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James Russell Lowell, Among my books 56 0 Browse Search
John Harrison Wilson, The life of Charles Henry Dana 16 0 Browse Search
Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters 10 0 Browse Search
Wendell Phillips, Theodore C. Pease, Speeches, Lectures and Letters of Wendell Phillips: Volume 2 10 0 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 3 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 10 0 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 10 0 Browse Search
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing) 8 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 8 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Atlantic Essays 7 1 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Book and heart: essays on literature and life 6 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Oldport days, with ten heliotype illustrations from views taken in Newport, R. I., expressly for this work.. You can also browse the collection for Coleridge or search for Coleridge in all documents.

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rcumstance beside. They did something to equalize joy and sorrow, honor and shame. Maternal love is love, whether a woman be a wife or only a mother. Only a mother! The happiness beneath that roof may, perhaps, have never reached so high a point as at that precise moment of my passing. In the coarsest household, the mother of a young child is placed on a sort of pedestal of care and tenderness, at least for a time. She resumes something of the sacredness and dignity of the maiden. Coleridge ranks as the purest of human emotions that of a husband towards a wife who has a baby at her breast,--a feeling how free from sensual desire, yet how different from friendship 1 And to the true mother however cultivated, or however ignorant, this period of early parentage is happier than all else, in spite of its exhausting cares. In that delightful book, the Letters of Mrs. Richard Trench (mother of the well-known English writer), the most agreeable passage is perhaps that in which, afte