hide Sorting

You can sort these results in two ways:

By entity (current method)
Chronological order for dates, alphabetical order for places and people.
By position
As the entities appear in the document.

You are currently sorting in ascending order. Sort in descending order.

hide Most Frequent Entities

The entities that appear most frequently in this document are shown below.

Entity Max. Freq Min. Freq
John Ward 92 0 Browse Search
New England (United States) 64 0 Browse Search
Newbury, Mass. (Massachusetts, United States) 54 0 Browse Search
Christ 44 0 Browse Search
Julia 42 0 Browse Search
Richardson 40 38 Browse Search
Richard Saltonstall 35 1 Browse Search
Richard Martin 32 0 Browse Search
David Matson 29 1 Browse Search
Dick Wilson 28 0 Browse Search
View all entities in this document...

Browsing named entities in a specific section of The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). Search the whole document.

Found 943 total hits in 315 results.

... 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ...
Eden (search for this): chapter 3
its fine ideal, bringing harmony out of discord,—coloring, warming, and lighting up everything within the circle of its horizon. A loving heart carries with it, under every parallel of latitude, the warmth and light of the tropics. It plants its Eden in the wilderness and solitary place, and sows with flowers the gray desolation of rocks and mosses. Wherever love goes, there springs the true heart's-ease, rooting itself even in the polar ices. To the young invalid of the Skipper's story, the colors by the rules of royal artists or the dunces of the academies. She eschews regular outlines. She does not shape her forms by a common model. Not one--of Eve's numerous progeny in all respects resembles her who first culled the flowers of Eden. To the infinite variety and picturesque inequality of Nature we owe the great charm of her uncloying beauty. Look at her primitive woods; scattered trees, with moist sward and bright mosses at their roots; great clumps of green shadow, where li
Mary Edmands (search for this): chapter 3
sprang into the path before her. Shrinking back with terror, she uttered a faint scream. Mary Edmands! said the stranger, do not fear me. A thousand thoughts wildly chased each other through to that sink of wickedness at Providence? Why don't you go back with me to sister Ward's? Mary Edmands! said Martin, in a tone of solemn sternness, it is fitting that I should tell thee all. I ha Thou art in the very gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity, answered Martin. Listen, Mary Edmands, to the creed of those whom thou callest fanatics. We believe in Christ, but not in man-worst paused from utter exhaustion, so vehemently had he poured forth the abundance of his zeal. Mary Edmands, overwhelmed by his eloquence, but still unconvinced, could only urge the disgrace and danger rugged bank of the river, followed closely by Passaconaway and his companions. Come back, Mary Edmands! shouted Mr. Ward. In God's name come back. Half a dozen canoes shot out into the clear m
John Eliot (search for this): chapter 3
tribe was almost wholly destroyed by the great pestilence of 1612. In 1674 they had but two hundred and fifty males in the whole tribe. Their chief sachem lived opposite the falls; and it was in his wigwam that the historian, in company with John Eliot, the Indian missionary, held a meeting for worshippe on ye 5th of May, 1676, where Mr. Eliot preached from ye twenty-second of Matthew. The white visitants from Concord and Woburn, pleased with the appearance of the place and the prospect itMr. Eliot preached from ye twenty-second of Matthew. The white visitants from Concord and Woburn, pleased with the appearance of the place and the prospect it afforded for planting and fishing, petitioned the General Court for a grant of the entire tract of land now embraced in the limits of Lowell and Chelmsford. They made no account whatever of the rights of the poor Patuckets; but, considering it a comfortable place to accommodate God's people upon, were doubtless prepared to deal with the heathen inhabitants as Joshua the son of Nun did with the Jebusites and Perizzites, the Hivites and the Hittites, of old. The Indians, however, found a friend
Emerson (search for this): chapter 3
nker, that Nature is loved as the city of God, although, or rather because, it has no citizen. The beauty of Nature must ever be universal and mocking until the landscape has human figures as good as itself. Man is fallen; Nature is erect. Emerson. As I turned once more to the calm blue sky, the hazy autumnal hills, and the slumberous water, dreamtinted by the foliage of its shores, it seemed as if a shadow of shame and sorrow fell over the pleasant picture; and even the west wind which sause to regret her clemency. The beautiful. A beautiful form is better than a beautiful face; a beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts. Emerson's Essays, Second series, IV., p. 162. A few days since I was walking with a friend, who, unfortunately for himself, seldom meets with anything in the world of realities worthy of comparison with the ideal of his fancy, which, like the bird in
Emmons (search for this): chapter 3
as a pauper. He had early fallen into intemperate habits; and at the age of threescore and ten, when I remember him, he was only sober when he lacked the means of being otherwise. Drunk or sober, however, he never altogether forgot the proprieties of his profession; he was always grave, decorous, and gentlemanly; he held fast the form of sound words, and the weakness of the flesh abated nothing of the rigor of his stringent theology. He had been a favorite pupil of the learned and astute Emmons, and was to the last a sturdy defender of the peculiar dogmas of his school. The last time we saw him he was holding a meeting in our district school-house, with a vagabond pedler for deacon and travelling companion. The tie which united the ill-assorted couple was doubtless the same which endeared Tam O'Shanter to the souter:— They had been fou for weeks thegither. He took for his text the first seven verses of the concluding chapter of Ecclesiastes, furnishing in himself its fitting
Evans (search for this): chapter 3
eathercock glistening in the sun. The bell in its belfry had been brought from France by Skipper Evans in the latter part of the last century. Solemnly baptized and consecrated to some holy saint, ts. He loved to talk with his friends, Elder Staples, the minister, Deacon Warner, and Skipper Evans. He was an expert angler, and knew all the haunts of pickerel and trout for many miles around. ures and over Blueberry Hill, just at the foot of which we encountered Elder Staples and Skipper Evans, who had been driving their cows to pasture, and were now leisurely strolling back to the villagure. A small, sinewy figure, half doubled up, with his chin resting on his rough palms, Skipper Evans sat on a lower projection of the rock just beneath him, in an attentive attitude, as at the feets she passed into the house I saw her put her checked apron to her eyes. By this time Skipper Evans, who had been slowly working his way up street for some minutes, had reached the gate. Look h
Eve (search for this): chapter 3
o a shadow for the Apollo Belvidere, looking coldly on her with stony eyes from his niche in the Vatican. One thing is certain,—he will never find his faultless piece of artistical perfection by searching for it amidst flesh-and-blood realities. Nature does not, as far as I can perceive, work with square and compass, or lay on her colors by the rules of royal artists or the dunces of the academies. She eschews regular outlines. She does not shape her forms by a common model. Not one--of Eve's numerous progeny in all respects resembles her who first culled the flowers of Eden. To the infinite variety and picturesque inequality of Nature we owe the great charm of her uncloying beauty. Look at her primitive woods; scattered trees, with moist sward and bright mosses at their roots; great clumps of green shadow, where limb intwists with limb and the rustle of one leaf stirs a hundred others,—stretching up steep hillsides, flooding with green beauty the valleys, or arching over with
Falstaff (search for this): chapter 3
ers, as we were wont to call them, was an event of no ordinary interest in the generally monotonous quietude of our farm-life. Many of them were well known; they had their periodical revolutions and transits; we could calculate them like eclipses or new moons. Some were sturdy knaves, fat and saucy; and, whenever they ascertained that the men folks were absent, would order provisions and cider like men who expected to pay for them, seating themselves at the hearth or table with the air of Falstaff,—, Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? Others, poor, pale, patient, like Sterne's monk, came creeping up to the door, hat in hand, standing there in their gray wretchedness with a look of heartbreak and forlornness which was never without its effect on our juvenile sensibilities. At times, however, we experienced a slight revulsion of feeling when even these humblest children of sorrow somewhat petulantly rejected our proffered bread and cheese, and demanded instead a glass of cider.
Follen (search for this): chapter 3
he shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the transatlantic Yankee, blending the crafty thrift of Bryce Snailsfoot with the stern religious heroism of Cameron; the blue-eyed, fairhaired German from the towered hills which overlook the Rhine,—slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for fatherland at the Tyrtean call of Korner and beat back the chivalry of France from the banks of the Katzback,—the countrymen of Richter, and Goethe, and our own Follen. Here, too, are pedlers from Hamburg, and Bavaria, and Poland, with their sharp Jewish faces, and black, keen eyes. At this moment, beneath my window are two sturdy, sunbrowned Swiss maidens grinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land the simple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me, by their foreign garb and language, of Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl. Poor wanderers! I cannot say that I love their music; but now, as the notes die away, and, to use th
Fox (search for this): chapter 3
s of having lost in any degree my early admiration of heroic achievement. The feeling remains; but it has found new and better objects. I have learned to appreciate what Milton calls the martyr's unresistible might of meekness, —the calm, uncomplaining endurance of those who can bear up against persecution uncheered by sympathy or applause, and, with a full and keen appreciation of the value of all which they are called to sacrifice, confront danger and death in unselfish devotion to duty. Fox, preaching through his prison-gates or rebuking Oliver Cromwell in the midst of his soldier-court; Henry Vane beneath the axe of the headsman; Mary Dyer on the scaffold at Boston; Luther closing his speech at Worms with the sublime emphasis of his Here stand I; I cannot otherwise; God help me; William Penn defending the rights of Englishmen from the baledock of the Fleet prison; Clarkson climbing the decks of Liverpool slaveships; Howard penetrating to infected dungeons; meek Sisters of Chari
... 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ...