hide Sorting

You can sort these results in two ways:

By entity
Chronological order for dates, alphabetical order for places and people.
By position (current method)
As the entities appear in the document.

You are currently sorting in ascending order. Sort in descending order.

hide Most Frequent Entities

The entities that appear most frequently in this document are shown below.

Entity Max. Freq Min. Freq
Julia Ward Howe 173 7 Browse Search
Diva Julia 152 0 Browse Search
Newport (Rhode Island, United States) 135 1 Browse Search
Samuel Ward 117 5 Browse Search
Oak Glen (New Jersey, United States) 110 0 Browse Search
Villa Julia 108 0 Browse Search
Jesus Christ 106 0 Browse Search
Charles Sumner 92 2 Browse Search
Julia Ward 77 1 Browse Search
Battle Hymn 74 0 Browse Search
View all entities in this document...

Browsing named entities in a specific section of Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1. Search the whole document.

Found 239 total hits in 137 results.

... 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 ...
Easter (search for this): chapter 32
and sold in Germany and England at a price impossible here. I said that the real bottomless pit is the depth of infamous slander with which people will assail our public servants, especially when they are faithful and incorruptible, apropos of aspersions cast on Roosevelt and Taft. Mrs. Ward read a very violent attack upon some public man of a hundred or more years ago. He was quoted as a monster of tyranny and injustice. His name was George Washington. April 8.... My prayer for this Easter is that I may not waste the inspiration of spring.... In these days came another real sorrow to her. April 10. To-day brings the sad news of Marion Crawford's death at Sorrento. His departure seems to have been a peaceful one. He comforted his family and had his daughter Eleanor read Plato's Dialogues to him. Was unconscious at the last. Poor dear Marion! The end, in his case, comes early. His father was, I think, in the early forties when he died of a cancer behind the eye which
William Davidson (search for this): chapter 32
red in, rose in toppling piles which almost — not quite — daunted her; she would hear every one, would answer as many as flesh and blood could compass. Here is one of them:-- Most hearty congratulations on your ninetieth birthday from the boy you picked up somewhere in New York and placed in the New York Orphan Asylum on April 6th, 1841. Sorry I have never been able to meet you in all that time. You [were] one of the Board of Trustees at that time. Respectfully and Thankfully, Wm. Davidson. I was then about five years old, now seventy-three. Writing to her friend of many years, Mrs. Ellen Mitchell, she says:-- Your birthday letter was and is much valued by me. Its tone of earnest affection is an element in the new inspiration recently given me by such a wonderful testimony of public and private esteem and goodwill as has been granted me in connection with my attainment of ninety years. It all points to the future. I must work to deserve what I have received.
Albert Victor (search for this): chapter 32
he window and play her Twilight Game: counting the passing, one for a biped, two for a quadruped, ten for a white horse, and so on. In the evening, before the Victor concert, came the reading aloud: this was one of her great pleasures. No history or philosophy for the evening reading; she must have a novel (not a problem novetaire; a game must be an affair of companionship, of the social tie in defence of which Broa Sam, in his youth, had professed himself ready to die. Instead of the Victor concert, she now made music herself, playing fourhand pieces with Florence, the music daughter, trained in childhood by Otto Dresel. This was another great pleashat makes five times each way! She laughed and was pleased to have done this, but he thinks she had a great sense of weakness too. Her favorite piece on the Victor that summer was The Artillerist's oath. The music had a gallant ring to it, and there was something heroic about the whole thing, something that suggested the F
Clyde Fitch (search for this): chapter 32
for them. If they were not exactly in fact what we take them to be, let us deeply reverence the human mind which has conceived and built up such splendid and immortal ideals. Was not Christ thinking of something like this when he made the sin against the Holy Ghost and its manifestations the only unpardonable error? He surely did not mean to say that it was beyond the repentance which is the earnest of forgiveness to every sin. A day or two after this she met at luncheon a young Reverend Mr. Fitch.... He is earnest and clear-minded, and should do much good. I spoke of the cup [of life], but advised him to use the spoon for stirring up his congregation. She was asked for a long and exhaustive paper on Marion Crawford in about a week. I wrote, saying that I could furnish an interesting paper on the elder and younger Crawford, but without any literary estimate of Marion's work, saying that family praise was too much akin to self-praise; also the time allotted much too short.
Mary H. Graves (search for this): chapter 32
essed certainty as to the future life was founded upon His discernment of spiritual things. So, in so far as I am a Christian, I must believe in the immortality of the soul, as our Master surely did. I cannot understand why I have not thought of that before. I think now that I shall nevermore lose sight of it.... Had a very fine call from Mr. Locke, author of the Beloved Vagabond, a book which I have enjoyed. December 5.... I learned to-day that my dear friend of many years [the Reverend Mary H. Graves] passed away last night very peacefully.... This is a heart sorrow for me. She has been a most faithful, affectionate and helpful friend. I scarcely know whether any one, outside of my family, would have pained me more by their departure.... This was indeed a loss. Saint Mouse, as we called her, was a familiar friend of the household: a little gray figure, with the face of a plain angel. For many years she had been the only person who was allowed to touch our mother's papers
Gott (search for this): chapter 32
the season just at end, which has been busy and yet restful. I have seen old friends and new ones, all with pleasure, and mostly with profit of a social and spiritual kind. I have seen dear little Eleanor Hall, the sweetest of babies. Have had all of my dear children with me, some of my grandchildren, and four of my greatgrands. Our Papeterie has had pleasant meetings.... I am full of hope for the winter. Have had a long season of fresh air, delightful and very invigorating.... Utinam! Gott in Himmel sei Dank! November 28. Boston. Have been much troubled of late by uncertainties about life beyond the present. Quite suddenly, very recently, it occurred to me to consider that Christ understood that spiritual life would not end with death, and that His expressed certainty as to the future life was founded upon His discernment of spiritual things. So, in so far as I am a Christian, I must believe in the immortality of the soul, as our Master surely did. I cannot understand wh
William Dean Howells (search for this): chapter 32
of my friends well in mind. Oh! help me, divine Father, to merit even a very little of Thy kindness! In this autumn she was elected a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and in December she wrote for its first meeting a poem called The Capitol. She greatly desired to read this poem before the association, and Maud, albeit with many misgivings, agreed to take her on to Washington. This was not to be. On learning of her intention, three officers of the association, William Dean Howells, Robert Underwood Johnson, and Thomas Nelson Page, sent her a round-robin telegram, begging her not to run the risk of the long winter journey. The kindly suggestion was not altogether well taken. Ha! she flashed out. They think I am too old, but there's a little ginger left in the old blue jar! She soon realized the wisdom as well as the friendliness of the round robin, and confided to the Journal that she had been in two minds about it. On Christmas Day she writes:-- Tha
Aeschylus (search for this): chapter 32
y days she loved to linger along Commonwealth Avenue, watching the parade of babies and little children, stopping to admire this one or chat with that. This function accomplished, she went straight to her desk, and P. T. reigned till noon. It was a less rigorous P. T. than that of our childhood. She could break off in a moment now, give herself entirely, joyously, to the question of dinner for the expected guest, of dress for the afternoon reception, then drop back into Aristotle or Aeschylus with a happy sigh. It was less easy to break off when she was writing; we might be begged for half a moment, as if our time were fully as precious as her own; but there was none of the distress that interruption brought in earlier years. Perhaps she took her writing less seriously. She often said, Oh, my dear, I am beginning to realize at last that I shall never write my book now, my Magnum Opus, that was to be so great She practised her scales faithfully every day, through the later
Corse (search for this): chapter 32
ock the door and call the faithful maid.) On June 30 she writes:-- Oh, beautiful last day of Junel Perhaps my last June on earth.... I shall be thankful to live as long as I can be of comfort or help to any one ... July 12.... Sherman to Corse [Civil War], Can you hold out till I arrive? Corse to Sherman, I have lost an arm, my cheekbone, and am minus one ear, but I can lick all hell yet. July 30. Have felt so much energy to-day that thought I must begin upon my old philosophizing Corse to Sherman, I have lost an arm, my cheekbone, and am minus one ear, but I can lick all hell yet. July 30. Have felt so much energy to-day that thought I must begin upon my old philosophizing essays.... Could find only Duality of Character. What is the lesson of this two-foldness? This, that the most excellent person should remember the dual member of his or her firm, the evil possibility; and the most persistent offender should also remember the better personality which is bound up with its opposite, and which can come into activity, if invited to do so. August 28. Wrote an immediate reply to a Mrs.--, who had written to ask leave to use a part of my Battle Hymn with some ver
G. F. Handel (search for this): chapter 32
g eyes; in the latter years she rarely used glasses; but the habit dated back to the early fifties, and might not be shaken. We see her, therefore, in the summer afternoons, sitting at the piano with Florence, playing, Galatea, dry thy tears! Handel's old tie-wig music, as she called his operas. Or, if her son were there, she would play accompaniments from the Messiah or Elijah ; rippling through the difficult music, transposing it, if necessary to suit the singer's voice, with ease and accind. She seldom failed in any important thing she undertook; the chores of life she often left for others to attend to or neglect. The Christmas services, the Christmas oratorio, brought her the usual serene joy and comfort. She insists that Handel wrote parts of the Messiah in heaven itself. Where else could he have got Comfort ye, Thy rebuke, Thou shalt break them, and much besides? Late in December, 1908, came the horror of the Sicilian earthquake. She felt at first that it was impo
... 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 ...