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t to flight the azure demons of his unfortunate temperament. There is somehow a close affinity between moral purity and clean linen; and the sprites of our daily temptation, who seem to find easy access to us through a broken hat or a rent in the elbow, are manifestly baffled by the complete mail of a clean and decent dress. I recollect on one occasion hearing my mother tell our family physician that a woman in the neighborhood, not remarkable for her tidiness, had become a church-member. Humph! said the doctor, in his quick, sarcastic way, What of that? Don't you know that no unclean thing can enter the kingdom of heaven? If you would see Lowell aright, as Walter Scott says of Melrose Abbey, one must be here of a pleasant First day at the close of what is called the afternoon service. The streets are then blossoming like a peripatetic flower-garden; as if the tulips and lilies and roses of my friend W.'s nursery, in the vale of Nonantum, should take it into their heads to pr
many virtues and noble points of character, they were fitted, doubtless, for their work of pioneers in the wilderness. Sternly faithful to duty, in peril, and suffering, and self-denial, they wrought out the noblest of historical epics on the rough soil of New England. They lived a truer poetry than Homer or Virgil wrote. The Patuckets, once a powerful native tribe, had their principal settlements around the falls at the time of the visit of the white men of Concord and Woburn in 1652. Gookin, the Indian historian, states that this 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
nsolations of the gospel and the great love of Christ. I trust, said I, that the feelings of theose whom thou callest fanatics. We believe in Christ, but not in man-worship. The Christ we revereerings in Adam and his descendants. Faith and Christ are the same, the spiritual image of God in thtrue light, and who have given over crucifying Christ in their hearts, heed not a jot of the reproac of Moses. Mary, sister Mary, for the love of Christ, answer me. No sound came back from the canand that the sibyls prophesied most clearly of Christ; that magicians, as wise men, by the wonderful secrets of the world, knew Christ to be born, and came to worship him, first of all; and that the noment who are waiting for the speedy coming of Christ. They expect, before another year closes, to from misinterpretation of Scripture language. Christ, in the New Testament, is said to come whenevethe cause of humanity, freedom, and religion. Christ comes in the conversion, the regeneration, the[3 more...]
e by vote what is God's truth and what is the Devil's falsehood. But, speaking of eagles, I never see one of these spiteful old sea-robbers without fancying that he may be the soul of a mad Viking of the middle centuries. Depend upon it, that Italian philosopher was not far out of the way in his ingenious speculations upon the affinities and sympathies existing between certain men and certain animals, and in fancying that he saw feline or canine traits and similitudes in the countenances of , soon overtook him. He had just been rejected at the house of our nearest neighbor, and was standing in a state of dubious perplexity in the street. His looks quite justified my mother's suspicions. He was an olive-complexioned, black-bearded Italian, with an eye like a live coal, such a face as perchance looks out on the traveller in the passes of the Abruzzi,—one of those bandit visages which Salvator has painted. With some difficulty I gave him to understand my errand, when he overwhelme
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
m whose top stretches the broad table-land of promise? Many of the streets of Lowell present a lively and neat aspect, and are adorned with handsome public and private buildings; but they lack one pleasant feature of older towns,—broad, spreading shade-trees. One feels disposed to quarrel with the characteristic utilitarianism of the first settlers, which swept so entirely away the green beauty of Nature. For the last few days it has been as hot here as Nebuchadnezzar's furnace or Monsieur Chabert's oven, the sun glaring down from a copper sky upon these naked, treeless streets, in traversing which one is tempted to adopt the language of a warm-weather poet:— The lean, like walking skeletons, go stalking pale and gloomy; The fat, like redhot warming-pans, send hotter fancies through me; I wake from dreams of polar ice, on which I've been a slider, Like fishes dreaming of the sea and waking in the spider. How unlike the elm-lined avenues of New Haven, upon whose cool and g
n thing can enter the kingdom of heaven? If you would see Lowell aright, as Walter Scott says of Melrose Abbey, one must be here of a pleasant First day at the close of what is called the afternoon service. The streets are then blossoming like a peripatetic flower-garden; as if the tulips and lilies and roses of my friend W.'s nursery, in the vale of Nonantum, should take it into their heads to promenade for exercise. Thousands swarm forth who during week-days are confined to the mills. Gay colors alternate with snowy whiteness; extremest fashion elbows the plain demureness of old-fashioned Methodism. Fair pale faces catch a warmer tint from the free sunshine and fresh air. The languid step becomes elastic with that springy motion of the gait which Charles Lamb admired. Yet the general appearance of the city is that of quietude; the youthful multitude passes on calmly, its voices subdued to a lower and softened tone, as if fearful of breaking the repose of the day of rest. A
Henry Cornelius Agrippa (search for this): chapter 3
truth, which is the lovemaking of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. Magicians and witch folk. fascination, saith Henry Cornelius Agrippa, in the fiftieth chapter of his first book on Occult Philosophy, is a binding which comes of the spirit of the witch through the eyes of him that is bewitched, entering to his heart; for the eye being opened and intent upon any one, withd the sea; for I find in the dedication of an English translation of a Continental work on astrology and magic, printed in 1651 at the sign of the Three Bibles, that his sublime hermeticall and theomagicall lore is compared to that of Hermes and Agrippa. He is complimented as a master of the mysteries of Rome and Germany, and as one who had pursued his investigations among the philosophers of the Old World and the Indians of the New, leaving no stone unturned, the turning whereof might conduce
Shakespeare (search for this): chapter 3
In narrating them he invested familiar and commonplace facts with something of the fascination of romance. Human life, he would say, is the same everywhere. If we could but get at the truth, we should find that all the tragedy and comedy of Shakespeare have been reproduced in this little village. God has made all of one blood; what is true of one man is in some sort true of another; manifestations may differ, but the essential elements and spring of action are the same. On the surface, evested by his auditors. When once fairly over the difficulties at the outset of a new subject, his rhymes flowed freely, as if he had eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his tunes. His productions answered, as nearly as I can remember, to Shakespeare's description of a proper ballad,— doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant theme sung lamentably. He was scrupulously conscientious, devout, inclined to theological disquisitions, and withal mighty in Scripture. He was thoroughl
Robert Barnet (search for this): chapter 3
e friend, however, who was always ready to sympathize with her. Robert Barnet was the son of her next-door neighbor, about two years older th to conciliate the ruling authority. The Ensign's wife hated young Barnet, and wished to get rid of her stepdaugh-ter. The writing-master, tn and contrite heart never appeals in vain. In the mean time Robert Barnet shipped on board a Labrador vessel. The night before he left h was not without its proper effect upon them. What became of Robert Barnet? I inquired. He came back after an absence of several monaymate on the wild waters. Julia, said I, do you know that Robert Barnet loves you with all the strength of an honest and true heart? ull upon his face, and we both, at the same instant, recognized Robert Barnet. Julia did not shriek nor faint; but, kneeling in the snow, ansurvivor. The result of all this you can easily conjecture. Robert Barnet abandoned the sea, and, with the aid of some of his friends, pu
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