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Fanny Longfellow (search for this): chapter 31
called, I had already a good thought to express. February 18. To N. E.W. C., where Colonel Higginson and I spoke of Longfellow; I from long and intimate acquaintance, he from a literary point of view. He said, I thought rightly, that we are too merits as a poet; time must test them. February 27.... In evening went with the Jewett sisters to the celebration of Longfellow's Centennial. I had copied my verses written for the first Authors' Reading in re Longfellow, rather hoping that I migLongfellow, rather hoping that I might be invited to read them. This did not happen. I had had no reason to suppose that it would, not having been thereunto invited. Had a seat on the platform among the poet's friends, myself one of the oldest of them. It seemed as if I could hardlant dinner party for the Barrett Wendells with their friends, Professor Ames, of Berkeley University, California, Waddy Longfellow, Charles Gibson, Laura, Betty, and I. She sent a letter to the Convention, which was read by Florence. In this, aft
Thomas Wentworth Higginson (search for this): chapter 31
in kept from being the over-crowd which I had rather feared. Colonel Higginson came and gave me some lovely verses written for the occasion.sts [of the Authors' Club]; a dais and chair prepared for me, Colonel Higginson standing on my right. Many presentations — Gilder and Clyde had any. My Battle Hymn was sung finely by a male quartette. Colonel Higginson and I were praised almost out of our senses. A calendar, gotrivately told me they were glad of it. January 25.... Read Colonel Higginson's account of me in the Outlook. Wrote him a note of thanks, n sung: Oh! sometimes gleams upon our sight-- Wrote to thank Higginson for sending me word that I am the first woman member of the sociegood thought to express. February 18. To N. E.W. C., where Colonel Higginson and I spoke of Longfellow; I from long and intimate acquainta... I found that my Authors' Club will meet to-day in Cambridge. Higginson telephoned, asking me to speak of Aldrich; I asked permission to
Robert Collyer (search for this): chapter 31
strated for some days, and made the return journey while still too weak to travel. Florence, who was with her, protested in vain. I would go, she said, if the hearse was at the door I A serious illness followed on her return. A month and more passed before she began to regain strength and spirits.1 March 31. Had a happy lighting up when I lay down for afternoon rest. Felt the immensity of God's goodness and took heart for the future. In April she records a delightful visit from Robert Collyer, accompanied by Annie Fields. I asked him: Robert, what is religion? He replied, To love God with all one's heart, Christ helping us. He began his prayer last Sunday thus: Our Father who art in heaven, on earth, and in hell! On April 13, she was out for the first time since February 14, when I returned sick from Baltimore ... . Another week and she was at her church, for the first time since January 18. It had been a long and weary time, yet one remembers not so much the suff
Gilbert Murray (search for this): chapter 31
ut Old Home Week, at the West Newton High School, and at Providence. On the fifth day she was at the Wintergreen Club, answering the question, What is the greatest evil of the present day? --False estimates of values, vehement striving for what hinders rather than helps our spiritual development. After this bout she was glad to rest a day or two, but in another week was ready for the Woman Suffrage Festival. I to open it, evening, Faneuil Hall. A day of rushing. Lady Mary and Professor Gilbert Murray to breakfast 9 A. M., which I much enjoyed. Then my little music man, who took three tunes; then a snatch at preparation for the evening's exercises. Jack and Elizabeth Chapman in the afternoon. At 4.45 got a little rest and sleep. At 5.40 drove to Faneuil Hall, which I found not so full as sometimes. Thought miserably of my speech. Light to read it very dim.. I called to order, introduced Mr. White and the ladies' quartette, then read my poor little scribble. ... I was thankf
John Greenleaf Whittier (search for this): chapter 31
Satan like lightning fall from heaven. ... February 6. Wrote a good bit on the sermon begun yesterday — the theme attracts me much. If I give it, I will have Whittier's hymn sung: Oh! sometimes gleams upon our sight-- Wrote to thank Higginson for sending me word that I am the first woman member of the society of American lost after some six weeks happy possession. I sent a pretty little baby wreath for it, feeling very sorry for them both. November 28. Much troubled about my Whittier poem. December 3. Thanks be to God! I have written my Whittier rhyme. It has cost me much labor, for I have felt that I could not treat a memory so reverendWhittier rhyme. It has cost me much labor, for I have felt that I could not treat a memory so reverend with cheap and easy verses. I have tried to take his measure, and to present a picture of him which shall deserve to live. This poem appears in At Sunset. Mr. and Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson, the English suffragists, were in Boston this winter. They dined with her, and proved very agreeable. Mrs. Sanderson's visit ought to he
Betty (search for this): chapter 31
r me. I took C. G. A.'s letter as making it impossible, as I had decided to abide by his decision. Wrote a letter of explanation to Anna Garlin Spencer. I am much disappointed, but it is a relief not to cause Laura such painful anxiety as she would have felt if I had decided to go. She wept with joy when I gave it up. We had a very pleasant dinner party for the Barrett Wendells with their friends, Professor Ames, of Berkeley University, California, Waddy Longfellow, Charles Gibson, Laura, Betty, and I. She sent a letter to the Convention, which was read by Florence. In this, after recalling her Peace Crusade of 1872, she said:-- Here and there, a sisterly voice responded to my appeal, but the greater number said: We have neither time nor money that we can call our own. We cannot travel, we cannot meet together. And so my intended Peace Congress of Women melted away like a dream, and my final meeting, held in the world's great metropolis, did not promise to lead to any imp
Ralph Waldo Emerson (search for this): chapter 31
e Cooperstown Centennial, a paper on the Elegant literature of fifty years since, one for the Delineator on The three greatest men I have known. These were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theodore Parker, and Dr. Howe. She spent much time and pains on this article. She read Elliot Cabot's Life of Emerson, which she thought certainly a goodEmerson, which she thought certainly a good piece of work, but deficient, it seems to me, in the romantic sympathy which is the true interpretation of Emerson and of all his kind. She hammered hard on the two poems, with good results. July 14. I can hardly believe it, but my miserable verses, re-read to-day, seemed quite possible, if I can have grace to fill out theirEmerson and of all his kind. She hammered hard on the two poems, with good results. July 14. I can hardly believe it, but my miserable verses, re-read to-day, seemed quite possible, if I can have grace to fill out their sketchiness. Last word tonight: I think I have got a poem. Nil desperandum! July 24. Difficult to exaggerate the record of my worry this morning. I feel a painful uncertainty about going to Boston to read my poem for Old Home Week. Worse than this is my trouble about two poems sent me while in Boston, with original music,
Waddy (search for this): chapter 31
g to make going possible or impossible for me. I took C. G. A.'s letter as making it impossible, as I had decided to abide by his decision. Wrote a letter of explanation to Anna Garlin Spencer. I am much disappointed, but it is a relief not to cause Laura such painful anxiety as she would have felt if I had decided to go. She wept with joy when I gave it up. We had a very pleasant dinner party for the Barrett Wendells with their friends, Professor Ames, of Berkeley University, California, Waddy Longfellow, Charles Gibson, Laura, Betty, and I. She sent a letter to the Convention, which was read by Florence. In this, after recalling her Peace Crusade of 1872, she said:-- Here and there, a sisterly voice responded to my appeal, but the greater number said: We have neither time nor money that we can call our own. We cannot travel, we cannot meet together. And so my intended Peace Congress of Women melted away like a dream, and my final meeting, held in the world's great metro
Josiah Quincy (search for this): chapter 31
ome Week. Worse than this is my trouble about two poems sent me while in Boston, with original music, to be presented to the committee for Home Week, which I have entirely forgotten and neglected. To do this was far from my intention, but my old head fairly gave out in the confusion of the various occasions in which I was obliged to take an active part. She yielded to entreaty and stayed at home, and was rewarded by a most gratifying letter from Edward Everett Hale, telling me that Josiah Quincy read my poem with real feeling, and that it was warmly received. My prayer is answered. I have lived to see my dear girl again. ... I give thanks earnestly and heartily, but seem for a time paralyzed by her presence. With the early autumn came a great pleasure in a visit to the new Green Peace, the house which her son had built at Bedford Hills, New York. She was delighted with the house and garden; the Journal tells of all manner of pleasant gayeties. September 12. Fannie had
Theodore Parker (search for this): chapter 31
vous loss, and will feel it more and more. We must trust in God, and take our sorrows believing in the loving fatherhood. Maud writes me that she suffers an irreparable loss in dear David's death ... Your loving Mother. Much work was on hand this summer: a poem for Old Home Week in Boston, another for the Cooperstown Centennial, a paper on the Elegant literature of fifty years since, one for the Delineator on The three greatest men I have known. These were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theodore Parker, and Dr. Howe. She spent much time and pains on this article. She read Elliot Cabot's Life of Emerson, which she thought certainly a good piece of work, but deficient, it seems to me, in the romantic sympathy which is the true interpretation of Emerson and of all his kind. She hammered hard on the two poems, with good results. July 14. I can hardly believe it, but my miserable verses, re-read to-day, seemed quite possible, if I can have grace to fill out their sketchiness. Last
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