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Jula Ward Howe, Reminiscences: 1819-1899 52 0 Browse Search
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1 6 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson 3 1 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: November 12, 1860., [Electronic resource] 2 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1. You can also browse the collection for Julia Howe or search for Julia Howe in all documents.

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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 6: South Boston 1844-1851; aet. 25-32 (search)
, roast lamb and pigeon, with green peas, potatoes au maitre d'hotel, spinach and salad. Then came a delicious pudding and blancmange, then strawberries, pineapple, and ice-cream, then coffee, etc. We had a pleasant time upon the whole. That is, they had; for myself it is easy to find companions more congenial than the Club. Still, I like them very well. I had last week a little meeting of the mutual correction club, which was far pleasanter to me. This society is organized as follows: Julia Howe, grand universal philosopher; Jane Belknap, charitable censor; Mary Ward, moderator; Sarah Hale, optimist. I had them all to dinner and we were jolly, I do assure you. My children looked so lovely yesterday, in muslin dresses of bright pink plaid, made very full and reaching only to the knee, with pink ribbands in their sleeves.... How I do wish for you this summer. My little place is so green, my flowers so sweet, my strawberries so delicious — the garden produces six quarts or more
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 7: passion flowers 1852-1858; aet. 33-39 (search)
, 1855. My sweet meatest, . . First of all you wish to know about the Bonnet, of course. I am happy to say that it is entirely successful, cheap, handsome, and becoming. Boston can show nothing like it. As to the green and lilac, I all but sleep in it. I never wear it, glory on my soul, without attracting notice. Those who don't know me, at lectures and sich, seem to say: Good heavens, who is that lovely creature? Those who do know me seem to be whispering to each other, I never saw Julia Howe look so well! So much for the green bonnet. As for the white one, since I took out the pinch behind, it fits and flatters — to the Opera, I will incontinently wear it. I have been there and still would go. Every woman seen in front, seems to have a cap with a great frill, like that of an old-fashioned night-cap; it is only when she turns sideways that you can see the little hat behind. . . Did I write you that I have been to the Assembly? Chev went to the first without me, with his
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 8: little Sammy: the Civil War 1859-1863; aet. 40-44 (search)
ught in the field and of those who languished in the prison. Returning from a review of troops near Washington, her carriage was surrounded and delayed by the marching regiments: she and her companions sang, to beguile the tedium of the way, the war songs which every one was singing in those days; among them-- John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave. His soul is marching on! The soldiers liked this, cried, Good for you! and took up the chorus with its rhythmic swing. Mrs. Howe, said Mr. Clarke, why do you not write some good words for that stirring tune? I have often wished to do so! she replied. Waking in the gray of the next morning, as she lay waiting for the dawn, the word came to her. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord She lay perfectly still. Line by line, stanza by stanza, the words came sweeping on with the rhythm of marching feet, pauseless, resistless. She saw the long lines swinging into place before her eyes, hea