Pare, II, 87. Hyrne, Dr., I, 12, 13. Hyrne, Sarah, see Cutler. Ibsen, Henrik, I, 285. Idaho, I, 372. Iddings, Mrs., II, 250. II Circolo Italiano, II, 285, 357. Index Expurgatorius, II, 241. India, Englis
Cambridge sketches (ed. Estelle M. H. Merrill), The sisterhood of women. (search)
The sisterhood of women. Estelle M. H. Merrill (Jean Kincaid). The nineteenth century is woman's century. Victor Hugo. The century plant, through many a silent hour, Within itself holds the potential power, The possibility of its rare, perfect flower. So as this “woman's century” its closing nears, From slow and silent growth of by-gone years The sisterhood of women, perfect flower, appears. “My sister!” cries the rich unto the poor to-day; And sinless Mary unto Magdalena may “My sister still thou art,” in yearning accents say. After the flower comes fruitage; and what test Can measure the good wrought, when love's behest Compels the gift of each to other of
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 7: (search)
y. The old French drama, and especially the comedy, from Moliere's time downwards, contained often gross and indelicate phrases and allusions, but the tone of the pieces, as a whole, was generally respectable. The recent theatre reverses all this. It contains hardly any indecorous phrases or allusions, but its whole tone is highly immoral. I have not yet seen one piece that is to be considered an exception to this remark. The popular literature of the time, too, is in the same tone. Victor Hugo, Balzac, the shameless woman who dresses like a man and calls herself George Sand, Paul de Kock, and I know not how many more, belong to this category, and are daily working mischief throughout those portions of society to whom they address themselves. How is this to be explained? Is it that the middling class of society, that fills the smaller theatres and reads the romances of the popular writers, is growing corrupt; that the progress of wealth, and even of education, has opened doors
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