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Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 3 167 1 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 3 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 50 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli 31 3 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 1, Colonial and Revolutionary Literature: Early National Literature: Part I (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 20 0 Browse Search
James Russell Lowell, Among my books 13 3 Browse Search
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen 11 1 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Short studies of American authors 8 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 8 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Book and heart: essays on literature and life 7 1 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 6 0 Browse Search
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John D. Billings, Hardtack and Coffee: The Unwritten Story of Army Life, XX.
Army road
and bridge Builders. (search)
XX. Army road and bridge Builders. A line of black, which bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Longfellow. If there is one class of men in this country who more than all others should appreciate spacious and well graded highways, or ready means of transit from one section into another, that class is the veterans of the Union Army; for those among them who hoofed it from two to four years in Rebeldom travelled more miles across country in that period than they did on regularly constituted thoroughfares. Now through the woods, now over the open, then crossing a swamp, or wading a river of varying depth, here tearing away a fence obstructing the march, there filling a ditch with rails to smooth the passage of the artillery,--in fact, short cuts were so common and popular that the men endured the obstacles they often presented with the utmost good-nature, knowing that every rood of travel thus saved meant fewer foot-blisters and an earlier arrival in camp.
Heros von Borcke, Memoirs of the Confederate War for Independence, Chapter 22: (search)
nkee, crying out, in broken English, Surrender, you scoundrels! all my cavalry is right behind me. The bewildered soldiers at once dropped their arms, and the gallant Prussian marched the whole six triumphantly back to General Lee, by whom he was highly complimented for his coolness and pluck. A rapid succession of despatches and reports reached our Commander-in-Chief during the night, which he had considerable difficulty in deciphering by the flickering light of the bivouac-fire. Like Longfellow's Ajax, his prayer was for light throughout that long and dreary night. It so chanced that, during our advance on Chancellorsville, I had discovered, among other luxuries, a box of excellent candles, which now lay a little outside our lines, and quite close to the enemy's skirmishers. To attempt the adventure with the hope of bringing the much-desired relief to the eyes of our beloved commander, was more than I could resist, so I set forward on foot towards the spot, crawling cautiously
s there, latent and still, they bore witness; but it needed the rough and cruel friction of the war to bring it to the surface. What the southron felt he spoke; and out of the bitterness of his trial the poetry of the South was born. It leaped at one bound from the overcharged brain of our people-full statured in its stern defiance mailed in the triple panoply of truth. There was endless poetry written in the North on the war; and much of it came from the pens of men as eminent as Longfellow, Bryant, Whittier and Holmes. But they wrote far away from the scenes they spoke of-comfortably housed and perfectly secure. The men of the North wrote with their pens, while the men of the South wrote with their hearts! A singular commentary upon this has been given us by Mr. Richard Grant White-himself a member of the committee. In April, 1861, a committee of thirteen New Yorkers-comprising such names as Julian Verplanck, Moses Grinnell, John A. Dix and Geo. Wm. Curtis-offered a r
Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House, Lxviii. (search)
you infernal scoundrel, you are drunk? Upon which, pulling up his horses and turning round with great gravity, the coachman said: Bedad! but that's the first rightful decision your honor has given for the last twelve months. Some gentlemen fresh from a western tour, during a call at the White House, referred in the course of conversation to a body of water in Nebraska which bore an Indian name signifying weeping water. Mr. Lincoln instantly responded: As laughing water, according to Longfellow, is Minnehaha, this evidently should be Minneboohoo. A farmer from one of the border counties went to the President on a certain occasion with the complaint that the Union soldiers in passing his farm had helped themselves not only to hay but to his horse; and he hoped the proper officer would be required to consider his claim immediately. Why, my good sir, replied Mr. Lincoln, If I should attempt to consider every such individual case, I should find work enough for twenty Presiden
-pits and earthworks of the enemy on the other side of the bridge were found to be quite formidable, and opened heavily on us the moment we appeared. In this furious affair the impetuosity of our troops was highly praised by all observers. Indeed the scene was splendid. Imagine a thousand troopers, brave, bold, and well trained, with staring eyes, determined looks, and flashing sabres, dashing down, with screams and yells, upon the foe. This was indeed one worthy of the pen and brain of Longfellow. The loss of the enemy in this affair, we learned from authentic sources, was thirty killed and wounded. The Mounted rifles, who took the most active part in this fight, by their conduct exemplified to me what I never in my experience in the army could understand before — namely, a total unconsciousness of danger, and an apparent contempt for death. McClellan's earthworks on the Richmond side of Bottom's Bridge had, it seems, been so altered by the rebels that they could most effectu
uth as they understood it, and neither cherished any appreciable sympathy or consideration for those they esteemed God's enemies, in which category the savages of America and the heathen negroes of Africa were so unlucky as to be found. The Puritan pioneers of New England were early involved in desperate, life-or-death struggles with their Aboriginal neighbors, in whom they failed to discover those poetic and fascinating traits which irradiate them in the novels of Cooper and the poems of Longfellow. Their experience of Indian ferocity and treachery, acting upon their theologic convictions, led them early and readily to the belief that these savages, and by logical inference all savages, were the children of the devil, to be subjugated, if not extirpated, as the Philistine inhabitants of Canaan had been by the Israelites under Joshua. Indian slavery, sometimes forbidden by law, but usually tolerated, if not entirely approved, by public opinion, was among the early usages of New Engl
soul beguile, Or woo the orphan's heart. Yon keen-eyed stars with mute reproaches brand The lapse from faith and law,-- No more harmonious emblems of a land Ensphered in love and awe. As cradled in the noontide's warm embrace, And bathed in dew and rain, The herbage freshened, and in billowy grace Wide surged the ripening grain; And the wild rose and clover's honeyed cell Exhaled their peaceful breath, On the soft air broke Treason's fiendish yell-- The harbinger of death! Nor to the camp alone his summons came, To blast the glowing day, But heavenward bore upon the wings of flame Our poet's mate away; Mrs. Longfellow. And set his seal upon the statesman's lips On which a nation hung; Cavour. And rapt the noblest life in cold eclipse, By woman lived or sung. Mrs. Browning. How shrinks the heart from Nature's festal noon, As shrink the withered leaves,-- In the wan light of Sorrow's harvest-moon To glean her blighted sheaves. Newport, R. I., September, 1861.
recarious thing in appearance, the track simply propped up on trestle-work of round logs, some seventy feet; and as the trains creep over the abyss, the impressions of the spectator are not, in the aggregate, comfortable. I hope the bridge is more substantial than it looks, for its fall would be an accident that would affect the whole army. When the train arrived at the depot, (or rather the stopping-place,) opposite to Fredericksburgh, the shades of night were falling fast, as when Prof. Longfellow's young friend who had such an unaccountable proclivity for remarking Excelsior, reached an Alpine village. I was a stranger in a strange land and in a strange army. A journalist of my acquaintance, I had been informed, was enjoying the hospitalities of one of the generals of division, and I thought to inquire my way to him. An army of the dimensions of that of the Potomac, is as difficult to learn as a great city. One might think that every body in an army could tell where a certain
Henry Morton Stanley, Dorothy Stanley, The Autobiography of Sir Henry Morton Stanley, part 2.13, chapter 2.17 (search)
ought to do. I must trust largely to the fact that I am becoming steeped in Livingstonian ideas upon everything that is African, from pity for the big-stomached picaninny, clinging to the waist-strings of its mother, to the missionary bishop, and the great explorers, Burton, Speke, and Baker. He is a strong man in every way, with an individual tenacity of character. His memory is retentive. How he can remember Whittier's poems, couplets out of which I hear frequently, as well as from Longfellow, I cannot make out. I do not think he has any of these books with him. But he recites them as though he had read them yesterday. March 3. Livingstone reverted again to his charges against the missionaries on the Zambesi, and some of his naval officers on the expedition. I have had some intrusive suspicions, thoughts that he was not of such an angelic temper as I believed him to be during my first month with him; but, for the last month, I have been driving them steadily from my mind
Henry Morton Stanley, Dorothy Stanley, The Autobiography of Sir Henry Morton Stanley, part 2.13, chapter 2.31 (search)
ch slays content; for it creates a myriad of ills, and a nausea of life, it brings congestion to the organs of the body, and muddles the clear spring of intelligence. The heart is heated by our impatience, while the soul is deflected from its vigorous course by excess of shameful ease. Joy's Soul lies in the doing! The truth which lies in this verse explains that which has caused many a personality to become illustrious. It is an old subject in poetry. Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Longfellow, and many more have rung the changes, or expressed the idea, in verse. Milton, though troubled with blindness and domestic misery, was happy in the lofty scenes conjured up by his poetic imagination, and therefore he could have said, Joy's Soul lies in the doing, And the Rapture of pursuing is the prize. Livingstone was happy in the consciousness that he was engaged in a noble work, and the joy in the grand consequences that would follow. This self-imposed mission banished remembran
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