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Groton (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
III. Groton and Providence. Letters and journals. What hath not man sought out and found, But his dear God? Who yet his glorious love Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground With showers, and frosts, with love and awe. Herbert. No one nee gone out because I shiver in the cold and dark! Such was the tone of resignation in which Margaret wrote from Groton, Massachusetts, whither, much to her regret, her father removed in the spring of 1833. Extracts from letters and journals will plete, The dust shook from their beauty,—glorified, New Memnons singing in the great God-light. Sad welcome home. Groton, April 25, 1833.—I came hither, summoned by the intelligence, that our poor——had met with a terrible accident. I found tt is a noble work, and fit to raise a reader into that high serene of thought where pedants cannot enter. Farewell to Groton. The place is beautiful, in its way, but its scenery is too tamely smiling and sleeping. My associations with it ar
Providence, R. I. (Rhode Island, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
III. Groton and Providence. Letters and journals. What hath not man sought out and found, But his dear God? Who yet his glorious love Embosoms in us, melloas that any of my cherished plans would bear fruit, I felt willing to go. But Providence did not so will it. A much darker dispensation for our family was in store. eart the text, God is never in a hurry: let man be patient and confident? Providence. In the spring of 1837, Margaret received a very favorable offer to become a principal teacher in the Greene Street School, at Providence, R. I. The proposal is, that I shall teach the elder girls my favorite branches, for four hours a been to preserve his individuality unprofaned. Art. While residing at Providence, and during her visits to Boston, in her vacations, Margaret's mind was openiive, I may some time attain to it. Although I do not believe in a Special Providence regulating outward events, and could not reconcile such a belief with what I
Salem (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
sophy is checked, my admiration for the genius of Goethe is in nowise lessened, and I stand in a sceptical attitude, ready to try his philosophy, and, if needs must, play the Eclectic. Did I write that a kind-hearted neighbor, fearing I might be dull, sent to offer me the use of a book-caseful of Souvenirs, Gems, and such-like glittering ware? I took a two or three year old Token, and chanced on a story, called the Gentle Boy, which I remembered to have heard was written by somebody in Salem. It is marked by so much grace and delicacy of feeling, that I am very desirous to know the author, whom I take to be a lady. * * With regard to what you say about the American Monthly, my answer is, I would gladly sell some part of my mind for lucre, to get the command of time; but 1 will not sell my soul: that is, I am perfectly willing to take the trouble of writing for money to pay the seamstress; but I am not willing to have what I write mutilated, or what I ought to say dictated t
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 3
But I want more engravings, Vitruvius, Magna Graecia, the Ionian Antiquities, &c. Meanwhile, I have got out all our tours in Italy. Forsyth, a book I always loved much, I have re-read with increased pleasure, by this new light. Goethe, too, studied architecture while in Italy; so his books are full of interesting information; and Madame De Stael, though not deep, is tasteful. American History! Seriously, my mind is regenerating as to my country, for I am beginning to appreciate the United States and its great men. The violent antipathies,—the result of an exaggerated love for, shall I call it by so big a name as the poetry of being? —and the natural distrust arising from being forced to hear the conversation of half-bred men, all whose petty feelings were roused to awkward life by the paltry game of local politics,—are yielding to reason and calmer knowledge. Had I but been educated in the knowledge of such men as Jefferson, Franklin, Rush! I have learned now to know them part<
Hazel Grove (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
e imagination become tamed. I shall be cheered and sustained, amidst all fretting and uncongenial circumstances, by remembrance of her earnest love of truth and ardent faith. Illness A terrible feeling in my head, but kept about my usual avocations. Read Ugo Foscolo's Sepolcri, and Pindemonti's answer, but could not relish either, so distressing was the weight on the top of the brain; sewed awhile, and then went out to get warm, but could not, though I walked to the very end of Hazel-grove, and the sun was hot upon me. Sat down, and, though seemingly able to think with only the lower part of my head, meditated literary plans, with full hope that, if I could command leisure, I might do something good. It seemed as if I should never reach home, as I was obliged to sit down incessantly. * * For nine long days and nights, without intermission, all was agony,—fever and dreadful pain in my head. Mother tended me like an angel all that time, scarcely ever leaving me, night or
Faust (search for this): chapter 3
erman language, and thought it good success, when, at the end of three months, they could read twenty pages of German at a lesson, and very well. This class, of course, was not interesting, except in the way of observation and analysis of language. With more advanced pupils I read, in twenty-four weeks, Schiller's Don Carlos, Artists, and Song of the Bell, besides giving a sort of general lecture on Schiller; Goethe's Hermann and Dorothea, Goetz von Berlichingen, Iphigenia, first part of Faust,—three weeks of thorough study this, as valuable to me as to them,— and Clavigo,—thus comprehending samples of all his efforts in poetry, and bringing forward some of his prominent opinions; Lessing's Nathan, Minna, Emilia Galeotti; parts of Tieck's Phantasus, and nearly the whole first volume of Richter's Titan. With the Italian class, I read parts of Tasso, Petrarch,—whom they came to almost adore,—Ariosto, Alfieri, and the whole hundred cantos of the Divina Commedia, with the aid of
Genest (search for this): chapter 3
f its chosen aim despair,-- Some bitter tears may be forgiven By Man, at least,—we trust, by Heaven. Birth-day. May 23d, 1836.—I have just been reading Goethe's Lebensregel. It is easy to say Do not trouble yourself with useless regrets for the past; enjoy the present, and leave the future to God. But it is not easy for characters, which are by nature neither calm nor careless, to act upon these rules. I am rather of the opinion of Novalis, that Wer sich der hochsten Lieb ergeben Genest von ihnen Wunden nie. But I will endeavor to profit by the instructions of the great philosopher who teaches, I think, what Christ did, to use without overvaluing the world. Circumstances have decided that I must not go to Europe, and shut upon me the door, as I think, forever, to the scenes I could have loved. Let me now try to forget myself, and act for others' sakes. What I can do with my pen, I know not. At present, I feel no confidence or hope. The expectations so many have bee
Harriet Martineau (search for this): chapter 3
shall feel greater confidence in them. Miss Martineau. In the summer of 1835, Margaret found stimulus to self-culture in the society of Miss Martineau, whom she met while on a visit at Cambridgwas to her, appears from her journals. Miss Martineau received me so kindly as to banish all embprehend myself. I have had some hope that Miss Martineau might be this friend, but cannot yet tell.o my defects. A delightful letter from Miss Martineau. I mused long upon the noble courage withinvited her to be their companion; and, as Miss Martineau was to return to England in the ship with the time, laid aside De Stael and Bacon, for Martineau and Southey. I find, with delight, that the Magnanimity. Immediately after reading Miss Martineau's book on America, Margaret felt bound in e of light streams from his torch. When Harriet Martineau writes about America, I often cannot tesr side of the Atlantic, by their censor, Harriet Martineau. I do not like that your book should [1 more...]
Forsyth (search for this): chapter 3
ense interest, and have reflected much upon it. The volumes are numbered in my little book-case, and as the eye runs over them, I thank the friendly heart that put all this genius and passion within my power. I am glad, too, that you thought of lending me Bigelow's Elements. I have studied the Architecture attentively, till I feel quite mistress of it all But I want more engravings, Vitruvius, Magna Graecia, the Ionian Antiquities, &c. Meanwhile, I have got out all our tours in Italy. Forsyth, a book I always loved much, I have re-read with increased pleasure, by this new light. Goethe, too, studied architecture while in Italy; so his books are full of interesting information; and Madame De Stael, though not deep, is tasteful. American History! Seriously, my mind is regenerating as to my country, for I am beginning to appreciate the United States and its great men. The violent antipathies,—the result of an exaggerated love for, shall I call it by so big a name as the poetry
Rossini (search for this): chapter 3
Nothing can be better arranged as a drama; the parts are in excellent gradation, the choruses are grand and effective, the composition, as a whole, brilliantly imposing. Yet it was dictated by taste and science only. Where are the enrapturing visions from the celestial world which shone down upon Haydn and Mozart; where the revelations from the depths of man's nature, which impart such passion to the symphonies of Beethoven; where, even, the fascinating fairy land, gay with delight, of Rossini? O, Genius! none but thee shall make our hearts and heads throb, our cheeks crimson, our eyes overflow, or fill our whole being with the serene joy of faith. * * I went to see Vandenhoff twice, in Brutus and Virginius. Another fine specimen of the conscious school; no inspiration, yet much taste. Spite of the threadpaper Tituses, the chambermaid Virginias, the washerwoman Tullias, and the people, made up of half a dozen chimney-sweeps, in carters' frocks and red nightcaps, this man
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