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English (search for this): chapter 24
of Provence as you describe. Please to tell me, therefore, when you write,—and I hope that, remembering my age, you will write before long,—please to give me the titles of anything published within the last twenty years about the old Chansonnier, if it will give you no trouble to do it. You see I remember your old tricks in Italy, collecting all sorts of books of local history in out-of-the-way places. I do not know Mr. Bright of Waltham, to whom you refer; but I know his book about his English—not his American—ancestors, and looked in it directly for the engraving of the house where you were married. It is very curious, as are many books of our genealogies, tracing the connection between our two countries. I only wish there were more proofs of such connection down to our own times, and that they were heartier. . . . But I think I have written as much as my strength will fairly enable me to write at one time. I will not, therefore, go on even to say a word, as I meant to, a
Geo (search for this): chapter 24
was born, or in which I received whatever I ever got of political education or principles. Webster seems to have been the last of the Romans; and yet he, too, made mistakes. But I hope you will give a good prominence to his solemn protest in the Senate against the annexation of Texas. It is one of the grandest things he ever did. . . . . But I am interrupted. William Gardiner, Mrs. Cabot, etc., and dinner immediately; in short, nothing before the post, but, Ever yours, and all well, Geo. T. To Sir Walter C. Trevelyan, Bart. Boston, U. S. A., August 31, 1869. my dear Trevelyan,—My silence is not forgetfulness, neither is it ingratitude; it is simply old age. I am past seventy-eight, and, like nearly everybody of that age, I do, not what I like best to do, but what I can. I cannot walk much, and I forget a great deal, and I write as little as I can. Reading is my great resource, and I have lately been much amused with Crabbe Robinson, who is a model for old men, as far
Mary Labouchere (search for this): chapter 24
ok upon us as a political mine, that is to be wrought for the benefit of the rest of the world: Mr. Strutt,—son of Lord Rayleigh, —Lord Morley, Lord Amberley with his free-spoken wife, Lord Camperdown, Mr. Cowper, Mr. Hollond, and some others, with Miss Sulivan,—a niece of Lord Palmerston, an uncommonly lady-like, cultivated woman. They were all in my library one night together, and I have not seen so intellectual a set of young Englishmen in the United States since Lord Stanley, Denison, Labouchere, and Wharncliffe were here, five-and-twenty years ago. Strutt was senior wrangler at Cambridge a few years since; Morley was about as high at Oxford; and Cowper, Hollond, and Camperdown were evidently men who stood, or meant to stand, on the intellectual qualities . . . . Agassiz and his wife are just about to publish a book—only one volume—on Brazil. You must read it, for it is full of matter, very pleasantly presented. We have just finished it, in what they call an advance copy,
Provence (search for this): chapter 24
pagne is very curious, and much of it new. He was always one of my favorites, from 1817, when I studied the earliest French literature in Paris, under the advice of Roquefort and Raynouard, and made such collections of books as they told me to make. But I never heard before the tradition that he brought home with him from Palestine the Provence Rose, which we cultivate here in a country Thiebaut never dreamt of; nor did I ever suppose that there were such remains of the ancient splendor of Provence as you describe. Please to tell me, therefore, when you write,—and I hope that, remembering my age, you will write before long,—please to give me the titles of anything published within the last twenty years about the old Chansonnier, if it will give you no trouble to do it. You see I remember your old tricks in Italy, collecting all sorts of books of local history in out-of-the-way places. I do not know Mr. Bright of Waltham, to whom you refer; but I know his book about his English—not<
H. A. Bright (search for this): chapter 24
id I ever suppose that there were such remains of the ancient splendor of Provence as you describe. Please to tell me, therefore, when you write,—and I hope that, remembering my age, you will write before long,—please to give me the titles of anything published within the last twenty years about the old Chansonnier, if it will give you no trouble to do it. You see I remember your old tricks in Italy, collecting all sorts of books of local history in out-of-the-way places. I do not know Mr. Bright of Waltham, to whom you refer; but I know his book about his English—not his American—ancestors, and looked in it directly for the engraving of the house where you were married. It is very curious, as are many books of our genealogies, tracing the connection between our two countries. I only wish there were more proofs of such connection down to our own times, and that they were heartier. . . . But I think I have written as much as my strength will fairly enable me to write at one ti
Walter Trevelyan (search for this): chapter 24
Chapter 24: 1867 to 1870. letters to Sir E. Head, Hon. E. Twisleton, Sir Walter Trevelyan, the King of Saxony, G. T. Curtis, General Thayer. To Sir Edmund Head, London. Boston, February 21, 1867. my dear Head,—I am surprised to find that I sent you no answer about the meaning of El moron in the ballad of Blanca sois, Señora Mia. To be sure, I had no doubt but that it meant the horse, as soon as you gave me the suggestion of Mrs. Marshall, and I rather think that we ought both of us to feel a little mortified that we needed the lady's hint. And, to be sure, further I can say in reply to your question, that I do not remember any other case in which the name of the color is put for the horse, although I will bet a penny I ought to recollect cases in which pardo, bayo, etc., are so used. But is not Sancho's ass just as good as any horse in the world, and just as classical, and is he not called el rucio fifty times in Don Quixote? And now I am in the way of c
Evelyn Denison (search for this): chapter 24
seem to look upon us as a political mine, that is to be wrought for the benefit of the rest of the world: Mr. Strutt,—son of Lord Rayleigh, —Lord Morley, Lord Amberley with his free-spoken wife, Lord Camperdown, Mr. Cowper, Mr. Hollond, and some others, with Miss Sulivan,—a niece of Lord Palmerston, an uncommonly lady-like, cultivated woman. They were all in my library one night together, and I have not seen so intellectual a set of young Englishmen in the United States since Lord Stanley, Denison, Labouchere, and Wharncliffe were here, five-and-twenty years ago. Strutt was senior wrangler at Cambridge a few years since; Morley was about as high at Oxford; and Cowper, Hollond, and Camperdown were evidently men who stood, or meant to stand, on the intellectual qualities . . . . Agassiz and his wife are just about to publish a book—only one volume—on Brazil. You must read it, for it is full of matter, very pleasantly presented. We have just finished it, in what they call an adv
George Ticknor (search for this): chapter 24
of us. Tell me about them. Yours ever, Geo. Ticknor. Thinking over the matter of the moren Among the changes of life, be assured that Mrs. Ticknor and myself do not fail to hear with grievedely, Your Majesty's friend and servant, Geo. Ticknor. To Sir Edmund Head, London. Boston, Jn a Pan-Athenaic vase. Yours sincerely, Geo. Ticknor. In 1869 Mr. George Ticknor Curtis had in press his Life of Webster, and Mr. Ticknor gave careful perusal to both manuscript and proof-sh anybody will desire. Yours faithfully, Geo. Ticknor. To J. G. Cogswell, Esq. Brookline, Sw more than she and you do. Yours ever, Geo. Ticknor. To General S. Thayer Boston, January ese letters closed this correspondence, and Mr. Ticknor's is the last, from his hand, that has comehich have been duly observed. A year after Mr. Ticknor's death, Mr. Charles Eliot Norton was receiement,—in order to show him an engraving of Mr. Ticknor hung there, desiring him to tell Mrs. Tickn[10 more...]
Daniel Webster (search for this): chapter 24
affectionate regards. We think of them and speak of them often. Only yesterday I read over Sir Edmund's beautiful verses on a Pan-Athenaic vase. Yours sincerely, Geo. Ticknor. In 1869 Mr. George Ticknor Curtis had in press his Life of Webster, and Mr. Ticknor gave careful perusal to both manuscript and proof-sheets of this work, in which he took a deep interest. A great number of short letters and many pages of memoranda, in his handwriting, testify to the fidelity and industry with in our century and what has happened since, or what is likely to happen hereafter. It does not seem to me as if I were living in the country in which I was born, or in which I received whatever I ever got of political education or principles. Webster seems to have been the last of the Romans; and yet he, too, made mistakes. But I hope you will give a good prominence to his solemn protest in the Senate against the annexation of Texas. It is one of the grandest things he ever did. . . . .
Walter C. Trevelyan (search for this): chapter 24
ster seems to have been the last of the Romans; and yet he, too, made mistakes. But I hope you will give a good prominence to his solemn protest in the Senate against the annexation of Texas. It is one of the grandest things he ever did. . . . . But I am interrupted. William Gardiner, Mrs. Cabot, etc., and dinner immediately; in short, nothing before the post, but, Ever yours, and all well, Geo. T. To Sir Walter C. Trevelyan, Bart. Boston, U. S. A., August 31, 1869. my dear Trevelyan,—My silence is not forgetfulness, neither is it ingratitude; it is simply old age. I am past seventy-eight, and, like nearly everybody of that age, I do, not what I like best to do, but what I can. I cannot walk much, and I forget a great deal, and I write as little as I can. Reading is my great resource, and I have lately been much amused with Crabbe Robinson, who is a model for old men, as far as their strength holds out. But your letter to me, written above a year ago, full of kindness
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