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Document Max. Freq Min. Freq
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life 14 0 Browse Search
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall) 4 0 Browse Search
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 1. 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Carlyle's laugh and other surprises 2 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall). You can also browse the collection for David Wasson or search for David Wasson in all documents.

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Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Lucy Osgood. (search)
o overcome evil only with good, I could do nothing better than groan out, in a tone of despairing reproach, How long, O Lord! How long? Certainly there are gleams of light amid the darkness. There has been more spirit roused in the North than I thought was in her. I begin to hope that either the slave power must yield co argument and the majesty of public sentiment or else that we shall see an army in the field, stout and unyielding as Cromwell's band .. I thank you very heartily for Mr. Wasson's sermon, The universe no failure. It is the most remarkable discourse I ever read. He puts the lever down deep enough to upheave the foundations of error. He builds his battery high enough to command the most towering fortifications of superstition. That is what we need. Unless the root is dug up, the branches will always be sprouting into new fantastic forms, however they may be lopped and pruned. I exclaimed Bravo! to his first sermon; but over this, I shouted Bravissimo! I see
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
To the same. Wayland, 1857. I have seldom had such a day as the delightful one passed with you and David Wasson. I have marked it in my pilgrimage by a golden pillar, hung with amaranth garlands. I said he was poet, philosopher, and priest. During the evening that I subsequently spent with him I found he was also full of fun. I might have known it, indeed, by those eyes of his, that look out so smiling upon the world. It is many a day since I have met with such a real child of God and Nature. He will not be popular, of course; for Souls are dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of this world. As for come-outerism, I assure you that if I could only find a church, I would nestle into it as gladly as a bird ever nestled into her covert in a storm. I have staved away from meeting, because one offered me petrifactions, and another gas, when I was hungry for bread. I have an unfortunate sincerity, which demands living realities, and will not be p