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Gibralter (North Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
side and landed with difficulty at the old stone steps among such figures as we never dreamed of in Italy — we were drawn gradually into a bewildered spell, under which we are now prostrate. Saturday, November 10 Fayal is more digestible on the second day. What I wrote last night relieved my mind a little and to-day I am a little less bewildered. ... I have only looked and walked up and down the main street as yet, for this little narrow stony lane seems to be the main street. . . . Gibraltar may be more varied in its picturesqueness and more brilliant in costume, but this is as much so as we can take in at once. It realizes all and more than all my dreams of southern Europe--everywhere the same picturesqueness of dress or undress, reminding one of Anzoleto and Consuelo and all sorts of books. . . . Scarcely any men wear coats, hats, or caps, but little round or pointed caps half covering their black hair, vests of different colors or jackets, and trousers often rolled up; som
Adirondack (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
nine days trip to the Adirondack. It was somewhat hurried, but the region is fascinating and it was perfectly delightful to me to be in the woods again. I cannot compare it with my trip to Katahdin very well, that being entirely a pedestrian affair and this almost entirely boating. On the whole the Katahdin region is wilder, though both have been lumbered over too much for thorough wilderness. Still, there we were beyond houses for five days, while there is hardly any one of the lovely Adirondack lakes without one or more clearings somewhere upon it, where supplies or shelter can be got in case of need. There we shouldered our packs and were reduced to a minimum of comforts for that reason; here we had boats for carrying everything and lived in comparative luxury; the party having, for instance, got milk every day, thus obviating Mr. Emerson's grand objection to the wilderness, that the cows were not driven in. On the other hand, the style of camping was not so agreeable as in Mai
Pico (search for this): chapter 3
people. There seem plenty of entertainments there — oranges, music, whaleships, Catholic priests, and a steep mountain. Pico half as high again as Mount Washington. Barque Azor., 650 miles from home, October 30 What's the name of the place? g off in the deep water; and behind these, five miles away, but not looking half a mile, rises the glorious background of Pico, the great, graceful, conical, extinct volcano, girded with its belt of vineyards and villages below and its seldom-failinthe wind had changed. What was that which stood out against the horizon, six miles off, at the northern edge of the rocky Pico? A glass revealed it; the ship had been blown back again and gone ashore in the night. . . . She had struck at the very dalena has already headed a gang of organized pilferers. There is also a set of marauders from this island who flocked to Pico like vultures. So long as the Messrs. Dabney are on guard, the property is comparatively safe, but they cannot sacrifi
Pat Jackson (search for this): chapter 3
disgraces us; have arrangements and men already and need only money. The night I came from Brattleboroa, Friday, we had letters from Chicago, and our Finance Committee voted them fifteen hundred dollars and voted to add three thousand dollars more, unless I could raise this second party by Wednesday, which I did. Saturday, the day after, I was sent to Boston, with the same letters, to urge the Boston Committee to send money to Chicago. With great difficulty I got five minutes each from Pat Jackson and several other merchants, and at two they came together for ten minutes and voted to send two thousand dollars, Ingersoll Bowditch being happily absent, who had just told me he should come and oppose it entirely. I saw the telegraphic despatch written and came back. That very night we got a telegraphic despatch from Chicago, imploring us to send that precise sum, for the relief of a large party of emigrants, detained at Iowa City for want of means. The two despatches crossed on the
Wordsworth (search for this): chapter 3
utiful. . . The little hamlet sleeps in profound repose — a two-horse wagon, or even a pedlar with a pack, are events for a day. We look between the two little white churches up a lane which leads to Wachusett; last night we followed this up to its first summit — a little height before the real Wachusett begins; there was the skeleton of an old church, the strong frame uninjured, though raspberry bushes flaunt through the floor, and elders look in at windows; near it an old burial ground, Wordsworth's Churchyard among the mountains. . . . The strawberries were ripening all over the lonely hill-top, and five children with cows and tin kettles and the baby in a wagon — in the waning June sunset; five little sisters there were, with all bleached but their blue eyes. Worcester, June, 1862 Mrs. Howell, of Philadelphia, a most attractive woman whom I met last year, is there [Princeton] already. She wrote Milton's verses on his blindness which were included in a London edition of his w<
James Buchanan (search for this): chapter 3
s hope that Kansas will be a free State than before I came here. Before this last interference of Governor Geary, the Kansas men under General Lane (who is a very remarkable man) had driven out the Missourians in all directions; but it is their policy not to resist the United States Government, and the Missourians are always ready to take the slightest advantage which that affords them. After the Presidential election the invaders will make a desperate effort; their success is certain if Buchanan is elected, and probably if Fremont is. . . . On board I have thus far met no annoyance, though there is a company of young Virginians and Carolinians returning to their homes; they are of the race of poor white folks, commonly. My copy of Dred occasions some remarks. I trust your father will feel a becoming reverence when I say that I am a General in the Kansas Army, having been immediately presented with a commission to that effect by the redoubtable Jim Lane himself, the Marion of t
James L. Armstrong (search for this): chapter 3
s represented, in Kansas; the leading Missourians are making great efforts to raise men to invade, but find great reluctance to follow. They are considerably intimidated, in fact. The bad news (for you) is that I leave for Chicago to-morrow, shall go to Nebraska City and probably into the Territory.... I allow six weeks, but it may be only a month, and hope to write a good deal to you and Mary and the Tribune, though letters may be intercepted. Letters for me to be directed to James L. Armstrong Topeka Kansas Mary taxed her wits to invent this name and intends to write in the character of an affectionate grandmother! I shall take out a nice supply of boots and clothing for our Worcester men and a plum cake and some other dainties, and long to see their delight at my appearance. Good-bye, darling mama. Chicago, September 3 Arrived here in safety. I find to my regret that I shall be employed more out of Kansas than in Kansas. They are very glad to have me here, an
McLane (search for this): chapter 3
ter who had come from Hunt's since 2 P. M. yesterday, on our track, lost himself in a swamp, and was sleepless, tired, and hungry, and just washing himself. He was a Lowell man, but seemed to have been all around the world. Our woodsmen received him to their hearts at once and we to share our delicious fish and he in return had partridges for us. So he has accompanied us to-day on our four-mile walk to our noon camp on Roaring Brook at the foot of the mountain. I write now on a tree which McLane has felled for our bridge. Another mountain excursion involved a visit to the Adirondack camp of sundry Worcester friends: Worcester, September 11. 1859 Dearest Mother: Last night brought me back from my pleasant nine days trip to the Adirondack. It was somewhat hurried, but the region is fascinating and it was perfectly delightful to me to be in the woods again. I cannot compare it with my trip to Katahdin very well, that being entirely a pedestrian affair and this almost e
Stetson (search for this): chapter 3
re took boat and guide on Sunday afternoon, the morning being too windy, and went in pursuit of my party. Fifteen miles that night brought me to a log house, Steve Martin's; the next day we partly spent off the right track in going up Follansbee brook and pond in pursuit of them, but we saw that pretty pond, where the philosophers went last year, but a party of ladies and gentlemen from New Haven were camping and deer-hunting that morning ; then back to the Raquette River again and down to Stetson's, the most picturesque of log houses, where a handsome and intelligent household charmed us; here we had something to eat for the first time since morning and found that our party were still ten miles farther after rowing and paddling twenty-five; on we pushed under the moonlight, and at nine stole upon them at their camp-fire and were enthusiastically received-that is, I and my guide and his dog. . . . They had quite given me up, but had had a jovial time in spite of much rain; indeed, e
Bartol (search for this): chapter 3
least; one youth of eighteen next door was born with a squeak. Yet by one stroke he has outwitted Fate, and by dint of a piano fortissimo and twelve hours daily and nightly practice he has attained skill to drown any of his relations, voice and all, and is now performing The maiden's prayer in tones to silence the Mighty Deep. . . .Looking about for some literature suited for a lonely and athletic student temporarily on half rations, I have selected Miss Austen, the only author except Dr. Bartol whose complete works the house possesses, and one whose perfect execution cheers, while her mild excitements do not inebriate the mind of man. ... There is a Mrs. D- of Cambridge, with a gentle dyspeptic daughter, whom (the mother) I should define as a Cambridge wailer--a perpetual tone of motherly despair, with the personal grandeur peculiar to that classic town, when represented by its citizens abroad. She was nee W--, and there is a suppressed-Quincy sacredness in her every gesture.
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