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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier 4 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 4 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 2 0 Browse Search
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier, Chapter 1: childhood (search)
hich Beacon Street in Boston could not rear or Harvard College teach. To this special privilege John Greenleaf Whittier was born in Haverhill, Mass., on Dec. 17, 1807. The founder of the name and family of Whittier in this country, Thomas Whittier, was one of that type of ancestors to which every true American looks back with pride, if he can. Of Huguenot descent, but English training, he sailed from Southampton in 1638, and settled in what was then Salisbury, but is now Amesbury, on Powow River — the poet's swift Powow --a tributary of the Merrimac. He was then eighteen, and was a youth weighing three hundred pounds and of corresponding muscular strength. Later, he removed to Haverhill, about ten miles away, and built a log house near what is now called the Whittier homestead. Here he dwelt with his wife, a distant kinswoman, whose maiden name was Ruth Flint, and who had come over with him on the packet ship. They had ten children, five of whom were boys, each of these being
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier, Index. (search)
e, mentioned, 32, 33. Pickard, Samuel T., 4, 39, 40, 159, 165; his Whittier, quoted, 32, 33, 37, 38, 41, 42, 45-47, 70, 71, 81, 90, 91, 109, 128-130, 135, 172; cited, 5 n., 39 n., 76 n., 77 n., 115 n. Pierpont, Rev., John, 81. Pike, Robert, 5. Pitman, Mrs., Harriet Minot, 57; her description of Whittier, 29-32. Pius IX., 88. Plato, 38, 111. Plymouth, N. H., 58. Poe, Edgar A., 37. Porlock, 162. Porter, Mrs. Maria S., 141. Portland, Me., 65. Portsmouth, N. H., 3. Powow River, 4. Prentice, George D., his letter to Whittier, 34, 35. Purdy, Mr., 42. Q. Quakers, 5, 112, 155; character of, 118-120. Quebec, 174. Quincy family, 52. R. Radical Club, 100, 102. Ramoth Hill, 141. Rantoul, Robert S., 109; quoted, 86; his delineation of Whittier, 110; his description of Whittier's funeral, 185. Republican party, 68. Reynolds, Mrs., 105. Richardson, Samuel, 165. Richter, Jean Paul, 21. Robinson, Gov. G. D., 110. Rogers, Nathaniel P., 58.
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
reading demon, that fat old man! 1835. The fountain. On the declivity of a hill in Salisbury, Essex County, is a fountain of clear water, gushing from the very roots of a venerable oak. It is about two miles from the junction of the Powow River with the Merrimac. traveller! on thy journey toiling By the swift Powow, With the summer sunshine falling On thy heated brow, Listen, while all else is still, To the brooklet from the hill. Wild and sweet the flowers are blowing By that stPortland) and Pemaquid, which was frustrated by a warning timely given. Goody Martin was the only woman hanged on the north side of the Merrimac during the dreadful delusion. The aged wife of Judge Bradbury who lived on the other side of the Powow River was imprisoned and would have been put to death but for the collapse of the hidebus persecution. The substance of the poem which follows was published under the name of The Witch's Daughter, in The National Era in 1857. In 1875 my publishe
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Margaret Smith's Journal (search)
miling, said it was a long story, but that some time he would tell me the substance of the disagreement, bidding me have no fear in his behalf, as what had displeasured Mr. Richardson had arisen only from tenderness of conscience. Haverhill, November 22. Left Newbury day before yesterday. The day cold, but sunshiny, and not unpleasant. Mr. Saltonstall's business calling him that way, we crossed over the ferry to Salisbury, and after a ride of about an hour, got to the Falls of the Powow River, where a great stream of water rushes violently down the rocks, into a dark wooded valley, and from thence runs into the Merrimac, about a mile to the southeast. A wild sight it was, the water swollen by the rains of the season, foaming and dashing among the rocks and the trees, which latter were wellnigh stripped of their leaves. Leaving this place, we went on towards Haverhill. Just before we entered that town, we overtook an Indian, with a fresh wolf's skin hanging over his shoulder