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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.) 9 9 Browse Search
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life 4 2 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 3 3 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Henry Walcott Boynton, Reader's History of American Literature 2 2 Browse Search
Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters 2 2 Browse Search
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing) 2 2 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 11. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 2 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.) 2 2 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: April 29, 1864., [Electronic resource] 1 1 Browse Search
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore) 1 1 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life. You can also browse the collection for Rip Winkle or search for Rip Winkle in all documents.

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Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, XI: John Brown and the call to arms (search)
urney through a mountainous country by night, carrying arms, blankets, and provisions; attacking a building—the Charlestown jail—protected by a wall fourteen feet high and defended by sentinels without and within; and followed by a retreat with prisoners and wounded by daylight. Montgomery, however, insisted on first exploring, with but one companion, the region to be traversed. In the midst of these plottings, Mr. Higginson wrote to his wife:— I was so amused this morning. When Mr. Winkle has been in the mud [in Pickwick ] the hostler brushes him down, shooing him and soothing him with a gentle noise all the time as if currying a horse. My pantaloons were deluged with mud from Broadway [New York] and the Irish waiter did precisely that to me. And a little later, he wrote:— I shall be back from Yellow Springs a week from to-morrow night. If he [Montgomery] is not back then, and if the ground is still covered with snow, I shall probably not wait for him, but go home
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, XII: the Black regiment (search)
om Beaufort to his old surgeon, Dr. Rogers, he adds:— The men enjoy the way de shell dey do pop over their heads: and are quite cheerful—though the parting was hard as they had no money for their families. About this time they are being paid I trust, though I have almost abandoned hope—but not effort—about their arrears. . . . .I am mending at the rate of an inch a week or so. From Pigeon Cove, he wrote in August:— It is strange to come back from the war; one feels like Rip Van Winkle and instinctively grasps round to see if all one's friends are still alive; it is not that one feels old, but only strange, and as if one had been in a trance, during which almost anything might have happened. It was a relief to Colonel Higginson to receive, in October, his order of discharge, having feared that he might be retained in some recruiting or other minor service. After the regiment was disbanded, the Negro soldiers often wrote affectionate letters to their former Colo
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, XV: journeys (search)
the steamboat Captain and insisted on delivering it to me. I have n't had such an honor since my little nephew took me (in uniform) for a policeman . . . . Colored church in evening with just such shouting as we used to have in my regiment—I feared it was all gone. Things are so little changed to the eye, it is almost incredible that fifteen years have passed. I have been down to Jacksonville for the day, he wrote from Magnolia. I said in my Army Life that I should feel like a Rip Van Winkle who once wore uniform—but it went beyond my dreams in that way. The city I had last seen deserted and in flames, I found made over into a summer paradise. . . . I was alone with my ghosts of fifteen years ago and got a horse and went wandering round, searching for my past. The forts we built were levelled, only a furrow here and there in the ground. Where we made a lookout in a steeple, there was the church, but with a new spire. The house where I sat all night on the doorsteps waitin