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West Point (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 24
] Grants. He is a much more noticeable man than I expected, and I should think his head would attract attention anywhere, and Richard Greenough [the sculptor] thought the same — and so imperturbable — without even a segar! Mrs. Grant I found intelligent and equable. . . . Sherman was there, too, the antipodes of Grant; nervous and mobile, looking like a country schoolmaster. He said to Bryant, in my hearing, Yes, indeed! I know Mr. Bryant; he's one of the veterans! When I was a boy at West Point he was a veteran. He used to edit a newspaper then! This quite ignored Mr. Bryant's poetic side, which Sherman possibly may not have quite enjoyed. Far more interesting than this, I thought, was a naval reception where Farragut was given profuse honors, yet held them all as a trivial pleasure compared to an interview with his early teacher, Mr. Charles Folsom, the superintendent of the University Printing-Office at Cambridge. To him the great admiral returned again and again, and we
California (California, United States) (search for this): chapter 24
to tell you something — You know I have for three or four years longed to write a story that should tell on the Indian question. But I knew I could not do it. knew I had no background — no local color for it. Last Spring, in So. Cal. [Southern California] I began to feel that I had — that the scene laid there--& the old Mexican life mixed in with just enough Indian, to enable me to tell what had happened to them — would be the very perfection of coloring. You know I have now lived six months in So. Cal. Still I did not see my way clear; got no plot; till one morning late last October, before I was wide awake, the whole plot flashed into my mindnot a vague one--the whole story just as it stands to-day: in less than five minutes: as if some one spoke it. I sprang up, went to my husband's room, and told him: I was half frightened. From that time till I came here it haunted me, becoming more and more vivid. I was impatient to get at it. I wrote the first word of it Dec. 1st.
Dutch (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 24
ywhere else in America. But before giving a sketch of these persons, let me describe the house in which he received them. This house had been made internally the most attractive in Newport by the combined taste of himself and his wife, and was for a time the main centre of our simple and cordial group. In his study and elsewhere on the walls he had placed mottoes, taken partly from old English phrases and partly from the original Dutch, remembered almost from the cradle as coming from his Dutch maternal grandfather. Thus above his writing-desk the inscription read, Miserable à mon gre qui n'a chez soi ou estre à soi (Alas for him who hath no home which is a home!). Under the mantelpiece and above the fireplace was the Dutch Eigen haasd iss goud waard (One's own hearth is worth gold). In the dining-room there was inscribed above the fireplace, Old wood to burn, Old wine to drink, Old friends to trust. Opposite this was again the Dutch Praatjes vullen den buik neit (Prattle does n
Mexico (Mexico) (search for this): chapter 24
in an impetuous woman's soul. The Berkeley, February 5, 1884. I am glad you say you are rejoiced that I am writing a story. But about the not hurrying it — I want to tell you something — You know I have for three or four years longed to write a story that should tell on the Indian question. But I knew I could not do it. knew I had no background — no local color for it. Last Spring, in So. Cal. [Southern California] I began to feel that I had — that the scene laid there--& the old Mexican life mixed in with just enough Indian, to enable me to tell what had happened to them — would be the very perfection of coloring. You know I have now lived six months in So. Cal. Still I did not see my way clear; got no plot; till one morning late last October, before I was wide awake, the whole plot flashed into my mindnot a vague one--the whole story just as it stands to-day: in less than five minutes: as if some one spoke it. I sprang up, went to my husband's room, and told him: I
Europe (search for this): chapter 24
ving well enough, as some one suggested, for a group of War and peace, such as the sculptors were just then portraying. Most interesting, too, I found on one occasion, at Charles Perkins's, the companionship of two young Englishmen, James Bryce and Albert Dicey, both since eminent, but then just beginning their knowledge of this country. I vividly remember how Dicey came in rubbing his hands with delight, saying that Bryce had just heard a boarder at the hotel where he was staying say European twice, and had stopped to make a note of it in his diary. But I cannot allow further space to them, nor even to Mr. George Bancroft, about whom the reader will find a more ample sketch in this volume (page 95). I will, however, venture to repeat one little scene illustrating with what parental care he used to accompany young ladies on horseback in his old age, galloping over the Newport beaches. On one of these occasions, after he had dismounted to adjust his fair companion's stirrup, he
Newport (Rhode Island, United States) (search for this): chapter 24
hospitable roof of Mrs. Hannah Dame, in Newport, Rhode Island. Passing out of the front door one dments was that of organizing, at his house in Newport, the most efficient literary circle I ever knd been made internally the most attractive in Newport by the combined taste of himself and his wifef it. There was Dr. O. W. Holmes, who came to Newport as the guest of the Astor family, parents of attack of asthma that he had to bid adieu to Newport forever, after an early breakfast the next moent of languages. He alone on this list made Newport his home for years, and reared his gifted andized by an injudicious annotator, was much in Newport, equally fearless in body and mind, and perhard to my friend, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe and her Newport life, I have written so fully of her in the al writer for young people. She came first to Newport as the intimate friend of Mrs. Helen Maria Fi was destined in all to spend five winters at Newport, and entered upon her literary life practical[7 more...]
Jackson (search for this): chapter 24
that people will not lay the book down. There is but one Indian in the story. Every now & then I force myself to stop & write a short story or a bit of verse: I can't bear the strain: but the instant I open the pages of the other I write as I am writing now — as fast as I could copy! What do you think? Am I possessed of a demon? Is it a freak of mental disturbance, or what? I have the feeling that if I could only read it to you, you would know. If it is as good as Mrs. Trimble, Mr. Jackson & Miss Woolsey think, I shall be indeed rewarded, for it will tell. But I can't believe it is. I am uneasy about it — but try as I may, all I can, I cannot write slowly for more than a few moments. I sit down at 9.30 or 10, & it is one before I know it. In good weather I then go out, after lunching, and keep out, religiously till five: but there have not been more than three out of eight good days all winter:--and the days when I am shut up, in my room from two till five, alone — with m<
Clarence King (search for this): chapter 24
man of fortune, handsome, indolent, as poetic as a rich young man could spare time to be, and one whose letters now help to make attractive that most amusing book, the Memoirs of Charles Godfrey Leland. There was my refined and accomplished schoolmate and chum, Charles Perkins, who trained himself in Italian art and tried rather ineffectually to introduce it into the public schools of Boston and upon the outside of the Art Museum. There was Tom Appleton, the man of two continents, and Clarence King, the explorer of this one, and a charming story-teller, by the way. Let me pause longer over one or two of these many visitors. One of them was long held the most readable of American biographers, but is now being strangely forgotten,--the most American of all transplanted Englishmen, James Parton, the historian. He has apparently dropped from our current literature and even from popular memory. I can only attribute this to a certain curious combination of strength and weakness whic
Newport (search for this): chapter 24
came first to Newport as the intimate friend of Mrs. Helen Maria Fiske Hunt, who was more generally known for many years as H. H. The latter came among us as the widow of one of the most distinguished officers whom the West Point service had reared. She was destined in all to spend five winters at Newport, and entered upon her literary life practically at that time. She lived there as happily, perhaps, as she could have dwelt in any town which she could christen Sleepy Hollow, as she did Newport; and where she could look from her window upon the fashionable avenue and see, she said, such Headless Horsemen as Irving described as having haunted the valley of that name. After her second marriage she lived far away at the middle and then at the extreme western part of the continent, and we met but few times. She wrote to me freely, however, and I cannot do better than close by quoting from this brilliant woman's very words her description of the manner in which she wrote the tale R
William Cullen (search for this): chapter 24
ct with Italy and Mrs. Browning. She would come in from a manly boating-trip and fling herself on the sofa of the daintiest hostess, where the subsequent arrival of the best-bred guests did not disturb her from her position; but nothing would have amused her more than the deification which she received after death from some later adorers of her own sex. I find the following sketches of different Newport visitors in a letter dated September 2, 1869:-- We had an elder poet in Mr. [William Cullen] Bryant, on whom I called, and to my great surprise he returned it. I never saw him before. There is a little hardness about him, and he seems like one who has been habitually bored, but he is refined and gentle — thinner, older, and more sunken than his pictures — eyes not fine, head rather narrow and prominent; delicate in outline. He is quite agreeable, and — chatted to him quite easily. I saw him several times, but he does not warm one. At Governor Morgan's I went to a recepti<
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