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Browsing named entities in Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1. You can also browse the collection for 1897 AD or search for 1897 AD in all documents.
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Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 9 1896 1897 77 -78 (search)
Chapter 9: in the house of labor 1896-1897; aet. 77-78
The house of rest I will build a house of rest, Square the corners every one: At each angle on his breast Shall a cherub take the sun; Rising, risen, sinking, down, Weaving day's unequal crown.
With a free, unmeasured tread Shall we pace the cloisters through: Rest,anced, if you please, with Mr. Bostwick.
Then we snuggled up to the fire in the library and Wintie read aloud from Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. ...
The year 1897 brought new activities.
The Lodge Immigration Bill roused her to indignation and protest; there were screeds and letters to the powers that were.
In the early ugh to stand openly by her Cretan brothers.
Our mother was deeply moved by this new need, which recalled so many precious memories.
The record of the spring of 1897 is much concerned with it.
Written on the fly-leaf of the Journal: The good God make me grateful for this new year, of which I am allowed to see the beginning.
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 10 Roman winter 1897 1898 78 (search)
Chapter 10: the last Roman winter 1897-1898; aet. 78
The city of my love She sits among th' eternal hills, Their crown, thrice glorious and dear; Her voice is as a thousand tongues Of silver fountains, gurgling clear.
Her breath is prayer, her life is love, And worship of all lovely things; Her children have a gracious port, Her beggars show the blood of kings.
By old Tradition guarded close, None doubt the grandeur she has seen; Upon her venerable front Is written: “I was born a Quee, expresses the longing that, like Shelley's, her heart might buried lie in Rome.
Some memory of this wish, some foreboding that the wish might be granted, possibly darkened the first days of her last Roman winter.
In late November of the year 1897 she arrived in Rome with the Elliotts to pass the winter at their apartment in the ancient Palazzo Rusticucci of the old Leonine City across the Tiber; in the shadow of St. Peter's, next door to the Vatican.
The visit had been planned partly in t