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Johannes Brahms (search for this): chapter 23
ined upon you. Item, I have almost finished my anxious piece of work for the N. Y. Evening Post, after which I shall say, Now, frolic, soul, with thy coat off! In January, 1890, she heard young Cram Ralph Adams Cram, architect and littrateur. explain Tristram and Iseult, and young Prescott execute some of the music. It seemed to me like broken china, no complete chord; no perfect result; no architectonic. She never learned to like what was in those days the new music. Wagner and Brahms were anathema to her, as to many another music-lover of her time, notably John Sullivan Dwight, long-time Boston's chief musical critic. Many a sympathetic talk they had together; one can see him now, his eyes burning gentle fire, head nodding, hands waving, as he denounced what seemed to him wanton cacophony. She avoided the Symphony Concerts at which the new music was exploited; but it was positive pain to her to miss a symphony of Beethoven or Schubert. In March of this year the Sat
Hart (search for this): chapter 23
ht alarums and excursions. Awoke and sprang at once into the worry saddle. Another Congress was coming, another A. A.W. paper to be written, beside an opening address for the Mechanics' Fair, and 1500 words for Bok, on some aspect of the American woman. She went to Boston for the opening of the Mechanics' Fair, and sat beside Phillips Brooks in the great hall. They will not hear us! she said. No, replied Brooks. This is the place where little children are seen and not heard. Mayor Hart backed up the Tariff while I praised Free Trade. My text was two words of God: Use and Beauty. My brief address was written carefully though hastily. There was no neighborly electric road in Rhode Island in those days, and the comings and goings were fatiguing. A hard day.... The rain was pitiless, and I in my best clothes, and without rubbers. Embraced a chance of driving to the Perry House, where ... it was cold and dark. I found a disconsolate couple from Schenectady who had c
Oliver Wendell Holmes (search for this): chapter 23
bellion of Sister body, her hard-worked A. B., ; but not yet dreaming of taking in a reef. The seventieth birthday was a great festival. Maud, inviting Oliver Wendell Holmes to the party, had written, Mamma will be seventy years young on the 27th. Come and play with her! The Doctor in his reply said, It is better to be seventy years young than forty years old! Dr. Holmes himself was now eighty years old. It was in these days that she went with Laura to call on him, and found him in his library, a big, bright room, looking out on the Charles River, books lining the walls, a prevailing impression of atlases and dictionaries open on stands. The gre out to walk, and she felt this a grave responsibility. One day Patch ran away on Beacon Street, and would not come back when she called him. At this instant Dr. Holmes, passing, paused for a friendly greeting. Mrs. Howe, he said, I trust this fine morning-- Catch the dog! cried Mrs. Howe. One author flew one way, one
Jean Paul (search for this): chapter 23
east of beauty and of poetry. The male parts wonderfully illusive, especially that of Tiresias, the seer.... To Laura 241 Beacon Street, Boston, April 26, 1890. I'se very sorry for unhandsome neglect complained of in your last. What are we going to do about it? I have now and then made efforts to reclaim the old Party, but have long considered her incorrigible. What shall we say, then? Where sin doth abound, Grace shall much more abound, or words to that effect, are recorded of one Paul, of whom I have no mean opinion. So, there's Scripture for you, do you see? As I wrote you yes'day or day before, things have been hoppy here since my return. The elder Agassiz used to mention in his lectures the Lepidoptera, and I think that's the creature (insect, I b'lieve) which infests Boston. What I have hopped for, and whither to, I cannot in the least remember. Flossy was here, as you know, and I hop't for her. I also 'tended two of the festival Oratorios, which were fine, but t
W. W. Story (search for this): chapter 23
nadequate way can I join my voice to the chorus of friendly rejoicing and congratulation on the happy day, which reminds us only of the perpetual youth of the warm heart and the sound mind. Very truly yours, George William Curtis. From W. W. Story My Dear Julia, (I suppose I may still call you so — we are both so young and inexperienced) I cannot let this anniversary of your birth go by, without stretching out my hands to you across the ocean, and throwing to you all they can hold ofs such a few months ago -and I know you were born somewhat about the same time. You will receive a great many congratulations and expressions of friendship, but none more sincere than those of Your old friend — I mean Your young friend, W. W. Story. Rome, Palazzo Barberini, May 10, 1889. From James Russell Lowell 68 Beacon Street, 13th May, 1889. Dear Mrs. Howe, I should n't have suspected it, but if you say so, I am bound to believe this improbability, as absurd as Leporello's Cat
Laura Bridgman (search for this): chapter 23
the grandchildren; singing of Little Boy Blue, and the Man in the Moon. She thought these nursery melodies among her best compositions; from time to time, however, other and graver airs came to her, dreamed over the piano on summer evenings, or in twilight walks among the Newport meadows. Some of these airs were gathered and published in later years. Song Album. Published by G. Schirmer & Co. In May of this year she notes the closing of a life long associated with hers. May 24. Laura Bridgman died to-day at about 12 M. This event brings with it solemn suggestions, which my overcrowded brain cannot adequately follow. Her training was a beautiful out-blossoming from the romance of my husband's philanthropy. She has taught a great lesson in her time, and unfortunates of her sort are now trained, without question of the result. This was to S. G. H. an undiscovered country in the first instance. I cannot help imagining him as standing before the face of the Highest and pointi
Julia Ward Howe (search for this): chapter 23
dictionaries open on stands. The greeting between the two was pleasant to see, their talk something to remember. Ah, Mrs. Howe, said the Autocrat, you at seventy have much to learn about life. At eighty you will find new vistas opening in every e kissed her, which touched her deeply. He was in another mood when they met at a reception shortly after this. Ah! Mrs. Howe, he said, you see I still hang on as one of the old wrecks! Yes, you are indeed Rex was the reply. Then, Madam, he venture so far away from home as your kind invitation tempts me to stray, but no words of my regard and admiration for Mrs. Howe will ever limp and linger. I doubt if among the hosts who will offer their homage upon her accession to the years of a. W. Story. Rome, Palazzo Barberini, May 10, 1889. From James Russell Lowell 68 Beacon Street, 13th May, 1889. Dear Mrs. Howe, I should n't have suspected it, but if you say so, I am bound to believe this improbability, as absurd as Leporello
Pratt (search for this): chapter 23
and regrets and make them acceptable to your children. Faithfully yours, James Russell Lowell. The Journal thus notes the occasion. My seventieth birthday. A very busy day for all of us.... My head was dressed at eleven. All my children were here, with daughter-and sons-in-law. I had many lovely gifts. The house was like a garden of costly flowers. Breakfast was at 12.30; was in very good style. Guests: General Walker, John S. Dwight, E. E. Hale, Mrs. Jack Gardner, Mmes. Bell, Pratt, and Agassiz. Walker made the first speech at the table, H. M. H. Henry Marion Howe. being toastmaster. Walker seemed to speak very feelingly, calling me the first citizeness of the country; stood silent a little and sat down. Dwight read a delightful poem; Hale left too soon to do anything. H. introduced J. S. D. thus: Sweetness and light, your name is Dwight. While we sat at table, baskets and bouquets of wonderful flowers kept constantly arriving; the sweet granddaughters brought
Prescott (search for this): chapter 23
er, and swallowed a little from each alternately, his refection lasting from nine in the evening till one o'clock at night.... To the same We have not seen the sun in some days. I hope that he has shined upon you. Item, I have almost finished my anxious piece of work for the N. Y. Evening Post, after which I shall say, Now, frolic, soul, with thy coat off! In January, 1890, she heard young Cram Ralph Adams Cram, architect and littrateur. explain Tristram and Iseult, and young Prescott execute some of the music. It seemed to me like broken china, no complete chord; no perfect result; no architectonic. She never learned to like what was in those days the new music. Wagner and Brahms were anathema to her, as to many another music-lover of her time, notably John Sullivan Dwight, long-time Boston's chief musical critic. Many a sympathetic talk they had together; one can see him now, his eyes burning gentle fire, head nodding, hands waving, as he denounced what seemed t
John Elliott (search for this): chapter 23
this. It is true! she said. At parting he kissed her, which touched her deeply. He was in another mood when they met at a reception shortly after this. Ah! Mrs. Howe, he said, you see I still hang on as one of the old wrecks! Yes, you are indeed Rex was the reply. Then, Madam, he cried with a flash, you are Regina! To return to the birthday Here are a few of the letters received:-- From George William Curtis West New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y., May 9, 1889. My dear Mrs. Elliott, I shall still be too lame to venture so far away from home as your kind invitation tempts me to stray, but no words of my regard and admiration for Mrs. Howe will ever limp and linger. I doubt if among the hosts who will offer their homage upon her accession to the years of a ripe youth there will be many earlier friends than I, and certainly there will be none who have watched her career with more sympathy in her varied and humane activities. Poet, scholar, philanthropist, and advo
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