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Ypsilanti (Michigan, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
erce son of Nun against the cities of Canaan? Why was Mr. Greatheart, in Pilgrim's Progress, my favorite character? What gave such fascination to the narrative of the grand Homeric encounter between Christian and Apollyon in the valley? Why did I follow Ossian over Morven's battle-fields, exulting in the vulture-screams of the blind scald over his fallen enemies? Still later, why did the newspapers furnish me with subjects for hero-worship in the half-demented Sir Gregor McGregor, and Ypsilanti at the head of his knavish Greeks? I can account for it only on the supposition that the mischief was inherited,—an heirloom from the old sea-kings of the ninth century. Education and reflection have, indeed, since wrought a change in my feelings. The trumpet of the Cid, or Ziska's drum even, could not now waken that old martial spirit. The bull-dog ferocity of a half-intoxicated Anglo-Saxon, pushing his blind way against the converging cannon-fire from the shattered walls of Ciudad
West Rock (Washington, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ersing 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 graceful panorama the stranger looks down upon the Judge's Cave, or the vine-hung pinnacles of West Rock, its tall spires rising white and clear above the level greenness!— or the breezy leafiness of Portland, with its wooded islands in the distance, and itself overhung with verdant beauty, rippling and waving in the same cool breeze which stirs the waters of the beautiful Bay of Casco! But time will remedy all this; and, when Lowell shall have numbered half the years of her sister cities, her newly planted elms and maples, which now only cause us to contrast their shadeless stems with the l
Labrador (Canada) (search for this): chapter 3
lly left the wharves for the St. George's and Labrador fisheries. Just back of the village, a brighhis frail fishing-smack among the icebergs of Labrador; the farmer, who had won from Nature the occu Doctor. No, not exactly, though it's from Labrador, which is about the last place the Lord made, down, there's nothing like a fishing trip to Labrador, 'specially if he's been bothering himself wie him off the plank before we got half way to Labrador. So I just told him plainly that it wouldn'to heave him overboard some day or bury him in Labrador moss. But he did n't die after all, did h prospered in health and property, and thinks Labrador would be the finest country in the world if iber, the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador, looked beautiful and inviting; for he saw iallery of life. Apart from this, however, in Labrador, as in every conceivable locality, the evils hts are reflected on the snow. The summer of Labrador has a beauty of its own, far unlike that of m[1 more...]
Manchester (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 3
alls in the wild freedom of Nature. A stranger, in view of all this wonderful change, feels himself, as it were, thrust forward into a new century; he seems treading on the outer circle of the millennium of steam engines and cotton mills. Work is here the patron saint. Everything bears his image and superscription. Here is no place for that respectable class of citizens called gentlemen, and their much vilified brethren, familiarly known as loafers. Over the gateways of this new-world Manchester glares the inscription, Work, or die! Here Every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late or soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon. The founders of this city probably never dreamed of the theory of Charles Lamb in respect to the origin of labor:— Who first invented work, and thereby bound The holiday rejoicing spirit down To the never-ceasing importunity Of business in the green fields and the town? Sabbathless Satan,—he who his unglad Task ever plies midst rotatory
Gulf of Mexico (search for this): chapter 3
er, listen, and look, And tell, while dressing their sunny curls, Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook. The same writer has happily versified a pleasant superstition of the valley of the Connecticut. It is supposed that shad are led from the Gulf of Mexico to the Connecticut by a kind of Yankee bogle in the shape of a bird. The Shad Spirit. Now drop the bolt, and securely nail The horse-shoe over the door; Tis a wise precaution; and, if it should fail, It never failed before. Know ye the shepherd that gathers his flock Where the gales of the equinox blow From each unknown reef and sunken rock In the Gulf of Mexico,— While the monsoons growl, and the trade-winds bark, And the watch-dogs of the surge Pursue through the wild waves the ravenous shark That prowls around their charge? To fair Connecticut's northernmost source, O'er sand-bars, rapids, and falls, The Shad Spirit holds his onward course With the flocks which his whistle calls. Oh, how shall he know where he went befor
Barrington (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
s which had so nearly closed our door against him; and, as he departed, we all felt that he had left with us the blessing of the poor. It was not often that, as in the above instance, my mother's prudence got the better of her charity. The regular old stragglers regarded her as an unfailing friend; and the sight of her plain cap was to them an assurance of forthcoming creature-comforts. There was indeed a tribe of lazy strollers, having their place of rendezvous in the town of Barrington, New Hampshire, whose low vices had placed them beyond even the pale of her benevolence. They were not unconscious of their evil reputation; and experience had taught them the necessity of concealing, under well-contrived disguises, their true character. They came to us in all shapes and with all appearances save the true one, with most miserable stories of mishap and sickness and all the ills which flesh is heir to. It was particularly vexatious to discover, when too late, that our sympathies
Genesee River (United States) (search for this): chapter 3
sanctimonious gravity, while thou wast offering to a crowd of half-grown boys an extemporaneous exhortation in the capacity of a travelling preacher. Have I not seen it peering out from under a blanket, as that of a poor Penobscot Indian, who had lost the use of his hands while trapping on the Madawaska? Is it not the face of the forlorn father of six small children, whom the marcury doctors had pisened and crippled? Did it not belong to that down-East unfortunate who had been out to the Genesee country and got the fevern-nager, and whose hand shook so pitifully when held out to receive my poor gift? The same, under all disguises,— Stephen Leathers, of Barrington,—him, and none other! Let me conjure him into his own likeness— Well, Stephen, what news from old Barrington? Oh, well, I thought I knew ye, he answers, not the least disconcerted. How do you do? and how's your folks? All well, I hope. I took this 'ere paper, you see, to help a poor furriner, who couldn't make <
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 3
windings of one of the loveliest rivers of New England, a few miles above the sea-mart, at its mouspecimen of the old, quiet, cozy hamlets of New England. No huge factory threwits evil shadow overuliar seasons of beauty when the climate of New England seems preferable to that of Italy. The sunminded me of a very similar story of my own New England neighborhood, which I have often heard, and some old chronicle of the early history of New England, a paragraph which has ever since haunted mst of historical epics on the rough soil of New England. They lived a truer poetry than Homer or Vcts, is still, to some extent, continued in New England. The inimitable description which Burns gilittle of learned and scientific wizards in New England. One remarkable character of this kind seeml years applicants from nearly all parts of New England visited him with the story of their sufferithe unlucky disclosure on the temper of his New England helpmate, he made a virtue of the necessity[8 more...]
Malaga (Spain) (search for this): chapter 3
while others, with David Matson among them, knelt down on the chips, and thanked God for the great deliverance. This is a very affecting scene, said the commissioner, wiping his eyes. I must keep the impression of it for my Columbiad ; and drawing out his tablet, he proceeded to write on the spot an apostrophe to Freedom, which afterwards found a place in his great epic. David Matson had saved a little money during his captivity by odd jobs and work on holidays. He got a passage to Malaga, where he bought a nice shawl for his wife and a watch for each of his boys. He then went to the quay, where an American ship was lying just ready to sail for Boston. Almost the first man he saw on board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed him down to the port seven years before. He found that his old neighbor did not know him, so changed was he with his long beard and Moorish dress, whereupon, without telling his name, he began to put questions about his old home, and finally asked him
East Kingston (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
e. On the day which had been designated as the closing one of time she packed all her fine dresses and toilet valuables in a large trunk, with long straps attached to it, and, seating herself upon it, buckled the straps over her shoulders, patiently awaiting the crisis,—shrewdly calculating that, as she must herself go upwards, her goods and chattels would of necessity follow. Three or four years ago, on my way eastward, I spent an hour or two at a camp-ground of the Second Advent in East Kingston. The spot was well chosen. A tall growth of pine and hemlock threw its melancholy shadow over the multitude, who were arranged upon rough seats of boards and logs. Several hundred—perhaps a thousand people–were present, and more were rapidly coming. Drawn about in a circle, forming a background of snowy whiteness to the dark masses of men and foliage, were the white tents, and back of them the provision-stalls and cook-shops. When I reached the ground, a hymn, the words of which I <
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