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The Daily Dispatch: November 14, 1861., [Electronic resource] 1 1 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: August 24, 1861., [Electronic resource] 1 1 Browse Search
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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 12: Greece and other lands 1867; aet. 48 (search)
... January 24. N. P. Willis's funeral. Chev came home quite suddenly and asked me to go with him to the church, St. Paul's. The pallbearers were Longfellow and Lowell, Drs. Holmes and Howe, Whipple and Fields, T. B. Aldrich and I don't know who. Coffin covered with flowers. Appearance of the family interesting: the widow bowed and closely shrouded. Thus ends a man of perhaps first-rate genius, ruined by the adoption of an utterly frivolous standard of labor and of life. George IV and Bulwer have to answer for some of these failures. My tea party was delightful, friendly, not fashionable. We had a good talk, and a lovely, familiar time. Heard J. F. C. Took my dear Francesco [Marion Crawford] at his request, with great pleasure, feeling that he would find there a living Jesus immortal in influence, instead of the perfumed and embalmed mummy of orthodoxy.... Of that which is not clear one cannot have a clear idea. My reading in Fichte to-day is of the most confused.
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: divers good causes 1890-1896; aet. 71-77 (search)
in its early unfolding were helpful to the development of true sentiment. Higher than this, however, must be the agreement of the two, prefigured perhaps in such sentences as Mercy and truth have kissed each other. This thought also came to me: Oh, God, no kingdom is worth praying for but thine. To Laura Oak Glen, August 2, 1895. Dearest Pidge, also Midge, ... I will condescend to inform you that I am well, that Flossy is very faithful in taking care of me, and that we are reading Bulwer's Pelham, the stupidest of novels. We are two thirds through with it, and how the author of Rienzi could have offered the public so dull a dish, even in his unripe youth, passes my understanding. You must not get too tired. Remember that no one will have mercy upon you unless you will have mercy upon yourself. We sit out a good deal, and enjoy our books, all but Pelham, our trees, birds, and butterflies. Affectionate Ma. September 30. My dearest Maud left me this morning for ano
hn, I, 177. Brown, Olympia, I, 389. Brown University, I, 72, 297; II, 392. Browning, E. B., I, 201, 266; II, 167. Browning, Robert, I, 266; II, 5, 84, 171, 227, 306, 367. Bruce, Mr., II, 167. Bruce, Mrs. E. M., I, 389, 391. Bruges, I, 280. Brummel, G. B., I, 316. Brussels, I, 279. Bryant, W. C., I, 209, 304; II, 197, 198. Bryce, James, II, 168. Buck, Florence, I, 391. Buffalo, I, 376; II, 90, 139. Buller, Charles, I, 82. Bullock, A. H., I, 249. Bulwer-Lytton, E., I, 262; II, 206. Burne-Jones, Mrs. E., II, 169. Burns, Robert, I, 139. Burr, Mrs., II, 130. Burt, Mr., II, 248. Busoni, Sig., II, 192. Butcher, S. H., II, 323. Butler, Josephine, II, 21. Butler, W. A., II, 248, 306. Butterworth, Hezekiah, II, 228, 270. Byron, G. Gordon, Lord, I, 68; II, 296. Cable, G. W., II, 87. Cabot, Elliot, II, 363. Caine, Hall, II, 243, 248, 250. Cairo, II, 34, 35, 36, 182. California, II, 131, 135, 154. Calyps
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book, XXI (search)
's Werther, and Schiller's Die Rauber showed that the tendency itself was at one time indigenous everywhere. In England, Bulwer and the younger Disraeli aimed to be prose Byrons; and in Moore and Mrs. Hemans, followed by Mrs. Norton and L. E. L., we the military bands marched to the plaintive strains of Mrs. Norton's Love Not. In prose literature, as has been said, Bulwer and Disraeli best represented that epoch. The two fashionable novels, par excellence, of a whole generation, were Pelhamrpassable pathos of Violet Fane's death; and though the consummate dandyism of the companion book had no such relief, yet Bulwer amply made up for it by the rivers of tears that were shed over his Pilgrims of the Rhine. Not a young lover of the perie one of us who has not known a being for whom it would seem none too wild a fantasy, to indulge such a dream? Yes, yes, Bulwer! interpreter of one's visions, everybody had known such an object of emotion; and a thousand plain Susans and Sarahs sto
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book, Index (search)
w, 54. Billings, Josh, 59. Black, William, 202. Blaine, J. G., 110. Blake, William, 218. Bonaparte, Napoleon, 28, 52, 109, 188, 234. Book catalogue, a Westminster Abbey, 152. Boston, the, of Emerson's day, 62. Boyesen, H. H., 144, 171. Bremer, Fredrika, 57. Bridaine, Jacques, 215. Brougham, Henry, 224. Brown, Charles Brockden, 51. Brown, John, 16, 155. Brown, J. Brownlee, 104. Browning, Robert, 25, 54, 55, 98, 196. Bryant, W. C., 100, 147. Bryce, James, 120, 167, 211. Bulwer, see Lytton. Buntline, Ned, 199, 200. Burroughs, John, 114. Burton, Robert, 114. Byron, Lord, 178, 195, 217. C. Cable, G. W., 11, 67. Cabot, J. E., 175. Calderon, Serafin, 229, 232. Carlyle, Thomas, 37, 56, 197, 206, 217. Casanova, Jacques, 41. Catullus, 99. Cervantes, Miguel de, 229. Champlain, Samuel de, 192. Channing, E. T., 94 Channing, Walter, 214. Channing, W. E., 46, 66, 155. Channing, W. E. (of Concord), 103. Chaucer, Geoffrey, 179. Cherbuliez, Victor, 7
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 19. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), Prison Pastimes. (search)
his noble head, as though To give that word the reverence due, And gently said, ‘My mother.’ The fortitude that neither calumny nor calamity can crush never fails to command respect. Such fortitude is only attainable when one is calm in the rectitude of the cause in which he suffers, and feels that no false testimony can mislead the universal and eternal Judge. Then, indeed, is the sufferer happy, and despite of adversity feels that the clouds around him are not the frowns of heaven. Bulwer. Advertisements. Division 22.—M. L. White, Lieutenant Thirty-third N. C. T., is prepared to execute all kinds of engravings on metals with neatness and dispatch. B. F. Cartwright & Co.—Division 24—Manufacture plain and gutta-percha rings, chains and breastpins, etc. Call and see specimens of our work. Tailoring Establishment.—Division 22—Griggs & Church, successors to Beval, Bowman & Church, are prepared to execute all kinds of fashionable tailoring at reasonable rates, a
Jula Ward Howe, Reminiscences: 1819-1899, Chapter 7: marriage: tour in Europe (search)
breast, and on it a flat star of silver. Among the well-remembered glories of that summer, the new delight of the drama holds an important place. I had been denied this pleasure in my girlhood, and my enjoyment of it at this time was fresh and intense. Among the attentions lavished upon us during that London season were frequent offers of a box at Covent Garden or Her Majesty's. These were never declined. Of especial interest to me was a performance of Macready as Claude Melnotte in Bulwer's Lady of Lyons. The part of Pauline was played by Helen Faucit. Both of these artists were then at their best. Thomas Appleton, of Boston, and William Wadsworth, of Geneseo, were with us in our box. The pathetic moments of the play moved me to tears, which I tried to hide. I soon saw that all my companions were affected in the same way, and were making the same effort. I saw Miss Faucit again at an entertainment given in aid of the fund for a monument to Mrs. Siddons. She recited an o
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
s the ‘Green River’ through its vale no more? Steals not thy ‘Rivulet’ by its banks of green? Wheels upward from its dark and sedgy shore Thy ‘Water Fowl’ no longer?—that the mean And vulgar strife, the ranting and the roar Extempore, like Bottom's should be thine,— Thou feeblest truck-horse in the Hero's line! Lost trio! —turn ye to the minstrel pride Of classic Britain. Even effeminate Moore Has cast the wine-cup and the lute aside For Erin and O'Connell; and before His country's altar, Bulwer breasts the tide Of old oppression. Sadly brooding o'er The fate of heroes struggling to be free, Even Campbell speaks for Poland. Where are ye? Hirelings of traitors!—know ye not that men Are rousing up around ye to retrieve Our country's honor, which too long has been Debased by those for whom ye daily weave Your web of fustian; that from tongue and pen Of those who o'er our tarnished honor grieve, Of the pure-hearted and the gifted, come Hourly the tokens of your master's
rful that holders should feel a little nervous, or that Behemoth should seem in a fair way to eat off his head. Perhaps Lord Palmerston and the Emperor Napoleon have already begun to sympathise with the fortunate holder of the elephant, and may have found out that Mr. Toodles was right when he protested that a bargain might be a very hard, and at the same time quite a cheap bargain. Outsiders, at any rate, begin to ask, "What will they do with it?" with a pertinacity quite equal to that of Bulwer, Toodles, and the elephant man, all melted down and run into a solid mass. We confess we are among the number of those anxious outside inquirers. We find ourselves utterly unable to answer the question, though we ask it to ourselves whenever we open a paper and find "The Allies in Peking," staring us in the face, in large capitals. We can understand what was done with the plunder taken in the palace, and what will be done with all plunder hereafter to be taken under the same circumsta
Life of women in the East. The following description, taken from a work entitled the "Egyptian Sepulchres and Syrian Shrines," written by two sisters, the Misses Beaufort, is interesting: The gayest sight we saw was the Sweet Waters of Asia, to which Lady Bulwer kindly took us, on the great day of the year — the Friday after Kourban Bairam. This is the summer Hyde Park of Constantinople — the Sweet Waters of Europe being only in fashion during the winter season; there is no beauty in the spot, save that of a few fine trees, beneath whose shade the women sit the whole day. The place was excessively crowded, and one could not have a better opoortunity of studying Turkish women; they did not seem to be enormously unlike the pictures drawn of them by those of our modern poets, who describe them as fair and modest pearls, sitting like snowdrops enclosed in one on Ward's patent sealed cases, the damp dews of the inside of the glass answering to the jealousies through which the
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