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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book 2 0 Browse Search
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men, chapter 19 (search)
andard and to the conceited familiarity with which he repaid it. Their bearing would have fully justified such unflinching patriotism as that of Senator Tracy, of Connecticut, when, at the end of the last century, the British Minister expressed his admiration for Mrs. Oliver Wolcott, of Litchfield, Connecticut, wife of the Secretary of the Treasury. Your countrywoman, said the Englishman, would be admired at the court of St. James. Sir, said the sturdy American, she is admired even on Litchfield Hill. There is no occasion for any petty prejudice against European science or art or literature or manners; all nations can learn of each other, and we as the younger nation have more to learn, in many ways, than to teach. The nations of Europe are the elder sons of Time; but the youngest-born are also sons. It was not mere imitation that gave us Morse's telegraph, or Bell's telephone, or Emerson's books, or Lowell's speeches, or the American trotting horse, or those illustrated magazi
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book, V (search)
kind enough to stand on tiptoe upon our lecture-platform and apply his little measuring-tape to the great shade of Emerson. I should like to see in our literature some of the honest self-assertion shown by Senator Tracy of Litchfield, Connecticut, during Washington's administration, in his reply to the British Minister's praises of Mrs. Oliver Wolcott's beauty. Your countrywoman, said the Englishman, would be admired at the Court of St. James. —Sir, said Tracy, she is admired even on Litchfield Hill. In that recent book of aphorisms which has given a fresh impulse to the fading fame of Dr. Channing, he points out that the hope of the world lies in the fact that parents can not make of their children what they will. It is equally true of parent nations. How easily we accept the little illusions offered us by our elders in the world's literature, almost forgetting that two and two make four, in the innocent delight with which they inspire us! In re-reading Scott's Old Mortalit