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George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 16 0 Browse Search
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 9 1 Browse Search
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George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 5: (search)
character, that it is very difficult for a stranger to understand it. A Frenchman, or indeed any one of the Roman nations, generally makes as bad work with it as Voltaire with Shakespeare, and for the same reasons; for it deals with a class of feelings and ideas which are entirely without the periphery of his conceptions. An Englishman, too, if he studies it at home only, generally succeeds about as well,—but show me the man who, like Walter Scott, has studied it as it deserves, or, like Coleridge, has been in the country, and who has gone home and laughed at it. Mr. Rose, in Berlin, told me he would defy all the critics of his nation to produce such an instance. After all, however, you will come round upon me with the old question, And what are your Germans, after all? They are a people who, in forty years, have created to themselves a literature such as no other nation ever created in two centuries; and they are a people who, at this moment, have more mental activity than any
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 14: (search)
n gave me the first glad feeling I had had, from the time I left Cogswell at Selkirk. Mr. Southey introduced me to Mrs. Coleridge, a good respectable-looking lady of five-and-forty, her daughter, Afterwards Mrs. Henry Nelson Coleridge. a sweet Mrs. Henry Nelson Coleridge. a sweet creature of uncommon beauty and gentleness, not quite sixteen, and his own family of daughters, the eldest of whom, Edith, has some of his own peculiar rapidity of mind, and Isabella, the fourth, only six years old, who has a bewitching mischievous is character as a man, for here he seems to me to be truly excellent. . . . . His family now consists of Mrs. Lovell; Mrs. Coleridge and her beautiful daughter, who is full of genius, and to whom he has given an education that enables her, in defianc came upon poetry and reviews, he was the Khan of Tartary again, and talked as metaphysically and extravagantly as ever Coleridge wrote; but, excepting this, it was really a consolation to hear him. It was best of all, though, to see how he is loved