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Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier).

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Benjamin Thompson (search for this): chapter 2
merly dwelt at the Marblehead fishing-haven, she was one of the unruly women who did break into Thompson's garrison-house, and barbarously put to death two Saugus Indians, who had given themselves upthem to be the young Doctor Clark, of Boston, a son of the old Newbury physician, and a Doctor Benjamin Thompson, of Roxbury, who I hear is not a little famous for his ingenious poetry and witty piec-post, the wench will cry out against me as her accomplice. Doctor Clark said his friend Doctor Thompson had written a long piece on this untoward state of our affairs, which he hoped soon to see d laughing in the great hall below, notwithstanding that Mr. Ward, when he took leave, bade Doctor Thompson take heed to his own hint concerning the Wines from France and Muscovado too; to which esides, I know that she is much esteemed by the best sort of people in her neighborhood. Doctor Thompson left this morning, but his friend Doctor Clark goes with us to Newbury. Rebecca found in h
bout Norway, said Caleb Powell, as I have heard the sailors relate, who do raise storms and sink boats at their will. It may well be, quoth Mr. Hull, since Satan is spoken of as the prince and power of the air. The profane writers of old time do make mention of such sorceries, said Uncle Rawson. It is long since I have read any of them; but Virgil and Apulius do, if I mistake not, speak of this power over the elements. Do you not remember, father, said Rebecca, some verses of Tibullus, in which he speaketh of a certain enchantress? Some one hath rendered them thus: Her with charms drawing stars from heaven, I, And turning the course of rivers, did espy. She parts the earth, and ghosts from sepulchres Draws up, and fetcheth bones away from fires, And at her pleasure scatters clouds in the air, And makes it snow in summer hot and fair. Here Sir Thomas laughingly told Rebecca, that he did put more faith in what these old writers did tell of the magic arts of the sweet
I was but a child in years and knowledge, and he a wise and learned man; but if he would not deem it forward in me, I would fain know whether the Scripture did anywhere lay down the particular fashion of wearing the hair. Mr. Wigglesworth said that there were certain general rules laid down, from which we might make a right application to particular cases. The wearing of long hair by men is expressly forbidden in 1 Corinthians XI. 14, 15; and there is a special word for women, also, in 1 Tim. II. 9. Hereupon Aunt Rawson told me she thought I was well answered; but I (foolish one that I was), being unwilling to give up the matter so, ventured further to say that there were the Nazarites, spoken of in Numbers VI. 5, upon whose heads, by the appointment of God, no razor was to come. Nay, said Mr. Wigglesworth, that was by a special appointment only, and proveth the general rule and practice. Uncle Rawson said that long hair might, he judged, be lawfully worn, where the bodi
man vanity, in all its eternal and ineffable beauty. Seekest thou, like Pilate, after truth? Look thou within. The holy principle is there; that in whose light the pure hearts of all time have rejoiced. It is the great light of ages of which Pythagoras speaks, the good spirit of Socrates; the divine mind of Anaxagoras; the perfect principle of Plato; the infallible and immortal law, and divine power of reason of Philo. It is the unbegotten principle and source of all light, whereof Timaeus testifieth; the interior guide of the soul and everlasting foundation of virtue, spoken of by Plutarch. Yea, it was the hope and guide of those virtuous Gentiles, who, doing by nature the things contained in the law, became a law unto themselves. Look to thyself. Turn thine eye inward. Heed not the opinion of the world. Lean not upon the broken reed of thy philosophy, thy verbal orthodoxy, thy skill in tongues, thy knowledge of the Fathers. Remember that truth was seen by the humbl
. On the other hand, there are faces which the multitude at the first glance pronounce homely, unattractive, and such as Nature fashions by the gross, which I always recognize with a warm heart-thrill; not for the world would I have one feature changed; they please me as they are; they are hallowed by kind memories; they are beautiful through their associations; nor are they any the less welcome that with my admiration of them the stranger intermeddleth not. The world's end Our Father Time is weak and gray, Awaiting for the better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling his old palsied hands! Shelley's Masque of Anarchy. stage ready, gentlemen! Stage for campground, Derry! Second Advent camp-meeting! Accustomed as I begin to feel to the ordinary sights and sounds of this busy city, I was, I confess, somewhat startled by this business-like annunciation from the driver of a stage, who stood beside his horses swinging his whip with some degree of impatience: Sevent
Torquatus (search for this): chapter 3
, he cannot reanimate the shadow of his friend nor persuade the ghost-compelling god to unbar the gates of death. He urges patience as the sole resource. He alludes not unfrequently to his own death in the same despairing tone. In the Ode to Torquatus, —one of the most beautiful and touching of all he has written,—he sets before his friend, in melancholy contrast, the return of the seasons, and of the moon renewed in brightness, with the end of man, who sinks into the endless dark, leaving nothing save ashes and shadows. He then, in the true spirit of his philosophy, urges Torquatus to give his present hour and wealth to pleasures and delights, as he had no assurance of to-morrow. In something of the same strain, said I, Moschus moralizes on the death of Bion:— Our trees and plants revive; the rose In annual youth of beauty glows; But when the pride of Nature dies, Man, who alone is great and wise, No more he rises into light, The wakeless sleeper of eternal night. I<
With her darling on his knee. March 27, 1679. Spent the afternoon and evening yesterday at Mr. Mather's, with uncle and aunt, Rebecca and Sir Thomas, and Mr. Torrey of Weymouth, and his wife; Mr. Thacher, the minister of the South Meeting, and Major Simon Willard of Concord, being present also. There was much discourse of on the other hand, of falling into the error of the Socinians, who lay such stress upon works, that they do not scruple to undervalue and make light of faith. Mr. Torrey told of some of the Antinomians, who, being guilty of scandalous sins, did nevertheless justify themselves, and plead that they were no longer under the law. Siy brother, left them to foam out their shame to themselves. The next morning, we got upon our horses at an early hour, and after a hard and long ride reached Mr. Torrey's at Weymouth, about an hour after dark. Here we found Cousin Torrey in bed with her second child, a boy, whereat her husband is not a little rejoiced. My bro
with my story with a very decent composure. In complying with your request, I cannot say that my own experience warrants, in any degree, the old and commonly received idea that sorrow loses half its poignancy by its revelation to others. It was a humorous opinion of Sterne, that a blessing which ties up the tongue, and a mishap which unlooses it, are to be considered equal; and, indeed, I have known some people happy under all the changes of fortune, when they could find patient auditors. Tully wept over his dead daughter, but when he chanced to think of the excellent things he could say on the subject, he considered it, on the whole, a happy circumstance. But, for my own part, I cannot say with the Mariner in Coleridge's ballad, that At an uncertain hour My agony returns; And, till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. He paused a moment, and rested his head upon his hand. You have seen Mrs. H——, of——? he inquired, somewhat abruptly. I replied in the affir
sh young man to get entangled in the snares of Satan. Whereat I was so greatly grieved, that I could answer never a word. You may well weep, said my uncle, for you have done wickedly. As to your brother, he will do well to keep where he is in the plantations; for if he come hither a teeing and thouing of me, I will spare him never a whit; and if I do not chastise him myself, it will be because the constable can do it better at the cart-tail. As the Lord lives, I had rather he had turned Turk! I tried to say a word for my brother, but he cut me straightway short, bidding me not to mention his name again in his presence. Poor me! I have none here now to whom I can speak freely, Rebecca having gone to her sister's at Weymouth. My young cousin Grindall is below, with his college friend, Cotton Mather; but I care not to listen to their discourse, and aunt is busied with her servants in the kitchen, so that I must even sit alone with my thoughts, which be indeed but sad company.
olesome laws, against the vanity and licentiousness of the age, in respect to apparel and deportment, and have forbidden any young man to kiss a maid during the time of courtship, as, to their shame be it said, is the manner of many in the old lands. Ye have, indeed, done well for the spiritual, said Mr. Ward; what have you done for your temporal defence? We have our garrisons and our captains, and a goodly store of carnal weapons, answered the other. And, besides, we have the good chief Uncas, of the Mohegans, to help us against the bloody Narragansetts. But, my friend, said the minister, addressing Captain Eaton, there must be surely some mistake about Passaconaway. I verily believe him to be the friend of the white men. And this is his son Wonolanset? I saw him last year, and remember that he was the pride of the old savage, his father. I will speak to him, for I know something of his barbarous tongue. Wonolanset! The young savage started suddenly at the word, an
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