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Wait (search for this): chapter 3
silently blessing the power and wisdom of my infinite Creator, who knows how to honor himself by all those unrevealed and glorious subordinations. Chapter 6: The skippers story. well, what's the news below? asked the Doctor of his housekeeper, as she came home from a gossiping visit to the landing one afternoon. What new piece of scandal is afloat now? Nothing, except what concerns yourself, answered Widow Matson, tartly. Mrs. Nugeon says that you've been to see her neighbor Wait's girl—she that's sick with the measles—half a dozen times, and never so much as left a spoonful of medicine; and she should like to know what a doctor's good for without physic. Besides, she says Lieutenant Brown would have got well if you'd minded her, and let him have plenty of thoroughwort tea, and put a split fowl at the pit of his stomach. A split stick on her own tongue would be better, said the Doctor, with a wicked grimace. The Jezebel! Let her look out for herself the next ti
Alice Ward (search for this): chapter 3
ll others, the most exposed to danger. Don't go to neighbor Clements's to-night, Mary, said Alice Ward to her young, unmarried sister; I'm afraid some of the tawny Indians may be lurking hereabout. Mr. Ward says he thinks they will be dangerous neighbors for us. Mary had thrown her shawl over her head, and was just stepping out. It is but a step, as it were, and I promised good-wife Clementafraid of the Indians. There's none of them about here except Red Sam, who wanted to buy me of Mr. Ward for his squaw; and I shall not be afraid of my old spark. The girl tripped lightly from the d! said Mary, bursting into tears, I'm afraid you have become a Williamsite, one of them, who, Mr. Ward says, have nothing to hope for in this world or in that to come. The Lord rebuke him! said found himself surrounded by the settlers. After a brief explanation had taken place between Mr. Ward and his sister-in-law, the former came forward and accosted the Familist. Richard Martin! he
John Ward (search for this): chapter 3
out of the colony. Truly he hath, answered Mr. Ward, but the evil seed they have sown here continlishmen. In answer to the eager inquiries of Mr. Ward, Captain Eaton, the leader of the party, stath of his father. He then proceeded to inform Mr. Ward, that letters had been received from the goveews do you bring us of the savages? inquired Mr. Ward. The people have sinned, and the heathen ave, indeed, done well for the spiritual, said Mr. Ward; what have you done for your temporal defence teeth:— Nummus quantum. Nay, nay, said Mr. Ward, turning away from the savage, his heart is fhe idols shall he utterly abolish. Of thee, John Ward, and of thy priestly brotherhood, I ask nothg to his works. Such damnable heresy, said Mr. Ward, addressing his neighbors, must not be permith the brush-wood. Vile heretic! exclaimed Mr. Ward, snatching a musket from the hands of his neiof the river. The enemy hath prevailed, said Mr. Ward; two women were grinding at my mill, the one [9 more...]
Warner (search for this): chapter 3
cking away, like a wicked Undine, under the very windows of the brown, lilac-shaded house of Deacon Warner, the miller, as if to tempt the good man's handsome daughters to take lessons in dancing. A of the little crescent-shaped village, at the corner of the main road and the green lane to Deacon Warner's mill, stood the school-house,—a small, ill-used, Spanish-brown building, its patched windocharity, and social visits. 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 troution. Julia Atkins was the daughter of Ensign Atkins, who lived on the mill-road, just above Deacon Warner's. When she was ten years old her mother died; and in a few months afterwards her father marmeritorious in them to treat one like her as a sinner beyond forgiveness. Elder Staples and Deacon Warner were her fast friends. The Deacon's daughters—the tall, blue-eyed, brown-locked girls you n
Wellington (search for this): chapter 3
deed, 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 Rodrigo, commends itself neither to my reason nor my fancy. I now regard the accounts of the bloody passage of the Bridge of Lodi, and of French cuirassiers madly transfixing themselves upon the bayonets of Wellington's squares, with very much the same feeling of horror and loathing which is excited by a detail of the exploits of an Indian Thug, or those of a mad Malay running a muck, creese in hand, through the streets of Pulo Penang. Your Waterloo, and battles of the Nile and Baltic,—what are they, in sober fact, but gladiatorial murder-games on a great scale,—human imitations of bull-fights, at which Satan sits as grand alguazil and master of ceremonies? It is only when a great thought incarnates i
White (search for this): chapter 3
sinners, —mingle with the beautiful and soothing promises of the prophets. There are indeed occasionally to be found among the believers men of refined and exalted spiritualism, who in their lives and conversation remind one of Tennyson's Christian knight-errant in his yearning towards the hope set before him: to me is given Such hope I may not fear; I long to breathe the airs of heaven, Which sometimes meet me here. I muse on joys that cannot cease, Pure spaces filled with living beams, White lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams. One of the most ludicrous examples of the sensual phase of Millerism, the incongruous blending of the sublime with the ridiculous, was mentioned to me not long since. A fashionable young woman in the western part of this State became an enthusiastic believer in the doctrine. 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
Polly Wiggin (search for this): chapter 3
y have taken counsel of their honest affections rather than of the opinions of the multitude, and have dared to be true to themselves in defiance of impertinent gossip. You speak of the young farmer Barnet and his wife, I suppose? said I. Yes. I will give their case as an illustration. Julia Atkins was the daughter of Ensign Atkins, who lived on the mill-road, just above Deacon Warner's. When she was ten years old her mother died; and in a few months afterwards her father married Polly Wiggin, the tailoress, a shrewd, selfish, managing woman. Julia, poor girl! had a sorry time of it; for the Ensign, although a kind and affectionate man naturally, was too weak and yielding to interpose between her and his strong-minded, sharp-tongued wife. She had one friend, however, who was always ready to sympathize with her. Robert Barnet was the son of her next-door neighbor, about two years older than herself; they had grown up together as school companions and playmates; and often in
Roger Williams (search for this): chapter 3
towns, where they are forbidden to speak on matters of religion. But there are said to be many still at large, who, under the encouragement of the arch-heretic, Williams, of the Providence plantation, are even now zealously doing the evil work of their master. But, Alice, he continued, as he saw his few neighbors gathering arounparted into the thick wilderness, under the guidance of Passaconaway, and in a few days reached the Eldorado of the heretic and the persecuted, the colony of Roger Williams. Passaconaway, ever after, remained friendly to the white men. As civilization advanced he retired before it, to Pennacook, now Concord, on the Merrimac, whetraditions and beliefs of the heathen round about them. Some hints of them we glean from the writings of the missionary Mayhew and the curious little book of Roger Williams. Especially would one like to know more of that domestic demon, Wetuomanit, who presided over household affairs, assisted the young squaw in her first essay
Dick Wilson (search for this): chapter 3
last place the Lord made, I reckon. What, from Dick Wilson? Sartin, said the Skipper. And how is he? Well, you see, said the Skipper, this young Wilson comes down here from Hanover College, in the springite haze above us. You're right, Skipper, says Wilson to me; Nature is better than books. And from ther, but just takes a bit of a nap at midnight. Here Wilson went ashore, more dead than alive, and found comfora binnacle. They all took a mighty liking to young Wilson, and were ready to do anything for him. He was soonot ready to sail I called at the Frenchman's to let Wilson know when to come aboard. He really seemed sorry t, I should be willing to winter at the North Pole. Wilson gave me a letter for his brother; and we shook handn at last; when who should I see on shore but young Wilson, so stout and hearty that I should scarcely have kn; and the old Frenchman and his wife seemed to love Wilson as if he was their son. I've never seen him since;
Rip Winkles (search for this): chapter 3
unpleasing horror the hearts of the old Norse sea-robbers. What child, although Anglo-Saxon born, escapes a temporary sojourn in fairy-land? Who of us does not remember the intense satisfaction of throwing aside primer and spelling-book for stolen ethnographical studies of dwarfs and giants? Even in our own country and time old superstitions and credulities still cling to life with feline tenacity. Here and there, oftenest in our fixed, valley-sheltered, inland villages,—slumberous Rip Van Winkles, unprogressive and seldom visited,—may be found the same old beliefs in omens, warnings, witchcraft, and supernatural charms which our ancestors brought with them two centuries ago from Europe. The practice of charms, or what is popularly called trying projects, is still, to some extent, continued in New England. The inimitable description which Burns gives of similar practices in his Halloween may not in all respects apply to these domestic conjurations; but the following needs onl
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