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James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen 3 1 Browse Search
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James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Grace Greenwood-Mrs. Lippincott. (search)
ceful career. Poe's Raven was pouring out those weird, melodious croakings. Ik Marvel was a dreaming bachelor, gliding about the picture-galleries of Europe. Bryant was a hard-working editor, but when he lifted up those poet eyes above the smoke of the great city, he saw the water-fowl, and addressed it in lines that our great-grandchildren will know by heart. William Lloyd Garrison was sometimes pelted with bad eggs. Horace Greeley had just started the New York Tribune. Neither Clay, Calhoun, nor Webster had grown tired of scheming forty years for the presidency. That great thunder-cloud of civil war, that we have seen covering the whole heavens, was but a dark patch on the glowing sky of the South. In these times, and among these people, Grace Greenwood now began to live and move, and have a part, and win a glowing fame. For six or eight years her summer home was New Brighton. In winter she was in Philadelphia, in Washington, in New York, writing for White tier or for Will
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. (search)
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. Mrs. Lucia Gilbert Calhoun. Fourteen years ago there came from the famous press of Ticknor & Company, a small volume of Poems, whose first page, beside the imprint of the publishers, bore only the simple title-line Passion Flowers. An anonymous book of poetry does not commend itself to the reading mob, and not many copies were sold. But the critics read it, and the scholars, and that small public which had heard that it was Mrs. Howe's book, and desired to know what sort of verses a woman of society, a wit, a housewife, and a mother of children would write. It was a book that invited, and received, and defied criticism; a book powerful, pungent, and unripe. Its personalism was terrible. In every page it said, Lo, this thing that God has made and called by my name! What is it? Why is it? Behold its passions and temptations; its triumphs and its agonies; its fervors and its doubts; its love and its scorn; its disappointment and its acquiescence!