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Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall) 4 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1 2 2 Browse Search
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing) 1 1 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall). You can also browse the collection for Winslow (Maine, United States) or search for Winslow (Maine, United States) in all documents.

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Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
To the same. Winslow [Maine], March 12, 1820. I can't talk about books, nor anything else, until 1 tell you the good news; that I leave Norridgewock, and take a school in Gardiner, as soon as the travelling is tolerable. When I go to Gardiner, remember to write often, for 't is woman alone who truly feels what it is to be a stranger. Did you know that last month I entered my nineteenth year? I hope, my dear brother, that you feel as happy as I do. Not that I have formed any high-flown expectations. All I expect is, that, if I am industrious and prudent I shall be independent. I love to feel like Malcolm Graeme when he says to Allan Bane, Tell Roderick Dhu I owe him naught. Have you seen Ivanhoe ? The Shakespeare of novelists has struck out a new path for his versatile and daring genius, I understand. Does he walk with such elastic and lofty tread as when upon his own mountain heath? Have his wings expanded since he left the hills of Cheviot? Or was the torch of fancy
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To the same. (search)
To the same. Winslow, April 10, 1820. I yesterday received your affectionate letter. You are too generous, my dear Convers. Ever since I entered my nineteenth year I have received nothing but presents and attention. I never was more happy in my life. I never possessed such unbounded elasticity of spirit. It seems as if my heart would vibrate to no touch but joy. Like old Edie Ochiltree I wuss it may bode me gude. An high heart goeth before destruction, but I never heard the same of a light one. In one of your last letters you promise to send me Don Juan. Do not send it, I beseech you. I can give you no idea of the anguish I felt when I read tins shocking specimen of fearless and hardened depravity. I felt as if a friend had betrayed me. A sensation somewhat similar to what I should have felt, had you, my dear brother, committed an action unworthy of humanity. I have long cherished an enthusiastic admiration of this great man; I have long indulged the hope that when t