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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865 14 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays 4 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men 4 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book 4 0 Browse Search
Louisa May Alcott, Hospital Sketches: An Army Nurse's True Account of her Experience during the Civil War. 2 0 Browse Search
Wendell Phillips, Theodore C. Pease, Speeches, Lectures and Letters of Wendell Phillips: Volume 2 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies 2 0 Browse Search
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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, I. Across Sherman's track (December 19-24, 1864） (search)
comer proved to be a very amusing character, and we nicknamed him Sam Weller, on account of his shrewdness and rough-and-ready wit. He was dree business with firearms? Sometimes, when they was in a hurry, Mr. Weller explained, with that horrible, grim irony of his, the guns would ons or an escaped lunatic from the state asylum in his nightgown, Sam Weller jumped up, exclaiming: Galvanized, galvanized! Stop, drive Grief to drive on without taking any further notice of him, but Sam Weller assured us that the country people would certainly hang him if th relish the companionship very much, though he said nothing. But Sam Weller couldn't let him rest, and immediately began to berate him for hi, and I liked him for it. Just before reaching Milledgeville, Sam Weller got down to walk to his home, which he said was about two miles bldn't understand. Now, don't lose the poor wretch, I said to Mr. Weller, as they moved off together. No, no, miss, I won't do that,
Louisa May Alcott, Hospital Sketches: An Army Nurse's True Account of her Experience during the Civil War., Chapter 6: a postscript. (search)
fancy for fun, when his poor arm was dressed. While Dr. P. poked and strapped, I brushed the remains of the Sergeant's brown mane — shorn sorely against his will — and gossiped with all my might, the boy making odd faces, exclamations, and appeals, when nerves got the better of nonsense, as they sometimes did: I'd rather laugh than cry, when I must sing out anyhow, so just say that bit from Dickens again, please, and I'll stand it like a man. He did; for Mrs. Cluppins, Chadband, and Sam Weller, always helped him through: thereby causing me to lay another offering of love and admiration on the shrine of the god of my idolatry, though he does wear too much jewelry and talk slang. The Sergeant also originated, I believe, the fashion of calling his neighbors by their afflictions instead of their names; and I was rather taken aback by hearing them bandy remarks of this sort, with perfect good humor and much enjoyment of the new game. Hallo, old Fits is off again! How are y
Wendell Phillips, Theodore C. Pease, Speeches, Lectures and Letters of Wendell Phillips: Volume 2, Welcome to George Thompson (1840). (search)
hat whom God would destroy, he first makes mad. Were it not so, Mr. Choate would be the first man to laugh at the spectacle of himself, a very respectable lawyer and somewhat eloquent declaimer of the Suffolk bar, coolly asserting with a threatening brow, meant to be like that of Jove, to the swarming millions of the free States, that this discussion must stop! To such nonsense, whether from him, or the angry lips of his wire-puller in front of the Revere House, the only fitting answer is Sam Weller's repetition to Pickwick, It can't be done. [Cheers and laughter.] The like was never attempted but once before, when Xerxes flung chains at the Hellespont- And o'er that foolish deed has pealed The long laugh of a world! Oh, no! this chasm in the forum all the Clay in the land cannot fill. [Cheers.] This rent in the mantle all the Websters in the mill cannot weave up. [Cheers.] Perpetuate slavery amid such a race as ours! Impossible! Re-annex the rest of the continent, if you w
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays, chapter 13 (search)
night, and she flung her hood right down on the table, and says she, There, says she, Mr. Jones, I'm never goina to have another oa them mince pies in the house just as long as I live, says she. There was Sammy, says she, he was sick all last night, and I do believe it was nothina in all the world but just them mince pies, says she. Well, said the other lady, a slow, deliberate personage, I do suppose that them kind of concomitants ain't good things. Here the conversation closed, but Mr. Weller did not feel more gratified when he heard the Bath footmen call a boiled leg of mutton a swarry, and wondered what they would call a roast one, than I when my poor stock of phrases was reinforced by this unexpected polysyllable. Instead of wasting so many words to describe an American railway pie, I should have described it, more tersely, as a concomitant. The lecture system was long since shaken to pieces in America by the multiplying of newspapers and the growth of musical and dramat
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays, Index. (search)
5. Voltaire, F. M. A. de, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303, 317, 321. Walker, Captain, 206. Walker, F. A., 26. Walker, James, 56, 110. Walpole, Horace, 280. Ward, G. C., 176. Ward, S. G., 176, 246. Ware, George, 25. Ware, Henry, 138. Ware, Thornton, 29. Ware family, the, 180. Washington, George, 16. Wasson, D. A., 112, 169. Watkins, W. I., 217. Watson, Marston, 78. Webb, Seth, 157. Webster, Daniel, 82, 136, 297. Webster, J. W., 27. Weiss, John, 103, 169. Weld, S. M., 78. Weller, Sam, 334. Wells, W. H., 129. Wells, William, 19, 20, 2x. Wendell, Barrett, 52. Wentworth, Amy, 8. Weyman, Stanley, 29. Whewell, William, 92, 101. Whipple, E. P., 170, 176. White, A. D. , 312. White, Blanco, 183. White, William, 126. White fugitive slaves, 146. Whitman, Walt, 230, 231, 289. Whittier, J. G., 8, 111, 128, 132, 133, 134, 135, 168, 171, 178, 179, 180, 185, 237. Whittier, Elizabeth, 133, 134. Wightman, Mayor, 244. Wilberforce, William, 327. Wilder, S. V. S.,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men, chapter 38 (search)
alls the childish demands of his contemporary critics. If it be said that it is because the uncommonplace demands too much skill that authors avoid it, that is a legitimate excuse. Only let this be called, as it is, a confession of weakness, not a claim of strength. The trouble is that by yielding to this weakness we confirm it, so that there comes to be a distrust of everything which does not lie close on every side of us. When Mr. Pickwick explains to Mr. Peter Magnus that he likes Sam Weller because he thinks him rather original, Mr. Magnus doubtingly replies that for himself he doesn't like anything original-doesn't see the necessity for it. The public is always ready enough to doubt the necessity for it, and almost to resent the introduction of any combination which is not to be found at every street corner. A friend of mine spent a summer in a large old house in a seaport town, where he had lived for weeks before discovering that a closed door opposite his chamber door led
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men, chapter 45 (search)
ance. But the peril of which I speak comes not from the intrusive, but from the affectionate and the conscientious-those who bring into the room every conceivable qualification for kind service except observation and tact. The invalid's foes are they of his or her own household, or, at any rate, are near friends or kind neighbors. The kinder they are the worse, unless they are able to show this high quality in the right way. If they could only learn to plan their visits on the basis of Sam Weller's love-letter, which was criticised by his father as rather short! She'll wish there was more of it, said Sam; and that's the whole art oa letter-writing. For want of this art the helpless invalid is hurt instead of helped; she cannot, like other people, assist the departure of the guest by pleading an engagement, or even by rising from the chair; she must wait until the inconsiderate visitor is gone. Under such circumstances she really needs to be saved from her friends. I remember a
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Chapter 2: the Worcester period (search)
rson; it became a nightmare, and I thought I should go on all night and forever, penetrating into remote silent rooms in the great old dark house. Perhaps some dejected Mariana I should find at last — or some Sleeping Beauty. At last I opened the remotest door and there she was — in such a room If I had been wandering about the George and Vulture, or some storied English inn, and had come to such a kitchen, I should have said enough; I have found Old England; let me sit down here and all Sam Weller is a reality. Such a kitchen, long, immeasurably long and narrow, with rafters in the ceiling running the whole length, so low as to graze my head, and black, polished black with time and good cheer. Old tables and chests of drawers; two great fireplaces-one altered to contain the most enormous cooking stove ever beheld; the other legs altered, and with six great legs of bacon hanging in its wide embrace. Mariana turned out an elderly are kindly Irish woman, who soon evoked a mistress,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies, 1859. (search)
aving graduated with honor in 1859, he became a student in the law offices of Horace Gray, Jr., and the late Wilder Dwight, Esq., of Boston. The story of his life at this time is well told in his letters. January 6, 1860. I write this seated in the office of Horace Gray, Jr., where I am engaged in studying law. As the statue is pre-existent in the block of marble, so in me may be discerned potential Kents and Storys, which is of course a gratifying reflection, besides vich, as Sam Weller says, it's wery affectina to one's feelin's. In a worldly point of view, I prosper. My Western pupil has withdrawn to his native wilds, and I don't expect to resume my charge of his intellect before March; so that one source of income is withdrawn. But I get two hundred dollars a year for writing book notices weekly for the Advertiser, and am engaged to write anything I choose, editorial or otherwise, for the New York Evening Post; and to write for the Atlantic every month at six dollar
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book, XXI (search)
liberately counterfeits death, that he and his mismated wife may each espouse the object of a loftier tenderness, was the climax of the sentimental; and yet this preposterous situation was so seriously and sympathetically painted, that probably no one who read the book at that day can now revert to it without emotion. But it is necessary to bear all this in mind in order to understand how all this atmosphere of exaggerated feeling seemed blown away in an instant by the first appearance of Sam Weller on the scene. Dickens himself bore marked traces of the very epidemic he banished, and his Little Nells and Little Pauls were the last survival of the sentimental period; but nevertheless, it was he, more than any one else, who exorcised it; and whatever its merits, he rendered the world a service in that act of grace. Yet no one can really regret, I should say, to have been born during that earlier period; it suffused life with a certain charm; and though it may sometimes have premat
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