hide Sorting

You can sort these results in two ways:

By entity
Chronological order for dates, alphabetical order for places and people.
By position (current method)
As the entities appear in the document.

You are currently sorting in ascending order. Sort in descending order.

hide Most Frequent Entities

The entities that appear most frequently in this document are shown below.

Entity Max. Freq Min. Freq
R. W. Emerson 80 0 Browse Search
J. W. Goethe 46 0 Browse Search
Alfred Tennyson 44 0 Browse Search
J. R. Lowell 42 0 Browse Search
H. W. Longfellow 42 0 Browse Search
W. D. Howells 40 0 Browse Search
Matthew Arnold 38 0 Browse Search
Americans 38 0 Browse Search
Chapmanizes Homer 30 0 Browse Search
Europe 28 0 Browse Search
View all entities in this document...

Browsing named entities in a specific section of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book. Search the whole document.

Found 35 total hits in 17 results.

1 2
C. D. Warner (search for this): chapter 9
a cast in her eye. If Descartes was permanently sentimental about orbs that were crooked, cannot others be so about streets that are straight? Still, in the long run, monotony is not satisfying; and the kind traveller hastens to conciliate local pride by granting some individuality to a few cities, such as New York, Washington, Chicago, New Orleans, Boston. It is very possible that a closer student of this particular point might find less monotony, even among towns, than he does. In Mr. Warner's late studies of American cities, for instance, we are struck, not with the sameness, but with the variety. Much depends upon the trained eye. A long railway trip across a level plain is monotonous to one who is looking for bold scenery; but it may not be monotonous to the agriculturist who is studying the crops, or to the botanist who is looking out for trees and wild flowers, or to the student of human nature who is watching for new types of character. So an exhibition of machinery is
Walter Besant (search for this): chapter 9
this trait develops with civilization; a hundred wild dogs are more alike than their domesticated kindred, and so of a hundred wild men. If the step we have taken in America, away from courts and hereditary institutions, be a step in civilization, then it is certainly to lead to more individuality, not less. Even in England, where is marked individuality to be found? Surely, among the men who have made the name of England great; her artists, authors, inventors, scientific teachers. Yet Mr. Besant has lately pointed out, in a very impressive passage, that scarcely one of these men ever went near the court of England. The marked individuality of that nation, therefore, is distinctly outside of the court circle; and, if so, individuality would gain and not lose by dropping those circles altogether. The difficulty is that the court circle substitutes for this quality a mere variation of costume—a robe, a decoration. But in reality these things subdue individuality, instead of develo
W. D. Howells (search for this): chapter 9
irst step toward what you seek. Nowhere will you find a more racy personality than among New England farmers, whose fathers lived before them on the same soil, or perhaps six generations of ancestors, and who, among all restrictions of hard soil and severe competition, have yet kept their separate characteristics. I have spent summer after summer in the country, and have never yet encountered two farmers alike—two who would not, even if drawn by an unsympathetic though acute observer like Howells, stand out on the canvas with as marked an individuality as Silas Lapham. It is so with our native-born population generally. In the best volume of New England stories ever written—it is perhaps needless to say that I refer to Five Hundred Dollars a Year and Other Stories, by Mr. H. W. Chaplin—there is an inimitable scene in a jury-room where the hero, Eli, holds out during many hours for the innocence of a wronged man. The jurymen are commonplace personages enough—a sea captain, a butc
Alexander Von Humboldt (search for this): chapter 9
g sometimes put above the eyebrows—in order to distinguish them more conspicuously. Yet each one becomes on acquaintance a perfectly defined personality; and it is complained by their professors that there is sometimes rather an excess of individuality, when it comes to discipline. It turns out, then, that individuality depends largely on the observer. Thoreau points out that no two oak-leaves are precisely alike; and Scudder says the same of the markings on butterflies' wings. Alexander von Humboldt remarked that this trait develops with civilization; a hundred wild dogs are more alike than their domesticated kindred, and so of a hundred wild men. If the step we have taken in America, away from courts and hereditary institutions, be a step in civilization, then it is certainly to lead to more individuality, not less. Even in England, where is marked individuality to be found? Surely, among the men who have made the name of England great; her artists, authors, inventors, scien
H. W. Chaplin (search for this): chapter 9
parate characteristics. I have spent summer after summer in the country, and have never yet encountered two farmers alike—two who would not, even if drawn by an unsympathetic though acute observer like Howells, stand out on the canvas with as marked an individuality as Silas Lapham. It is so with our native-born population generally. In the best volume of New England stories ever written—it is perhaps needless to say that I refer to Five Hundred Dollars a Year and Other Stories, by Mr. H. W. Chaplin—there is an inimitable scene in a jury-room where the hero, Eli, holds out during many hours for the innocence of a wronged man. The jurymen are commonplace personages enough—a sea captain, a butcher, a pedler, and so on—and yet their talk through page after page brings out in each a type of character so vivid and distinct that you feel sure that you would know each interlocutor afterward, if you met him in the street. He who approaches human nature in such a spirit need have no fe
Rene Descartes (search for this): chapter 9
er in the universe; and I am sure that in every city there is some youth who cannot look up at the street-sign denoting some Twenty-third Street or Thirty-fifth Street without a slight spasm of the heart. Such associations last a great while, even if the street be disagreeable; the philosopher Descartes was enamored in his youth with a young lady who squinted a little, and it is said that he never through life could behold without the tenderest emotion a woman having a cast in her eye. If Descartes was permanently sentimental about orbs that were crooked, cannot others be so about streets that are straight? Still, in the long run, monotony is not satisfying; and the kind traveller hastens to conciliate local pride by granting some individuality to a few cities, such as New York, Washington, Chicago, New Orleans, Boston. It is very possible that a closer student of this particular point might find less monotony, even among towns, than he does. In Mr. Warner's late studies of Ame
Charles Sumner (search for this): chapter 9
VIII The fear of the dead level it is noticeable that foreign observers, who were always a little anxious about the possible monotony of our society, have grown a little more so since they have ventured west of the Alleghanies and crossed the long plain to be traversed before reaching the Rocky Mountains. In the days when an American trip culminated at Niagara, and even Trenton Falls was considered a sight so remarkable that Charles Sumner wrote from England to caution a traveller by no means to quit the country without seeing it, there was no complaint that our scenery was monotonous. The continent was supposed to have done all, in that line, which could fairly be asked of it. Since then, the criticism has grown with the railway journey, and people fear that the horizontal line of the prairies must more than counterbalance the vertical line of Niagara, in moulding the American mind. Then these very travellers are justly anxious about the sameness of our cities; the streets
1 2