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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 9: no. 13
Chestnut Street
, Boston 1864; aet. 45 (search)
en him and Mr. Bancroft on the platform. The Journal tells us:-- After Mr. Emerson's remarks my poem was announced. I stepped to the middle of the platform, and read my poem. I was full of it, and read it well, I think, as every one heard me, and the large room was crammed. The last two verses — not the bestwere applauded.... This was, I suppose, the greatest public honor of my life. I record it for my grandchildren. The November pages of the Journal are blank, but on that for November 21 is pasted a significant note. It is from the secretary of the National Sailors' Fair, and conveys the thanks of the Board of Managers to Mrs. Howe for her great industry and labor in editing the Boatswain's Whistle. Neither Journal nor Reminiscences has one word to say about fair or paper; yet both were notable. The great war-time fairs were far more than a device for raising money. They were festivals of patriotism; people bought and sold with a kind of sacred ardor. This fair 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 13: concerning clubs 1867-1871; aet. 48-52 (search)
or less disturbed; above all, the sudden death of John A. Andrew, the beloved and honored friend of many years, saddened both her and the Doctor deeply. All these things affected her spirits to some extent, so that the Journal for the remainder of 1867 is in a minor key. ... In despair about the house.... On hearing of the separation of Charles Sumner from his wife:-- For men and women to come together is nature — for them to live together is art — to live well, high art. November 21. Melancholy, thinking that I did but poorly last evening [at a reading from her Notes on Travel at the Church of the Disciples]. ... At the afternoon concert felt a savage and tearful melancholy, a profound friendlessness. In the whole large assembly I saw no one who would help me to do anything worthy of my powers and life-ideal. I have so dreamed of high use that I cannot decline to a life of amusement or of small occupation. ... I believe in God, but am utterly weary of man. Afte
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 13: looking toward sunset 1903-1905; aet. 84-86 (search)
in the late afternoon Rosalind told me that dear noble Ednah Cheney had died. This caused me much distress. My first word was: The house of God is closed! Such a friend is indeed a sanctuary to which one might retire for refuge from all mean and unworthy things. A luminous intellect, unusual powers of judgment and of sympathy as well. She has been a tower of strength to me. I sent word by telephone to Charles G. Ames, begging that her hymn might be sung at church to-morrow .... November 21. Dear E. D. C.'s funeral. ... I spoke of her faith in immortality, which I remember as unwavering. I said: No, that lustrous soul is not gone down into darkness. It has ascended to a higher light, to which our best affections and inspirations may aspire. December 25.... Got out my dearest little Sammy's picture and placed it on my mantelshelf. [He was a Christmas child.] Maud and I went to the Oratorio, which we enjoyed.... I wondered whether the heavenly ones could not enjoy the be