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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore).

Found 4,825 total hits in 2,144 results.

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Hudson (New Jersey, United States) (search for this): chapter 5
”What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave? Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? ”Oh brother! if thine eye can see, Tell how and when the end shall be-- What hope remains for thee or me.“ Then Freedom sternly said: ”I shun No strife nor pang beneath the sun, When human rights are staked and won. ”I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock; I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock; I walked with Sydney to the block. ”The moor of Marston felt my tread; Through Jersey snows the march I led; My voice Magenta's charges sped. ”But now, through weary day and night, I watch a vague and aimless fight For leave to strike one blow aright. ”On either side my foe they own: One guards through love his ghastly throne, And one through fear to reverence grown. ”Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed By open foes, or those afraid To speed thy coming through my aid? ”Why watch to see who win or fall?-- I shake the dust against them all; I leave them to the
Kenwood (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 5
brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave? Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? ”Oh brother! if thine eye can see, Tell how and when the end shall be-- What hope remains for thee or me.“ Then Freedom sternly said: ”I shun No strife nor pang beneath the sun, When human rights are staked and won. ”I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock; I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock; I walked with Sydney to the block. ”The moor of Marston felt my tread; Through Jersey snows the march I led; My voice Magenta's charges sped. ”But now, through weary day and night, I watch a vague and aimless fight For leave to strike one blow aright. ”On either side my foe they own: One guards through love his ghastly throne, And one through fear to reverence grown. ”Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed By open foes, or those afraid To speed thy coming through my aid? ”Why watch to see who win or fall?-- I shake the dust against them all; I leave them to their senseless brawl.“ “Nay,” Peace
Wise (search for this): chapter 6
else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess His love of right,” sez he, “Hangs by a rotten fibre oa cotton: There's natur‘ in J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!” The South says, “Poor folks down!” John, An‘ “All men up!” say we-- White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: Now, which is your idee? Ole Uncle S. says he, “I guess John preaches wal,” sez he; “But, sermon thru, an' cum to du, Why, there's the old J. B. A-crowdina you an' me!” Shall it be love or hate, John? It's you thet's to decide; Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside? Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess Wise men forgive,” sez he, “But not forget; an' some time yet Thet truth may strike J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!” God means to make this land, John, Clear thru, from sea to sea, Believe an' understand, John, The wuth oa beina free. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess God's price is high,” sez he; “But nothina else than wut He sells Wears long; an' thet J. B. May
White (search for this): chapter 6
sez he, “I guess, Ef ‘twarn't for law,” sez he, “There'd be one shindy from here to Indy; An‘ thet don't suit J. B. (When ‘tain't 'twixt you an' me!)” We know we've got a cause, John, Thet's honest, just, an' true; We thought 'twould win applause, John, Ef nowhere else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess His love of right,” sez he, “Hangs by a rotten fibre oa cotton: There's natur‘ in J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!” The South says, “Poor folks down!” John, An‘ “All men up!” say we-- White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: Now, which is your idee? Ole Uncle S. says he, “I guess John preaches wal,” sez he; “But, sermon thru, an' cum to du, Why, there's the old J. B. A-crowdina you an' me!” Shall it be love or hate, John? It's you thet's to decide; Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside? Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess Wise men forgive,” sez he, “But not forget; an' some time yet Thet truth may strike J. B., Ez
John Bull (search for this): chapter 6
6. Jonathan to John. A Yankee Idyl. It don't seem hardly right, John, When both my hands was full, To stump me to a fight, John-- Your cousin, tu, John Bull! Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess We know it now,” sez he; “The lion's paw is all the law, Accordina to J. B., Thet's fit for you an' me!” Blood ain't so cool as ink, John: It's likely you'd haa wrote, An‘ stopped a spell to think, John, Arter they'd cut your throat! Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess He'd skurce haa stopped,” sez he, “To mind his p's and q's ef that weasan‘ Hed b'longed to ole J. B., Instid oa you an' me!” Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John, On your front-parlor stairs, Would it jest meet your views, John,, To wait an' sue their heirs? Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess, I on'y guess,” sez he, “Thet, e‘ Vattell on his toes fell, 'Twould kind o‘ rile J. B., Ez wall ez you an' me!” Who made the law thet hurts, John, Heads, I win — ditto, tails? “J. B.” was on his shirts, John, Onless
Indy (search for this): chapter 6
l ez you an' me!” We ain't so weak an' poor, John, With twenty million people, An‘ close to every door, John, A school-house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess It is a fact,” sez he-- “The surest plan to make a man Is, Think him so, J. B., Ez much ez you or me!” Our folks believe in Law, John; An‘ it's for her sake, now, They've left the axe an' saw, John, The anvil an' the plough. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess, Ef ‘twarn't for law,” sez he, “There'd be one shindy from here to Indy; An‘ thet don't suit J. B. (When ‘tain't 'twixt you an' me!)” We know we've got a cause, John, Thet's honest, just, an' true; We thought 'twould win applause, John, Ef nowhere else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess His love of right,” sez he, “Hangs by a rotten fibre oa cotton: There's natur‘ in J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!” The South says, “Poor folks down!” John, An‘ “All men up!” say we-- White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: Now, which
Bigelow (search for this): chapter 7
7. the Mason and Slidell case: Respectfully dedicated to Mr. Bigelow, of the Bigelow Papers. Goina abroad to sell yer country, Was you, Gentlemen? Do tell! Got tripped up afore you done it;-- My! 'Twas something of a “Sell.” Folks that do sich dirty business, Travelina on the devil's route, O'rt to ask theirselves the question, “Does your mother know you're out?” Reckon we're a leetle smarter Than they took us for afore; Anyhow, my boys, we've nabbed 'em! Show 'em in an' shet the door. 'Tis n't jest the kind oa quarters They'd ‘ave chose, I tell you what; Never mind, they're very welcome; Jest as lives they'd stay as not. Give 'em bread and water plenty, May be it ‘ill bring 'em round; ‘Taint the beverage they're used to Where they come from, I'll be bound. Should'nt wonder if they're homesick; Folks are apt to be, but still, They've a mighty pleasant prospect, Lookina out on Bunker Hill. Wonder ef it ever strikes 'em How their Fathers fought an' bled Settina up the
Slidell (search for this): chapter 7
refreshina, Layina wide awake oa nights, Callina back them grand old struggles, Them old Revolution Fights. Well, they say the world's progressina; May be 'tis,--but ain't it queer, While old Bunker Hill is standina, We should have sich doins here?-- Rebels fighting 'gainst their country, Traitors crossing ocean's wave, All to damn the blessed Union That their Fathers died to save! I'm not over-cute in guessina, But I reckon I can tell Pretty nigh the bone you're after, Messrs. Mason and Slidell. It's “no go,” depend upon it. You ca'n‘t come it quite — cause why? We're as wide awake as you are; Guess you'll learn it, by an' by. Stranger, when yer suit of homespun With its Yankee buttons blazed, Mr. M., it is said, has worn for a year or two past, “a coarse suit of gray clothing, claimed to be home-spun in Virginia, as indicative of his extreme Southern views, but which was covered all over with Connecticut buttons.” Didn't think you'd come to this now, Did you? ain't yo
W. S. Mason (search for this): chapter 7
t must be quite refreshina, Layina wide awake oa nights, Callina back them grand old struggles, Them old Revolution Fights. Well, they say the world's progressina; May be 'tis,--but ain't it queer, While old Bunker Hill is standina, We should have sich doins here?-- Rebels fighting 'gainst their country, Traitors crossing ocean's wave, All to damn the blessed Union That their Fathers died to save! I'm not over-cute in guessina, But I reckon I can tell Pretty nigh the bone you're after, Messrs. Mason and Slidell. It's “no go,” depend upon it. You ca'n‘t come it quite — cause why? We're as wide awake as you are; Guess you'll learn it, by an' by. Stranger, when yer suit of homespun With its Yankee buttons blazed, Mr. M., it is said, has worn for a year or two past, “a coarse suit of gray clothing, claimed to be home-spun in Virginia, as indicative of his extreme Southern views, but which was covered all over with Connecticut buttons.” Didn't think you'd come to this now, Did
Connecticut (Connecticut, United States) (search for this): chapter 7
t I reckon I can tell Pretty nigh the bone you're after, Messrs. Mason and Slidell. It's “no go,” depend upon it. You ca'n‘t come it quite — cause why? We're as wide awake as you are; Guess you'll learn it, by an' by. Stranger, when yer suit of homespun With its Yankee buttons blazed, Mr. M., it is said, has worn for a year or two past, “a coarse suit of gray clothing, claimed to be home-spun in Virginia, as indicative of his extreme Southern views, but which was covered all over with Connecticut buttons.” Didn't think you'd come to this now, Did you? ain't you some amazed? Well, things do turn out the cutest, And, for one, I'm mighty glad Jest to welcome ye to Boston, And, for two, you're mighty mad! Never mind, my boys, we've got 'em, And I take it 'tis a sign Of the blessed Futur‘ comina, Only stand and toe the line. Their “Peculiar Institution,” Knock it into pi, and see What a mighty power and plucky, Lays in those two words, “be free!” Mr. President, yo
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