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Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 11: eighty years 1899-1900; aet. 80-81 (search)
'n preserve us from our friend! “ she and her chief vice were always making merry together; when their flint and steel struck, the flash was laughter. It May have been at the Authors' Club that the two, with Edward Everett Hale and Dr. Holmes, were receiving compliments and tributes one afternoon. at least, she cried, no one can say that Boston drops its H's this was in the winter of 1900. it was the time of the Boer War, and all Christendom was sorrowing over the conflict. On January 3 the Journal says: this morning before rising, I had a sudden thought of the Christ-babe standing between the two armies, Boers and Britons, on Christmas day. I have devoted the morning to an effort to overtake the heavenly vision with but a mediocre result. these lines are published in at Sunset. on the 11th the cap and bells are assumed once more. ... to reception of the College Club, where I was to preside over the literary exercises and to introduce the readers. I was
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 12: Stepping westward 1901-1902; aet. 82-83 (search)
ntment, exceedingly precious while shut up, but I thought also that the dear Lord would one day break these separate boxes, and that then their fragrance would fill the whole earth, which is His house. This is my first writing in this book. From this thought and the Be still, I may try to make two sermons. In afternoon came William Wesselhoeft, Sr., and prescribed entire quiet and rest for some days to come. Oh! I do long to be at work. January 9. To-day for the first time since January 3, I have opened a Greek book. I read in my Aeschylus [ Eumenides ] how Apollo orders the Furies to leave his shrine, to go where deeds of barbarity, tortures, and mutilations are practised. At this time she heard of her son's receiving from the Czar the cross of the Order of St. Stanislas. She writes to him:-- Goodness gracious me! Are you sure it is n't by mistake? Do you remember that you are my naughty little imp?... Well, well, it takes away my breath! Dearest Boy, my he