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As a Quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse at the hands of the magistrates and the populace. None bore the indignities of the mob with greater patience and nobleness of soul than this once proud gentleman and soldier. One of his friends, on an occasion of uncommon rudeness, lamented that he should be treated so harshly in his old age who had been so honored before. A letter-writer from Mexico during the Mexican war, when detailing some of the incidents at the terrible fight of Buena Vista, mentioned that Mexican women were seen hovering near the field of death, for the purpose of giving aid and succor to the wounded.

One poor woman was found surrounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, ministering to the wants of Americans as well as Mexicans, with impartial tenderness. Rogers possesses the original sketch. The slave lies on the ground, amid a crowd of spectators, who look on, animated by all the various emotions of sympathy, rage, terror; a woman, in front, with a child in her arms, has always been admired for the lifelike vivacity of her attitude and expression.

The executioner holds up the broken implements; St. Mark, with a headlong movement, seems to rush down from heaven in haste to save his worshipper. The dramatic grouping in this picture is wonderful; the coloring, in its gorgeous depth and harmony, is, in Mr. Rogers's sketch, finer than in the picture. This ballad was originally published in my prose work, Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal, as the song of a wandering Milesian schoolmaster.

In the seventeenth century, slavery in the New World was by no means confined to the natives of Africa. Political offenders and criminals were transported by the British government to the plantations of Barbadoes and Virginia, where they were sold like cattle in the market. Kidnapping of free and innocent white persons was practised to a considerable extent in the seaports of the United Kingdom.

Pennant, in his Voyage to the Hebrides, describes the holy well of Loch Maree, the waters of which were supposed to effect a miraculous cure of melancholy, trouble, and insanity. The incident upon which this poem is based is related in a note to Bernardin Henri Saint Pierre's Etudes de la Nature. Rousseau proposed to me to offer up our devotions.


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The hermits were reciting the Litanies of Providence, which are remarkably beautiful. After we had addressed our prayers to God, and the hermits were proceeding to the refectory, Rousseau said to me, with his heart overflowing, 'At this moment I experience what is said in the gospel: Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.

There is here a feeling of peace and happiness which penetrates the soul. At that time he was not probably more than fifty. In describing him, I have by no means exaggerated his own history of his mental condition at the period of the story. In the fragmentary Sequel to his Studies of Nature, he thus speaks of himself: "The ingratitude of those of whom I had deserved kindness, unexpected family misfortunes, the total loss of my small patrimony through enterprises solely undertaken for the benefit of my country, the debts under which I lay oppressed, the blasting of all my hopes,—these combined calamities made dreadful inroads upon my health and reason.

I found it impossible to continue in a room where there was company, especially if the doors were shut. I could not even cross an alley in a public garden, if several persons had got together in it. When alone, my malady subsided. I felt myself likewise at ease in places where I saw children only. At the sight of any one walking up to the place where I was, I felt my whole frame agitated, and retired. I often said to myself, 'My sole study has been to merit well of mankind; why do I fear them?

He attributes his improved health of mind and body to the counsels of his friend, J.

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I threw my eyes upon the works of nature, which spake to all my senses a language which neither time nor nations have it in their power to alter. Thenceforth my histories and my journals were the herbage of the fields and meadows. My thoughts did not go forth painfully after them, as in the case of human systems; but their thoughts, under a thousand engaging forms, quietly sought me.

In these I studied, without effort, the laws of that Universal Wisdom which had surrounded me from the cradle, but on which heretofore I had bestowed little attention. Speaking of Rousseau, he says: "I derived inexpressible satisfaction from his society. What I prized still more than his genius was his probity.

He was one of the few literary characters, tried in the furnace of affliction, to whom you could, with perfect security, confide your most secret thoughts. Even when he deviated, and became the victim of himself or of others, he could forget his own misery in devotion to the welfare of mankind. He was uniformly the advocate of the miserable. There might be inscribed on his tomb these affecting words from that Book of which he carried always about him some select passages, during the last years of his life: 'His sins, which are many, are forgiven, for he loved much.

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The recollection of some descendants of a Hessian deserter in the Revolutionary war bearing the name of Muller doubtless suggested the somewhat infelicitous title of a New England idyl. The poem had no real foundation in fact, though a hint of it may have been found in recalling an incident, trivial in itself, of a journey on the picturesque Maine seaboard with my sister some years before it was written.

We had stopped to rest our tired horse under the shade of an apple-tree, and refresh him with water from a little brook which rippled through the stone wall across the road. A very beautiful young girl in scantest summer attire was at work in the hay-field, and as we talked with her we noticed that she strove to hide her bare feet by raking hay over them, blushing as she did so, through the tan of her cheek and neck.

To screen themselves they charged their captain with the crime.


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In view of this the writer of the ballad addressed the following letter to the historian:—. I have read it with great interest and think good use has been made of the abundant material. No town in Essex County has a record more honorable than Marblehead; no one has done more to develop the industrial interests of our New England seaboard, and certainly none have given such evidence of self-sacrificing patriotism.

I am glad the story of it has been at last told, and told so well. I have now no doubt that thy version of Skipper Ireson's ride is the correct one. My verse was founded solely on a fragment of rhyme which I heard from one of my early schoolmates, a native of Marblehead. I supposed the story to which it referred dated back at least a century.

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I knew nothing of the participators, and the narrative of the ballad was pure fancy. I am glad for the sake of truth and justice that the real facts are given in thy book. I certainly would not knowingly do injustice to any one, dead or living. Hugh Tallant was the first Irish resident of Haverhill, Mass.

He planted the button-wood trees on the bank of the river below the village in the early part of the seventeenth century. Unfortunately this noble avenue is now nearly destroyed. A remarkable custom, brought from the Old Country, formerly prevailed in the rural districts of New England. On the death of a member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, and their hives dressed in mourning.

This ceremonial was supposed to be necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving their hives and seeking a new home. Thacher was Avery's companion and survived to tell the tale. Mather's Magnalia, III. Susanna Martin, an aged woman of Amesbury, Mass. Her home was in what is now known as Pleasant Valley on the Merrimac, a little above the old Ferry way, where, tradition says, an attempt was made to assassinate Sir Edmund Andros on his way to Falmouth afterward Portland and Pemaquid, which was frustrated by a warning timely given.

Goody Martin was the only woman hanged on the north side of the Merrimac during the dreadful delusion. The aged wife of Judge Bradbury who lived on the other side of the Powow River was imprisoned and would have been put to death but for the collapse of the hideous persecution.

The substance of the poem which follows was published under the name of The Witch's Daughter, in The National Era in In my publishers desired to issue it with illustrations, and I then enlarged it and otherwise altered it to its present form.

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The principal addition was in the verses which constitute Part I. Judge Sewall's father, Henry Sewall, was one of the pioneers of Newbury. George Whitefield, the celebrated preacher, died at Newburyport in , and was buried under the church which has since borne his name. In the winter of , the Eastern Indians, who had been making war upon the New Hampshire settlements, were so reduced in numbers by fighting and famine that they agreed to a peace with Major Waldron at Dover, but the peace was broken in the fall of The famous chief, Squando, was the principal negotiator on the part of the savages.

He had taken up the hatchet to revenge the brutal treatment of his child by drunken white sailors, which caused its death. Should I get a new playmate? Sounds like he needs a new playmate Votes: 6 Doesn't sound like he needs a new playmate Votes: 0 0. Total voters 6. Sporgan Junior Guinea Pig. Over the weekend a tragic accident resulted in the very tough decision to have one of my fur babies put to sleep to end his suffering. The whole day was very emotional, unusual and difficult for me but also for my other guinea pig - his brother and cage mate of 2 years.

I have been monitoring my remaining guinea - Morgan - and he seems to be ok, he is eating plenty, still coming to the edge of the cage and isn't making more or less noise than usual. I have rearranged the cage and tried to make it a new place with no trace of his brother and all evening he has been wheeking and popcorning as he runs around exploring all the new areas. It seems weird but Morgan was the shy and quiet brother and since the passing of my other guinea he has almost come out of his shell. I can't tell if Morgan is actually happier on his own or is just over compensating?

Has anyone experienced anything similar? I have read many posts about getting a new cage mate but I know I'm not ready and am unwilling to get a 'replacement pig' without any clear signs of grief or need from Morgan. Sporgan said:. Janice C said:. Sounds as if Morgan is coping fine at the moment.

He is probably enjoying having extra space to run about in and explore but most animals need the company of another of their own kind. He's not had time to miss having company as yet though. Once you have had time to get over some of the heartbreaking grief that can overcome us at the loss of a wee pet you'll begin to realise it would be best for him.