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

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Labrador (Canada) (search for this): chapter 3
lly left the wharves for the St. George's and Labrador fisheries. Just back of the village, a brighhis frail fishing-smack among the icebergs of Labrador; the farmer, who had won from Nature the occu Doctor. No, not exactly, though it's from Labrador, which is about the last place the Lord made, down, there's nothing like a fishing trip to Labrador, 'specially if he's been bothering himself wie him off the plank before we got half way to Labrador. So I just told him plainly that it wouldn'to heave him overboard some day or bury him in Labrador moss. But he did n't die after all, did h prospered in health and property, and thinks Labrador would be the finest country in the world if iber, the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador, looked beautiful and inviting; for he saw iallery of life. Apart from this, however, in Labrador, as in every conceivable locality, the evils hts are reflected on the snow. The summer of Labrador has a beauty of its own, far unlike that of m[1 more...]
Perth (Canada) (search for this): chapter 3
t of the year; but in the early days they were highly prized by the settlers, as they furnished natural mowing before the uplands could be cleared of wood and stones and laid down to grass. There is a tradition that the hay-harvesters of two adjoining towns quarrelled about a boundary question, and fought a hard battle one summer morning in that old time, not altogether bloodless, but by no means as fatal as the fight between the rival Highland clans, described by Scott in The Fair Maid of Perth. I used to wonder at their folly, when I was stumbling over the rough hassocks, and sinking knee-deep in the black mire, raking the sharp sickle-edged grass which we used to feed out to the young cattle in midwinter when the bitter cold gave them appetite for even such fodder. I had an almost Irish hatred of snakes, and these meadows were full of them,—striped, green, dingy water-snakes, and now and then an ugly spotted adder by no means pleasant to touch with bare feet. There were great
Waterloo (Canada) (search for this): chapter 3
g cannon-fire from the shattered walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, commends itself neither to my reason nor my fancy. I now regard the accounts of the bloody passage of the Bridge of Lodi, and of French cuirassiers madly transfixing themselves upon the bayonets of Wellington's squares, with very much the same feeling of horror and loathing which is excited by a detail of the exploits of an Indian Thug, or those of a mad Malay running a muck, creese in hand, through the streets of Pulo Penang. Your Waterloo, and battles of the Nile and Baltic,—what are they, in sober fact, but gladiatorial murder-games on a great scale,—human imitations of bull-fights, at which Satan sits as grand alguazil and master of ceremonies? It is only when a great thought incarnates itself in action, desperately striving to find utterance even in sabre-clash and gun-fire, or when Truth and Freedom, in their mistaken zeal and distrustful of their own powers, put on battleharness, that I can feel any sympathy with merel
Baltimore, Md. (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
oliage of its shores, it seemed as if a shadow of shame and sorrow fell over the pleasant picture; and even the west wind which stirred the tree-tops above me had a mournful murmur, as if Nature felt the desecration of her sanctities and the discord of sin and folly which marred her sweet harmonies. God bless the temperance movement! And He will bless it; for it is His work. It is one of the great miracles of our times. Not Father Mathew in Ireland, nor Hawkins and his little band in Baltimore, but He whose care is over all the works of His hand, and who in His divine love and compassion turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of waters are turned, hath done it. To Him be all the glory., Charms and fairy faith. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We dare n't go a-hunting For fear of little men. Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, Gray cock's feather. Allingham. it was from a profound knowledge of human nature that Lord Bacon, in
Chapel Hill, N. C. (North Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
hung with verdant beauty, rippling and waving in the same cool breeze which stirs the waters of the beautiful Bay of Casco! But time will remedy all this; and, when Lowell shall have numbered half the years of her sister cities, her newly planted elms and maples, which now only cause us to contrast their shadeless stems with the leafy glory of their parents of the forest, will stretch out to the future visitor arms of welcome and repose. There is one beautiful grove in Lowell,—that on Chapel Hill,—where a cluster of fine old oaks lift their sturdy stems and green branches, in close proximity to the crowded city, blending the cool rustle of their leaves with the din of machinery. As I look at them in this gray twilight they seem lonely and isolated, as if wondering what has become of their old forest companions, and vainly endeavoring to recognize in the thronged and dusty streets before them those old, graceful colonnades of maple and thick-shaded oaken vistas, stretching from r
Florence, S. C. (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
here a mouth put a set of otherwise fine features out of countenance; the fair complexions had red hair, and glossy black locks were wasted upon dingy ones. In one way or another all fell below his impossible standard. The beauty which my friend seemed in search of was that of proportion and coloring; mechanical exactness; a due combination of soft curves and obtuse angles, of warm carnation and marble purity. Such a man, for aught I can see, might love a graven image, like the girl of Florence who pined into a shadow for the Apollo Belvidere, looking coldly on her with stony eyes from his niche in the Vatican. One thing is certain,—he will never find his faultless piece of artistical perfection by searching for it amidst flesh-and-blood realities. Nature does not, as far as I can perceive, work with square and compass, or lay on her colors by the rules of royal artists or the dunces of the academies. She eschews regular outlines. She does not shape her forms by a common mode
Providence, R. I. (Rhode Island, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
kind friends here; they will do all they can for me; and for the rest I trust Providence. Lucille begged that I would let him stay; for she said God would hear hene cannot but admire, said the Doctor, that wise and beneficent ordination of Providence whereby the spirit of man asserts its power over circumstances, moulding the , Richard? What was't you said about our going to that sink of wickedness at Providence? Why don't you go back with me to sister Ward's? Mary Edmands! said Martarthquakes, fires, fevers, and shipwrecks he regarded as personal favors from Providence, furnishing the raw material of song and ballad. Welcome to us in our countrding all barren, –who have always some fault or other to find with Nature and Providence, seeming to consider themselves especially ill used because the one does not ng voice could not reach them—to throw themselves into the surf, and trust to Providence and her for succor. In anticipation of this, she had her kettle boiling over
Lowell (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
city of a day The writer, when residing in Lowell, in 1844 contributed this and the companion pieces to The Stranger in Lowell. this, then, is Lowell,—a city springing up, like the enchanted pable-land of promise? Many of the streets of Lowell present a lively and neat aspect, and are adorand repose. There is one beautiful grove in Lowell,—that on Chapel Hill,—where a cluster of fine ose motto is ever Onward. The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders; but te first time the Rapids of the Merrimac, above Lowell. Passing up the street by the Hospital, a l Who can paint like Nature ? First day in Lowell. To a population like that of Lowell, the w half an hour. In this way the working-day in Lowell is eked out to an average throughout the year me of the most pleasant hours I have passed in Lowell. The manner in which the Offering has been y shore. I know of no walk in the vicinity of Lowell so inviting as that along the margin of the ri[1 more...
Bull Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ound myself in the midst of a score at least of them,—holding their wicked meeting of a Sabbath morning on the margin of a deep spring in the meadows. One glimpse at their fierce shining heads in the sunshine, as they roused themselves at my approach, was sufficient to send me at full speed towards the nearest upland. The snakes, equally scared, fled in the same direction; and, looking back, I saw the dark monsters following close at my heels, terrible as the Black Horse rebel regiment at Bull Run. I had, happily, sense enough left to step aside and let the ugly troop glide into the bushes. Nevertheless, the meadows had their redeeming points. In spring mornings the blackbirds and bobolinks made them musical with songs; and in the evenings great bullfrogs croaked and clamored; and on summer nights we loved to watch the white wreaths of fog rising and drifting in the moonlight like troops of ghosts, with the fireflies throwing up ever and anon signals of their coming. But the B
Milton, Mass. (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
and arms of silver, the belly of brass, the legs of iron, and feet of clay,—the dream of Nebuchadnezzar. On the other were depicted the wonders of the Apocalyptic vision,—the beasts, the dragons, the scarlet woman seen by the seer of Patmos, Oriental types, figures, and mystic symbols, translated into staring Yankee realities, and exhibited like the beasts of a travelling menagerie. One horrible image, with its hideous heads and scaly caudal extremity, reminded me of the tremendous line of Milton, who, in speaking of the same evil dragon, describes him as ‘Swindging the scaly horrors of his folded tail.’ To an imaginative mind the scene was full of novel interest. The white circle of tents; the dim wood arches; the upturned, earnest faces; the loud voices of the speakers, burdened with the awful symbolic language of the Bible; the smoke from the fires, rising like incense,—carried me back to those days of primitive worship which tradition faintly whispers of, when on hill-to
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