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The Daily Dispatch: November 15, 1862., [Electronic resource] 6 0 Browse Search
The Annals of the Civil War Written by Leading Participants North and South (ed. Alexander Kelly McClure) 2 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 8. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 0 Browse Search
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing) 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli 2 0 Browse Search
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall) 2 0 Browse Search
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen 2 0 Browse Search
James Russell Lowell, Among my books 2 0 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: September 29, 1862., [Electronic resource] 2 0 Browse Search
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The Annals of the Civil War Written by Leading Participants North and South (ed. Alexander Kelly McClure), Stonewall Jackson and his men. (search)
girl's. With high, broad forehead, small, sharp nose, thin, pallid lips, deep set eyes, and dark, rusty beard, he was not a handsome man. His face in the drawing-room or tent, softened by his sweet smile, was as different from itself on the battle-field as a little lake in summer noon differs from the same lake when frozen. Walking or riding the General was ungainly; his main object was to go over the ground, without regard to the manner of his going. His favorite horse was as little like Pegasus as he was like Apollo; he rode boldly and well, but certainly not with grace and ease. He was not a man of style. General Lee, on horseback or off, was the handsomest man I ever saw. It was said of Wade Hampton, that he looked as knightly when mounted as if he had stepped out from an old canvas, horse and all. Breckenridge was a model of manly beauty, and Joe Johnston looked every inch a soldier. None of these things can be said of Jackson. Akin to his dyspepsia, and perhaps as a co
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 8. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.3 (search)
r, left greater scope for the unaided resources of individual genius in commanders and individual valor in men — the native prowess and intelligent obedience of a patriotic soldiery combined by honor's sacred tie. The Virginia cavalry was born, not made. The soil of this State seemed to be its habitat, and at the call of war, it-- Rose from the ground like feathered Mercury, And vaulted, with such ease, into its seat, As if an angel dropped down from the clouds To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. When, in the Syrian desert, a place where no man meets a friend, Saladin and a knight of the Red Cross met and prepared them for deadly encounter, the Soldan of Egypt and Syria, ere the crusaders' mace could be hurled at him, with matchless dexterity, turnd his barb and thrice rode around his ponderous enemy. But when, in these latter days, like black clouds in the firmament of heaven, surcharged, sulphurous and ready to burst on the hushed
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing), Cow Chace, the (search)
inquiry stoops, But takes the fair, afflicted maid Right into Yan Van Poop's.So Roman Antony, they say, Disgraced th' imperial banner, And for a gypsy lost a day, Like Anthony the tanner.The Hamadryad had but half Received redress from Wayne, When drums and colors, cow and calf, Came down the road amain.All in a cloud of dust were seen, The sheep, the horse, the goat, The gentle heifer, ass obscene The yearling and the shoat.And pack-horses with fowls came by, Befeathered on each side, Like Pegasus, the horse that I And other poets ride.Sublime upon the stirrups rose The mighty Lee behind, And drove the terror-smitten cows, Like chaff before the wind.But sudden see the woods above Pour down another corps, All helter-skelter in a drove, Like that I sung before. Irvine and terror in the van Came flying all abroad, And cannon, colors, horse, and man Ran tumbling to the road.Still as he fled, 'twas Irvine's cry, And his example too, “Run on, my merry men all—for why?” The shot will no<
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Chapter 9: a literary club and its organ. (search)
ic ear with such a succession of melodies that all the stones will advance to form a city of refuge for the just. I think with the greatest pleasure of working in company with you. But what will it be? will you give us poems or philosophy or criticism, and how much? for we are planning out our first number by the yard. Let me hear from you directly. Ms. Later, she writes to him again:-- Jamaica Plain, 10th March, 1840. Henry, I adjure you, in the name of all the Genii, Muses, Pegasus, Apollo, Pollio, Apollyon, ( and must I mention --) to send me something good for this journal before the 1st May. All mortals, my friend, are slack and bare; they wait to see whether Hotspur wins, before they levy aid for as good a plan as ever was laid. I know you are plagued and it is hard to write, just so is it with me, for I also am a father. But you can help, and become a godfather! if you like, and let it be nobly, for if the first number justify not the magazine, it will not
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
ation somewhat similar to what I should have felt, had you, my dear brother, committed an action unworthy of humanity. I have long cherished an enthusiastic admiration of this great man; I have long indulged the hope that when the blazing solstice of youth was over, autumnal reflection would shed a lovelier, though less brilliant, light upon his character; and that some tie might be found, sacred and tender enough to sooth the bitter misanthropy of his feelings. But with deep regret I relinquish the hope forever. Still I cannot but admire the bold efforts of his genius that flash through this work like the horrid glare of the lightning amid the terrors of a midnight storm. What a pity that one who might have shone, the most brilliant star in the flaming zodiac of genius, should only be held out as a blazing beacon to warn others from the road to wretchedness and guilt. It is intolerable to think that his Pegasus has still to gallop over twelve more cantos of such hellish ground.
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Fanny Fern-Mrs. Parton. (search)
writer, who is given to undertaking a good deal more than she can ever accomplish; who is always surprised by publication-day; who postpones every literary work till the last hour of grace, and then, a little longer; who requires so much of self-coaxing and backing, to get into the traces, after a week or so of freedom and grass,--all this systematic purpose, this routine, and rigid exactitude, is simply amazing,--it verges on the parvellous,--it is Ledger-demain. Ah, Fanny, is then your Pegasus always saddled, and bridled, and whinnying in the court? Is the steam always up in that tug-boat of a busy brain? Is the wine of your fancy never on the lees? Are there no house-cleaning days in your calendar? Don't your country friends ever come to town and drop in on your golden working-hours? Are there no autograph-hunters about your doors? Do not fond mammas ever send in their babies to deliciously distract you on a Ledger day? Do your dear five hundred friends always respect it,
James Russell Lowell, Among my books, Keats. (search)
asserts that Keats was a little too sensitive on the score of his origin, Hunt's Autobiography (Am. ed.), Vol. II. p. 36. but we can find no trace of such a feeling either in his poetry or in such of his letters as have been printed. We suspect the fact to have been that he resented with becoming pride the vulgar Blackwood and Quarterly standard, which measured genius by genealogies. It is enough that his poetical pedigree is of the best, tracing through Spenser to Chaucer, and that Pegasus does not stand at livery even in the largest establishments in Moorfields. As well as we can make out, then, the father of Keats was a groom in the service of Mr. Jennings, and married the daughter of his master. Thus, on the mother's side, at least, we find a grandfather; on the father's there is no hint of such an ancestor, and we must charitably take him for granted. It is of more importance that the elder Keats was a man of sense and energy, and that his wife was a lively and intel
t next morning. This is a great saving. Persons having nothing to eat find this gridiron a great comfort, and hence the propriety of introducing it in the army." The gridirons are having a great sale, my boy, and it is believed that the business interests of the country are being rapidly improved by the war. Knowing that the Mackerel Brigade was making preparations to entrap the Southern Confederacy at Molasses Junction, I ascended to the upper gallery of my architectural steed, Pegasus, on Tuesday, in order that I might not be unduly hurried on my journey. Taking Accomac on my way to the battle-field, my boy, I called upon Col. Wobert Wobinson, who is superintending preparations for the draft there, and was witness to an incident suitable to be recorded in profane history. The draft in Accomac, my boy, is positively to take place on the 11th of September; but it is not believed that the enrollment can be finished before the 15th, in which case the draft must inevita
t on the topmost rail of a fence enclosing a trampled meadow. There I sat, like Marius, my boy, contemplating the architectural ruin embodied in my gothic steed, Pegasus, and ever and anon whistling abstractedly to my frescoed dog, Bologna. By the gods! I really love these dumb friends of mine. The speculative eye of the world sees in poor Pegasus nothing more than an architectural dream — the church architecture of the future — and I must confess, my boy, that the gothic charger does look something like a skeleton chapel at a distance; it sees in Bologna only a mongrel cur, whose taste for the calves of human legs is an epicurean outrage on walking h to grind everything like human tenderness out of my nature, and make me turn an arrogant and contemptuous misanthrope; but there are times when the cold nose of Pegasus against my cheek, or a wag from that speaking tail of Bologna — which ever turns up behind him like a note of interrogation, to ask how his master feels — will g