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Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), Appendix. (search)
d, and what she did and suffered there, engaged the attention and sympathy of a large number of still living witnesses. Her melancholy death with her husband and child, returning home, just entering the haven of her native land, sent a thrill through this country, and caused tears to flow in other lands, and has not been, nor is to be, forgotten. The brightness of her genius, the nobleness and heroism of her life, are set forth in two volumes of Memoirs from the pens of R. W. Emerson, Horace Greeley, W. H. Channing, J. F. Clarke, and other friends, which have been widely circulated, and have presented the story of an extraordinary life. Her thougths, committed to paper by her own eloquent and industrious pen, not only through the columns of the New York Tribune, for a series of years, but in several literary works, still express her genius, and breathe her noble aspirations. Woman in the Nineteenth Century, At home and abroad, Art, literature, and the drama, Life without and life
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 10 (search)
umn of 1844, to accept a liberal offer of Messrs. Greeley and McElrath, to become a constant contri the buildings were directly in sight from Mr. Greeley's house, at Turtle Bay, where Margaret, on with them. Now I am. The Tribune and Horace Greeley. It was early in December of 1844 that Margaret took up her abode with Mr. and Mrs. Greeley, in a spacious old wooden mansion, somewhat ruMrs. Greeley, in a spacious old wooden mansion, somewhat ruinous, but delightfully situated on the East River, which she thus describes:— This place is, toar from a few passages in her letters:— Mr. Greeley is a man of genuine excellence, honorable, and of the American people. And again:— Mr. Greeley is in many ways very interesting for me to a strong character. On the other side, Mr. Greeley thus records his recollections of his frienneer life. Yet, it was the suggestion of Mrs. Greeley,—who had spent some weeks of successive sea welcome us to their home. Favorably as Mr. Greeley speaks of Margaret's articles in the Tribun[1 more.
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 11 (search)
not felt like writing to any one. Yet the magnificent summer does not smile quite in vain for me. Much exercise in the open air, living much on milk and fruit, have recruited my health, and I at regaining the habit of sleep, which a month of nightly cannonade in Rome had destroyed. Receiving, a few days since, a packet of letters from America, I opened them with more feeling of hope and good cheer, than for a long time past. The first words that met my eye were these, in the hand of Mr. Greeley: —Ah, Margaret, the world grows dark with us! You grieve, for Rome is fallen;--I mourn, for Pickie is dead. I have shed rivers of tears over the inexpressibly affecting letter thus begun. One would think I might have become familiar enough with images of death and destruction; yet somehow the image of Pickie's little dancing figure, lying, stiff and stark, between his parents, has made me weep more than all else. There was little hope he could do justice to himself, or lead a happy