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Massachusetts (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 22
n a great stew about it. He says: I took and tell'd your Uncle Izic to tell them 'ere Curtises that if the Devil did n't git 'em far flowing my medder arter that sort, I did n't see no use oa havina any Devil. Have you talked with the Curtises yourself? Yes, hang the sarcy dogs! and they took and tell'd me that they'd take and flow clean up to my front door, and make me go out and in in a boat. Why don't you go to law? Oh, they keep alterina and er tinkerina — up the laws so here in Massachusetts that a body can't git no damage fur flowing; they think cold water can't hurt nobody. Mother and Aunt Nabby each keep separate establishments. First Aunt Nabby gets up in the morning and examines the sink, to see whether it leaks and rots the beam. She then makes a little fire, gets her little teapot of bright shining tin, and puts into it a teaspoonful of black tea, and so prepares her breakfast. By this time mother comes creeping down-stairs, like an old tabby-cat out of the as
North Andover (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 22
fteen miles from the spot where he was born, except once, in the ever-memorable year 1819, when I was at Bradford Academy. In a sudden glow of adventurous rashness he undertook to go after me and bring me home for vacation; and he actually performed the whole journey of thirty miles with his horse and wagon, and slept at a tavern a whole night, a feat of bravery on which he has never since ceased to plume himself. I well remember that awful night in the tavern in the remote region of North Andover. We occupied a chamber in which were two beds. In the unsuspecting innocence of youth I undressed myself and got into bed as usual; but my brave and thoughtful uncle, merely divesting himself of his coat, put it under his pillow, and then threw himself on to the bed with his boots on his feet, and his two hands resting on the rim of his hat, which he had prudently placed on the apex of his stomach as he lay on his back. He wouldn't allow me to blow out the candle, but he lay there wit
New Hampshire (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 22
such a perfect uprightness and uncalculating honesty. I think you are a better Christian without church or theology than most people are with both, though I am, and always have been in the main, a Calvinist of the Jonathan Edwards school. God bless you! I have a warm side for Mr. Lewes on account of his Goethe labors. Goethe has been my admiration for more than forty years. In 1830 I got hold of his Faust, and for two gloomy, dreary November days, while riding through the woods of New Hampshire in an old-fashioned stage-coach, to enter upon a professorship in Dartmouth College, I was perfectly dissolved by it. Sincerely yours, C. E. Stowe. In a letter to Mrs. Stowe, written June 24, 1872, Mrs. Lewes alludes to Professor Stowe's letter as follows: Pray give my special thanks to the professor for his letter. His handwriting, which does really look like Arabic,--a very graceful character, surely,hap-pens to be remarkably legible to me, and I did not hesitate over a sin
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 22
ge at which boys in the country are usually able to read plain sentences. The first large book besides the Bible that I remember reading was Morse's History of New England, which I devoured with insatiable greediness, particularly those parts which relate to Indian wars and witchcraft. I was in the habit of applying to my grandmo, where Uncle Ike figures as Uncle Jacob. Mrs. Stowe had misgivings as to the reception which Oldtown folks would meet in England, owing to its distinctively New England character. Shortly after the publication of the book she received the following words of encouragement from Mrs. Lewes (George Eliot), July 11, 1869:-- I outlive the generation for which it was written. Besides its intrinsic merit as a work of fiction, it has a certain historic value as being a faithful study of New England life and character in that particular time of its history which may be called the seminal period. Whether Mrs. Stowe was far enough away from the time and pe
Natick (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 22
emory. Mrs. Stowe was never at a loss for reliable information on any subject as long as the professor lived. He belonged to that extinct species, the general scholar. His scholarship was not critical in the modern sense of the word, but in the main accurate, in spite of his love for the marvelous. It is not out of place to give a little idea of his power in character-painting, as it shows how suggestive his conversation and letters must have been to a mind like that of Mrs. Stowe :-- Natick, July 14, 1839. I have had a real good time this week writing my oration. I have strolled over my old walking places, and found the same old stone walls, the same old footpaths through the rye-fields, the same bends in the river, the same old bullfrogs with their green spectacles on, the same old terrapins sticking up their heads and bowing as I go by; and nothing was wanting but my wife to talk with to make all complete. ... I have had some rare talks with old uncle Jaw Bacon, and othe
Cincinnati (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 22
etation of vision-seeing as subjective than the professor would approve. It seems difficult to limitat least to limit with any precision — the possibility of confounding sense by impressions derived from inward conditions with those which are directly dependent on external stimulus. In fact, the division between within and without in this sense seems to become every year a more subtle and bewildering problem. In 1834, while Mr. Stowe was a professor in Lane Theological Seminary at Cincinnati, Ohio, he wrote out a history of his youthful adventures in the spirit-world, from which the following extracts are taken :-- I have often thought I would communicate to some scientific physician a particular account of a most singular delusion under which I lived from my earliest infancy till the fifteenth or sixteenth year of my age, and the effects of which remain very distinctly now that I am past thirty. The facts are of such a nature as to be indelibly impressed upon my mind
M. H. Lewes (search for this): chapter 22
cob. Mrs. Stowe had misgivings as to the reception which Oldtown folks would meet in England, owing to its distinctively New England character. Shortly after the publication of the book she received the following words of encouragement from Mrs. Lewes (George Eliot), July 11, 1869:-- I have received and read Oldtown folks. I think that few of your readers can have felt more interest than I have felt in that picture of an elder generation; for my interest in it has a double root,--one ierimental acquaintance with some shades of Calvinistic orthodoxy. I think your way of presenting the religious convictions which are not your own, except by the way of indirect fellowship, is a triumph of insight and true tolerance. . . . Both Mr. Lewes and I are deeply interested in the indications which the professor gives of his peculiar psychological experience, and we should feel it a great privilege to learn much more of it from his lips. It is a rare thing to have such an opportunity o
Sam Lawson (search for this): chapter 22
amusing and interesting as they are shown forth in Oldtown Fireside stories. None of the incidents or characters embodied in those sketches are ideal. The stories are told as they came from Mr. Stowe's lips, with little or no alteration. Sam Lawson was a real character. In 1874 Mr. Whittier wrote to Mrs. Stowe: I am not able to write or study much, or read books that require thought, without suffering, but I have Sam Lawson lying at hand, and, as Corporal Trim said of Yorick's sermSam Lawson lying at hand, and, as Corporal Trim said of Yorick's sermon, I like it hugely. The power and literary value of these stories lie in the fact that they are true to nature. Professor Stowe was himself an inimitable mimic and story-teller. No small proportion of Mrs. Stowe's success as a literary woman is to be attributed to him. Not only was he possessed of a bright, quick mind, but wonderful retentiveness of memory. Mrs. Stowe was never at a loss for reliable information on any subject as long as the professor lived. He belonged to that extinct
Goethe (search for this): chapter 22
nk you are a better Christian without church or theology than most people are with both, though I am, and always have been in the main, a Calvinist of the Jonathan Edwards school. God bless you! I have a warm side for Mr. Lewes on account of his Goethe labors. Goethe has been my admiration for more than forty years. In 1830 I got hold of his Faust, and for two gloomy, dreary November days, while riding through the woods of New Hampshire in an old-fashioned stage-coach, to enter upon a profeGoethe has been my admiration for more than forty years. In 1830 I got hold of his Faust, and for two gloomy, dreary November days, while riding through the woods of New Hampshire in an old-fashioned stage-coach, to enter upon a professorship in Dartmouth College, I was perfectly dissolved by it. Sincerely yours, C. E. Stowe. In a letter to Mrs. Stowe, written June 24, 1872, Mrs. Lewes alludes to Professor Stowe's letter as follows: Pray give my special thanks to the professor for his letter. His handwriting, which does really look like Arabic,--a very graceful character, surely,hap-pens to be remarkably legible to me, and I did not hesitate over a single word. Some of the words, as expressions of fellowship, we
Shakespeare (search for this): chapter 22
which relate to Indian wars and witchcraft. I was in the habit of applying to my grandmother for explanations, and she would relate to me, while I listened with breathless attention, long stories from Mather's Magnalia or (Mag-nilly, as she used to call it), a work which I earnestly longed to read, but of which I never got sight till after my twentieth year. Very early there fell into my hands an old school-book, called The art of speaking, containing numerous extracts from Milton and Shakespeare. There was little else in the book that interested me, but these extracts from the two great English poets, though there were many things in them that I did not well understand, I read again and again, with increasing pleasure at every perusal, till I had nearly committed them to memory, and almost thumbed the old book into nonenity. But of all the books that I read at this period, there was none that went to my heart like Bunyan's Pilgrim's progress. I read it and re-read it night and
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