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Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley) 2 0 Browse Search
Colonel Theodore Lyman, With Grant and Meade from the Wilderness to Appomattox (ed. George R. Agassiz) 2 2 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies 1 1 Browse Search
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 1 1 Browse Search
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Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley), Mr. Fillmore takes a view. (search)
ll its looped and windowed raggedness better than total nakedness; or to pursue the figure, fit enough to be straw-stuffed and hoisted upon a pole to terrify the croaking crows. Of these relics, it may be to said, that while there is life in them, there is a letter. We learn accordingly that Mr. Fillmore, from that very library, we suppose, which witnessed his Know-Nothing adjurations, wrote upon the 19th of December, 1860, an epistle to Somebody, which only now do we find emerging from Somebody's pocket and creeping into the public journals. It appears that Somebody requested Mr. Fillmore to go to the South as a Grand Plenipotential Pacificator. For that high office by Somebody was Mr. Fillmore nominated, and by Somebody was he unanimously confirmed at a Union meeting held by Somebody expressly for the purpose. Mr. Fillmore is urged to undertake this patriotic mission. He may smell tar and see prospective feathers. He may have a fearful dream of being ordered to leave within
Colonel Theodore Lyman, With Grant and Meade from the Wilderness to Appomattox (ed. George R. Agassiz), chapter 8 (search)
long-haired personage, fat and vulgar-looking, one of that class that invariably have objectionable finger-nails, came puffing over to General Meade's tent, with all the air of a boy who had discovered a mare's nest. He introduced himself as a Mr. Somebody from Philadelphia, and proceeded to gasp out that a gentleman had been told by an officer, that he had heard from somebody else that a Democratic Commissioner had been distributing votes, professedly Republican, but with names misspelled so as to be worthless. I don't see any proof, said the laconic Meade. Give me proof, and I'll arrest him. And off puffed Mr. Somebody to get proof, evidently thinking the Commanding General must be a Copperhead not to jump at the chance of arresting a Democrat. The result was that a Staff officer was sent, and investigation held, and telegraphs dispatched here and there, while the Somebody puffed about, like a porpoise in shallow water! Finally, four or five people were arrested to answer charg
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies, 1859. (search)
l generosity of the lion he added, as we all know, and as the world knows since his death, more than the lion's courage. A man's ideal picture of his friend is often an unconscious reflection of his own best self, and in the only letter I have from How, written in the winter vacation of our Sophomore year, there is an illustration of this: I have received three letters from our friend. . . . Is n't he a noble fellow! The courage of a man with the gentleness of a woman. This is Mrs. Somebody's ideal of a man. Is it not literally true of him? If not, I never saw the person to whom it could be applied. He is certainly very brave, (you know courage was my favorite virtue,) and as certainly he is beautifully gentle. It was Jack's great ambition as an undergraduate to excel in all athletic and manly sports. It almost broke his heart,—I write it seriously,—when he was judged not strong enough for a place in the picked crew of the Harvard. He could have borne almost anyth
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 18: (search)
n again, and I went to a matinee at Lady Theresa Lewis's. It was music. The large saloon was full, . . . . the Milmans, Lady Head, Lord and Lady Morley, Mrs. Edward Villiers and her three pretty daughters, Hayward, etc. . . . . I was now—as you may suppose—well tired, and took a good rest . . . . At half past 8 or nine o'clock—for it comes to that nowadays—I dined with Mr. Bates, and met Sparks and his wife, Cary,—a sensible M. P.,—Sir Gore Ouseley and Lady Ouseley, and a Count and Countess Somebody from Brussels. . . . . I finished the evening at Lady Palmerston's; that is, I was there from eleven to one, and saw great numbers of distinguished people,— Lord Aberdeen, Mad. de Castiglione,—with her hair creped, and built up as high as it used to be in the time of Louis XV., and powdered and full of ribbons,—the Argylls, the Laboucheres, Lord Clarendon, and most of the ministers, . . . . and ever so many more. Mr. Dallas was there, and introduced me diligently to fore