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George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 20 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Book and heart: essays on literature and life 16 0 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 1, Colonial and Revolutionary Literature: Early National Literature: Part I (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 16 0 Browse Search
Charles E. Stowe, Harriet Beecher Stowe compiled from her letters and journals by her son Charles Edward Stowe 14 0 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: April 12, 1864., [Electronic resource] 12 0 Browse Search
Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters 12 0 Browse Search
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen 12 0 Browse Search
William H. Herndon, Jesse William Weik, Herndon's Lincoln: The True Story of a Great Life, Etiam in minimis major, The History and Personal Recollections of Abraham Lincoln by William H. Herndon, for twenty years his friend and Jesse William Weik 12 0 Browse Search
Wendell Phillips, Theodore C. Pease, Speeches, Lectures and Letters of Wendell Phillips: Volume 1 10 0 Browse Search
Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley) 8 0 Browse Search
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Mrs. John A. Logan, Reminiscences of a Soldier's Wife: An Autobiography, Chapter 14: (search)
ostesses. Every year it seems that attractive features of society grow fewer and fewer. Horatio King, John J. Nicolay, and Mrs. Dahlgren formerly had regular evenings in their homes, when musical programmes were rendered, impromptu papers read, and lectures delivered by able persons, among them General Garfield, General Logan, Librarian Spofford, Senator Ingalls, Jean Davenport Lander, and a daughter of Mrs. Scott Siddons, then a resident of Washington. Readings and recitations from Shakespeare and other classics were given, much to the enjoyment of the persons fortunate enough to be invited to these literary gatherings. The Schiller Bund gave delightful entertainments, when lectures were given, and the programme usually closed with amateur theatricals. Miss Edith Fish and Miss Nannie Jeffreys figured prominently in these plays. Miss Jeffreys won an enviable reputation as an amateur actress in her part in Meg's diversion. When we came to Washington, early in December, Gen
General Horace Porter, Campaigning with Grant, Chapter 13 (search)
ircumstances proclaimed him a man who studied to be uncommunicative, and gave him a reputation for reserve which could not fairly be attributed to him. He was called the American sphinx, Ulysses the silent, and the Great Unspeakable, and was popularly supposed to move about with sealed lips. It is true that he had no small talk introduced merely for the sake of talking, and many a one will recollect the embarrassment of a first encounter with him resulting from this fact; but while, like Shakespeare's soldier, he never wore his dagger in his mouth, yet in talking to a small circle of friends upon matters to which he had given special consideration, his conversation was so thoughtful, philosophical, and original that he fascinated all who listened to him. The next morning (June 13) the general made a halt at Long Bridge, where the head of Hancock's corps had arrived, and where he could be near Warren's movement and communicate promptly with him. That evening he reached Wilcox's L
General Horace Porter, Campaigning with Grant, Chapter 15 (search)
hey have kept pace with the white troops in the recent assaults. When we wanted every able-bodied man who could be spared to go to the front, and my opposers kept objecting to the negroes, I used to tell them that at such times it was just as well to be a little color-blind. I think, general, we can say of the black boys what a country fellow who was an old-time abolitionist in Illinois said when he went to a theater in Chicago and saw Forrest playing Othello. He was not very well up in Shakespeare, and didn't know that the tragedian was a white man who had blacked up for the purpose. After the play was over the folks who had invited him to go to the show wanted to know what he thought of the actors, and he said: Waal, layin‘ aside all sectional prejudices and any partiality I may have for the race, derned ef I don't think the nigger held his own with any on 'em. The Western dialect employed in this story was perfect. The camp of the colored troops of the Eighteenth Corps was
Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley), Mr. Choate on Dr. Adams's Sermons. (search)
lement of Dr. Adams was held last Monday evening, and Mr. Choate made a beautiful speech upon the occasion, in which he principally advised the congregation to study the Greek and Roman languages, and by no means to abstain from the perusal of Shakespeare. Passing to a consideration of the ministry of Dr. Adams, Mr. Choate declared that its chief charm for him had been, that the Doctor had never preached anything but pure and undefiled religion, and had never hurt the feelings of the Honorable conditions of our very artificial nationality, will he — the clergyman — permit me to enquire whether or not his deep studies, aliunde et diverso intuitu, have enabled him, to know anything of them? That is to say, a clergyman may understand Shakespeare and should understand Greek and Latin, but politics he cannot understand. He will ) said Mr. Choate, have learned from his Bible that the race of man is of kindred blood; but hie cannot know how far these glorious generalities are modified by
Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley), Prophecies and Probabilities. (search)
ties. American gentlemen in London have heretofore, when invited to give a taste of their quality at Guildhall and other civic banquets, been in the habit of uttering a speech after the following formula: Dear old Mother England-language of Shakespeare and Milton-Magna Charta--America the child of Britannia — peace, good will, fraternization forever! Then came cheers as hearty as Old Particular by the gallon could make them; and really, one would have thought that turtle and port-wine had usurped the place of the metaphorical milk and honey of the millennium. When our great Rebellion broke out American gentlemen, enthusiastic readers of Milton and Shakespeare, expected that, of course, England would sympathise with our Government, contending not only against treason, but against treason in behalf of human Slavery. They have been undeceived. They have been taught that with England the measure of success is the measure of morality. Very early in the contest which is now so rapi
to institute comparisons, and comparisons to the advantage of their own country, is with so many Americans a tic, a mania, which every one notices in them, and which sometimes drives their friends half to despair. Recent greatness is always apt to be sensitive and self-assertive; let us remember Dr. Hermann Grimm on Goethe. German literature, as a power, does not begin before Lessing; if Germany had possessed a great literature for six centuries, with names in it like Dante, Montaigne, Shakespeare, probably Dr. Hermann Grimm would not have thought it necessary to call Goethe the greatest poet that has ever lived. But the Americans in the rage for comparison-making beat the world. Whatever excellence is mentioned, America must, if possible, be brought in to balance or surpass it. That fine and delicate naturalist, Mr. Burroughs, mentions trout, and instantly he adds: British trout, by the way, are not so beautiful as our own; they are less brilliantly marked and have much coarser
ll its primary education, he says, America is still, from an intellectual point of view, a very rude and primitive soil, only to be cultivated by violent methods. These childish and half-savage minds are not moved except by very elementary narratives composed without art, in which burlesque and melodrama, vulgarity and eccentricity, are combined in strong doses. It may be said that Frenchmen, the present generation of Frenchmen at any rate, themselves take seriously, as of the family of Shakespeare, Moliere, and Goethe, an author half genius, half charlatan, like M. Victor Hugo. They do so; but still they may judge, soundly and correctly enough, another nation's false literature which does not appeal to their weaknesses. I am not blaming America for falling a victim to Quinion, or to Murdstone either. We fall a victim to Murdstone and Quinion ourselves, as I very well know, and the Americans are just the same people that we are. But I want to deliver England from Murdstone and Qu
Benjamnin F. Butler, Butler's Book: Autobiography and Personal Reminiscences of Major-General Benjamin Butler, Chapter 2: early political action and military training. (search)
6 at a very early age to Mr. Henry Read, a merchant of Lowell. The two youngest children were then merely schoolgirls. Fisher invited me to the family gathering at the Thanksgiving feast of that year, and there I first met Sarah, the second daughter. I was very much impressed with her personal endowments, literary attainments, and brilliancy of mind. Dr. Hildreth was an exceedingly scholarly and literary man. He was a great admirer of the English poets, especially of Byron, Burns, and Shakespeare, and had early taught the great poet's plays to his daughter, who, in consequence, developed a strong desire to go upon the stage. Her father approving of this, she appeared Mrs. Sarah Butler in 1839. engraved from a Daguerreotype. with brilliant success at the Tremont Theatre in Boston and the Park Theatre in New York, her talents for delineation of character being fully acknowledged by all. She was taught her profession by Mrs. Vernon, very accomplished tragedienne. Mrs.Vernon was
throated revolving pistol. Spread yourselves, and lose no opportunity to tell Tha expectant people that all is going well; And while, reluctant, ye admit the Southern feeling, Urge and declare that 'tis marvellous consoling, That nothing is hurting anybody. There, go! Stand not on the order of your going, but go at once. [Seward and others bow and depart.] New Jerusalem! is this happiness? When erst I dreamt of might, majesty, and power; when, in days gone by, An humble splitter of rails, wearing but one shirt a week; Or, when in revery, I leaned in listless mood O'er the oar (ha! a pun) of the slow-gliding broad-horn, And thought of the powerful and rich of earth, And, envious, contrasted their gay feasts and revels With our simple joys, our humble shuckings and possum hunts, Our apple-bees and quilting frolics — alack-a-day! As Shakespeare says in his Paradise Lost, I sadly feel That “distance lends enchantment to the view.” --Nashville Patriot; and Charleston Mercury, M
Henry Morton Stanley, Dorothy Stanley, The Autobiography of Sir Henry Morton Stanley, part 1.4, chapter 1.8 (search)
dings, banks, and squares; and, later, we took a short railway trip to Lake Ponchartrain, which is a fair piece of water, and is a great resort for bathers. When we returned to the city, late in the evening, I was fairly instructed in the topography of the city and neighbourhood, and had passed a most agreeable and eventful day. On the next evening, I found a parcel addressed to me, which, when opened, disclosed a dozen new books in splendid green and blue covers, bearing the names of Shakespeare, Byron, Irving, Goldsmith, Ben Jonson, Cowper, etc. They were a gift from Mr. Stanley, and in each book was his autograph. The summer of 1859, according to Mr. Richardson, was extremely unhealthy. Yellow fever and dysentery were raging. What a sickly season meant I could not guess; for, in those days, I never read a newspaper, and the city traffic, to all appearance, was much as usual. On Mr. Speake's face, however, I noticed lines of suffering; and one day he was so ill that he cou
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