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Browsing named entities in Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall). You can also browse the collection for Wayland (Massachusetts, United States) or search for Wayland (Massachusetts, United States) in all documents.
Your search returned 109 results in 97 document sections:
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Mrs. S. B. Shaw
To Mrs. S. B. Shaw. Wayland, 1859.
I would gladly come to meet you, to save you trouble; but for no other reason.
As for turning us out of our chamber, we transfer only our bodies; and should you consider that any great trouble, for the sight of a precious friend?
Moreover, suppose it was any trouble, be it known to you that I would turn myself out of my house, and live in a tree, any time, for you. Please put quite out of your head all idea that your coming will give me trouble.
In the first place, I will promise not to take trouble.
In the next place, I would inform you that the world is divided into two classes: those who love to minister to others, and those who like to be ministered unto.
I think I belong to the first class.
I also belong to the class described in Counterparts: those to whom it is more necessary to love than to be loved ; though both are essential to my happiness.
Bad, is n't it?
for a childless woman of sixty years. But then my good David serves me
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Samuel E. Sewall
To Samuel E. Sewall. Wayland, September 20, 1860.
I expect to be in Boston in a few days, and should like to look at Rantoul's speech, if you have the volume at your office ....
It seems as if slavery would be the death of me. If all I suffer on the subject counts as vicarious atonement for the slave-holders, they are in a hopeful way. My indignation rises higher than it used to in my younger days.
According to the general rule, I ought to grow calmer, but I do not. If the monster had one head, assuredly I should be a Charlotte Corday.
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Lucy Osgood
To Miss Lucy Osgood. Wayland, 1860.
You are almost constantly present with me, in these days of this declining year, and to-morrow I am sure my first waking thought will be of you and the dear one who a year ago passed behind the veil; that veil so dark and heavy, with merely a line of golden light around its edges, intimating the inner, invisible glory.
More and more strongly do I feel, as I grow older, that this unsatisfactory existence is the mere threshold of a palace of glories; but reason is importunate with its questions of how and where.
I strive to attain to an habitual state of child-like trust, to feel always, as I do sometimes, like a little one that places its hand within its father's, and is satisfied to be led, it knows not whither.
Mr.-- is a great, good man, and when he lets doctrines alone his preaching always edifies and strengthens me. But he has no logic in his composition; not a jot; and sometimes I wish I had not. Sometimes I think the light from God'
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
To the same. Wayland, May 5, 1861.
I am glad to witness the universal enthusiasm for the U. S. flag, though the sight of that flag always inspires a degree of sadness in my own breast.
I should so delight in having it thoroughly worthy of being honored!
But every flap of the stars and stripes repeats to me the story of those poor slaves who, through great perils and sufferings, succeeded in making their way to Fort Pickens, strengthened by the faith that President Lincoln was their friend, and that his soldiers would protect them.
They were chained and sent back to their masters, who whipped them till they nearly died under the lash.
When such things are done under the U. S. flag, I cannot and I will not say, God bless it!
Nay, unless it ceases from this iniquity, I say, deliberately and solemnly, May the curse of God rest upon it!
May it be trampled in the dust, kicked by rebels, and spit upon by tyrants!
But I think it will cease from this iniquity.
These wicked things
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Lucy Searle
To Miss Lucy Searle. Wayland, June 5, 1861.
I return Silas Marner with cordial thanks.
It entertained me greatly.
His honest attempts at education were extremely amusing.
What a genuine touch of nature was Eppie in the tole hole!
What a significant fact it is in modern literature, that the working class are so generally the heroes.
No princes in disguise are necessary now to excite an interest in the reader.
The popular mind is educated up to the point of perceiving that carpenters, weavers, etc., are often real princes in disguise.
The longer I live, the more entirely and intensely do my sympathies go with the masses.
I am glad to see some amendment with regard to sending back fugitive slaves.
Those at Fort Monroe are to be protected so long as Virginia continues in rebellion.
God grant that all the slave-holders may rebel, and remain in rebellion, till the emancipation of their slaves is accomplished!
Success to Jeff. Davis, till he goads the free States into doin
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Henrietta Sargent
To Miss Henrietta Sargent. Wayland, July 26, 1861.
One can't think about anything else but the war; and where is the prophet inspired to see the end thereof?
All seems to me a mass of dark thunderclouds, illumined here and there with flashes of light that show God is behind the clouds.
I have never in my life felt the presence of God as I do at this crisis.
The nation is in his hand, and he is purging it by a fiery process.
The people would not listen to the warnings and remonstrances of the abolitionists, uttered year after year in every variety of tone, from the gentle exhortations of May and Channing to the scathing rebukes of Garrison; from the close, hard logic of Goodell to the flowing eloquence of Phillips.
More than a quarter of a century ago, Whittier's pen of fire wrote on the wall,--
Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth,-- The gathered wrath of God and man!
In vain.
The people went on with their feasting and their merchandise, and lo!
the storm is upon
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Lucy Searle
To Miss Lucy Searle. Wayland, August 22, 1861.
Three weeks ago I set out to come to see you and broke down half way. It was the hottest day we have had this summer, and I wilted under it so that I had no energy left.
I took refuge in the antislavery office, and there remained in the shade till the hour arrived for returning home.
It was the second day of August, and many anti-slavery friends were returning from the celebration of the first at Abington, so that quite a levee was held at the office the last hour I was there.
I know of nothing that stirs up my whole being like meeting with old friends by whose side I entered into the great moral battle thirty years ago. It seems to me the early Christians must have experienced similar emotions when they met each other.
Glorious old Paul!
What an anti-slavery man he would have made, if his earthly lot had been cast in these times!
Well, his friends were mobbed and despised by the world; but nevertheless, Christianity sat on the
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Henrietta Sargent
To Miss Henrietta Sargent. Wayland, August 24, 1861.
I should have been cheerful in my solitude, had it not been for my irrepressible anxiety about public affairs.
I made, and quilted on my lap, the prettiest little crib-quilt you ever saw. The outside had ninety-nine little pink stars of French calico, on a white ground, with a rose-wreath trimming all round for a border; and the lining was a very delicate rose-colored French brilliant.
It took one month of industrious sewing to complete it. I sent it to my dear friend, Mrs. S., in honor of her first grand-daughter.
It was really a relief to my mind to be doing something for an innocent little baby in these dreadful times.
One other recreation I have had this summer.
My loved and honored friend, S. J. May, spent a few weeks in Boston, and wrote to me to meet him at his cousin's, S. E. Sewall's. I went after dinner, and left after breakfast next morning.
How much we did talk!
Sometimes laughing over old reminiscences, so
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To John G. Whittier
To John G. Whittier. Wayland, September 10, 1861.
Dear friend Whittier,--. .. Nothing on earth has such effect on the popular heart as songs, which the soldiers would take up with enthusiasm, and which it would thereby become the fashion to whistle and sing at the street corners.
Old John Brown, Hallelujah!
is performing a wonderful mission now. Where the words came from, nobody knows, and the tune is an exciting, spirit-stirring thing, hitherto unknown outside of Methodist conventicles.
But it warms up soldiers and boys, and the air is full of it; just as France was of the Marseillaise, whose author was for years unknown.
If the soldiers only had a song, to some spirit-stirring tune, proclaiming what they went to fight for, or thought they went to fight for,--for home, country and liberty, and indignantly announcing that they did not go to hunt slaves, to send back to their tyrants poor lacerated workmen who for years had been toiling for the rich without wages; if they ha
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
To the same. Wayland, January 21, 1862.
You will make me write to you, you keep doing so many things that delight me!
I was moved to write you my thanks for The two Watchers; but I was busy working for the contrabands at Fortress Monroe, and so I kept the thanks warm in my heart, without giving them an airing.
But that Negro Boat Song at Port Royal!
How I have chuckled over it and sighed over it!
I keep repeating it morning, noon, and night; and, I believe, with almost as much satisfaction as the slaves themselves would do. It is a complete embodiment of African humor, and expressed as they would express it, if they were learned in the mysteries of rhyme and rhythm.
I have only one criticism on the negro dialect.
They would not say, He 'leaba de land.
They would say, He leff de land.
At least, so speak all the slaves I have talked with, or whose talk I have seen reported.
What a glorious, blessed gift is this gift of song, with which you are so lavishly endowed!
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