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Louis Agassiz (search for this): chapter 24
ve-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, and the two Annas have enjoyed it as much as I have. Lady Head, I am sure, will like it. But you know how fond we are of Agassiz, and perhaps we like the book overmuch, especially as we have been reading it in an advance copy, as such things are called, and so have had nobody to moderate our opinion. We are all well, grandchildren and all; and all who have ever seen you and yours send you affectionate regards. Ever yours, Geo. Ticknor To Hon. Edward Twisleton. Boston, March 22, 1868. my dear Twisleton,—Your sad let<
Walter Calverley Trevelyan (search for this): chapter 24
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 as their strength holds
Cora Livingston (search for this): chapter 24
ard Race, except to add, that we are surprised at the immense interest it excited; and that we can hardly hope, if your young men come here next year, as I hope they will, that we can receive them with equal fervor. But as for manly kindness and honor, I think we can promise all that anybody will desire. Yours faithfully, Geo. Ticknor. To J. G. Cogswell, Esq. Brookline, September 7, 1869. my dear Cogswell,—. . . . We had a most agreeable visit from Mrs. Barton Formerly Miss Cora Livingston, daughter of Mrs. Edward Livingston. See Vol. I. pp. 350, 351. and you, and would gladly have had more of it. Indeed, we had more from her, for she came again yesterday, and spent an hour or two more talking about the books. She is a charming woman, as she always was, and does not look nearly so old as I am obliged to remember that she must be. She read me a paper which she had, I think, shown you, drawn up as skilfully as her father would have done it, and told me that you were
Wornum (search for this): chapter 24
isloyal, and don't mean to. I looked, an hour or two ago, into Boswell's Johnson, and bethought me that you are the Secretary of Johnson's old club. Pray tell me what sort of records have been kept of its meetings, and what sort you keep? Has anything more satisfactory been published about it than is to be found in Vol. I. of Croker? How many of you are there now? How often do you meet? How many, on an average, come together, and what sort of times do you have? I have looked over Wornum's Life of Holbein, as you counselled. But I find it very hard reading, so ill is it written. Still, it contains a great many new facts, and much careful investigation. I hope he will not make out a case against the Dresden Madonna, for it is surely a magnificent picture, and should not be slightly dispossessed of its prescriptive rights. Probably I am prejudiced about it; but, if I am, I can't help it, and am not ashamed of it. . . . . Kindest and most faithful regards to Lady Head and
William Minot (search for this): chapter 24
0. my very dear old friend,—Thank you for your inquiry; to which I can only reply, that the New Year begins as well as the Old Year leaves off, except that it makes me no younger, but adds to my days, which get to be rather burthensome. However, that is no matter; I eat well, drink well, and sleep well; I can read all the time, and do it; but as to walking, it is nearly among the lost arts. But you must come and see. I hear of you in town now and then, and hope for you constantly. Mr. Minot, who is older than you are, gets up the hill every now and then; and the other day absolutely met here Judge Phillips, from Cambridge, who is quite as old as he is. So I do not despair. Practically, you are younger than I am. So is Cogswell; but he moves as little, almost, as I do. We all, from my wife down, send our love to you, and want to see you. We shall not any of us have such another winter to move about in,—hardly many days like to-day. Look out, therefore, for tomorrow. Yo
Robert Bland (search for this): chapter 24
, of disease of the heart, on the 28th of January, and Mr. Ticknor felt the loss of his friendship deeply. The verses mentioned by Mr. Twisleton, are, he says, by Bland, of the Greek Anthology, which, among others, Bland wrote in reference to himself, under the impression that he should not live long. Sir Edmund repeated them, neBland wrote in reference to himself, under the impression that he should not live long. Sir Edmund repeated them, nearly word for word, after an interval of twenty-five years, having only heard them recited once. They are as follows:— While others set, thy sun shall fall; Night without eve shall close on thee: And he who made, with sudden call Shall bid, and thou shalt cease to be. So whispers Nature, whispers Sorrow: And I would greet the thred to me that I should survive him, though, perhaps, I had sometimes worse fears than that. What you tell me of his own anticipations, founded on the verses of Bland, which he so long recollected, falls in with my own impressions, and with what he intimated to me more than once in two visits of some length which we made to him
Francis Doyle (search for this): chapter 24
have really known fifty-six of the old Johnson Club, all since 1815! The reason is that I am such an old fellow; I was seventy-six yesterday . . . . We are all well and prosperous. I am better than I have been for two years, and take great comfort in the tolerated laziness of old age. The Dexters are just gone to the sea-coast for five or six weeks seabathing; but I am safe in adding their kind regards to ours, for all of you. Yours faithfully, Geo. Ticknor. Tell me about Sir Francis Doyle, and the Professorship of Poetry at Oxford. I have known his family and himself many years, and he sent me lately the volume of Poems by which he claimed, and apparently won, the place. Is he obliged to reside? To his Majesty John, King of Saxony. Boston, U. S. A., September 6, 1867. Sire,—The political condition of the world, on both sides of the Atlantic, does not seem to have become more tranquil or hopeful since I received your Majesty's last kind and interesting letter, i
Edward Twisleton (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. Toyours send you affectionate regards. Ever yours, Geo. Ticknor To Hon. Edward Twisleton. Boston, March 22, 1868. my dear Twisleton,—Your sad letter Sir Twisleton,—Your sad letter Sir Edmund Head died very suddenly, of disease of the heart, on the 28th of January, and Mr. Ticknor felt the loss of his friendship deeply. The verses mentioned by Mr.Mr. Twisleton, are, he says, by Bland, of the Greek Anthology, which, among others, Bland wrote in reference to himself, under the impression that he should not live lo never much shared his own apprehensions or those of his friends. To Hon. Edward Twisleton. Boston, April 29, 1869. my dear Twisleton,—Don't give me up becausTwisleton,—Don't give me up because I have grown old. At 77-8 a man does, not what he most likes to do, but what he is able to do; and I am not able to do the half of what I could in a day only a fe
Miss Sulivan (search for this): chapter 24
to be. I need not tell you how we get on here; for you know, without my help, what we have done and what we are doing; and nobody can predict what we shall do. . . . . We have had some of your young countrymen here lately, who 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 intelle<
Sylvanus Thayer (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 nd curious. But I did something better with it than look it carefully over, and learn what I could from it. I put it into the hands of an old friend of mine, General Thayer, who made West Point all that it is, and who, though above eighty-four years old, and therefore no longer able to make anything else, is doing what he can to familiar to her. She will not make mistakes, nor do I mean to make that of thinking that I know more than she and you do. Yours ever, Geo. Ticknor. To General S. Thayer Boston, January 26, 1870. my very dear old friend,—Thank you for your inquiry; to which I can only reply, that the New Year begins as well as the Old Yea
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