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George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 2 0 Browse Search
Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History (ed. Benson Lossing) 2 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli 2 0 Browse Search
John Harrison Wilson, The life of Charles Henry Dana 2 0 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: December 20, 1865., [Electronic resource] 2 0 Browse Search
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James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Margaret Fuller Ossoli. (search)
the Dial, with the zeal of eighteen, her sympathetic and wise remark on Lowell's first volume. The proper critic of this book would be some youthful friend to whom it has been of real value as a stimulus. The exaggerated praise of such an one would be truer to the spiritual fact of its promise than accurate measure of its performance. This was received with delight by us ardent Lowellites in those days, and it still seems to me admirable. In the third volume of the Dial, she wrote of Beethoven, Sterling, Romaic and Rhine ballads, and other themes. In the fourth volume she published a remarkable article, entitled, The Great Lawsuit; Man versus Men, Woman versus Women. It was a cumbrous name, for which even the vague title, Woman in the nineteenth century, was hailed as a desirable substitute, when the essay was reprinted in book-form. In its original shape, it attracted so much attention that the number was soon out of pant; and it is not uncommon to see sets of the Dial bound
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Camilla Urso (search)
past, but steadily works her way to new laurels. Seven and eight hours a day is her usual time of practice, and in the long summer days, when other artists seek change or diversion, she finds her recreation in her beloved instrument. On being asked whether she composed for her violin, she answered, Yes, some little pieces,--the Mother's Prayer, the Dream,--but they are nothing. It is enough for me to render the works of the great masters. In her childlike devotion to the genius of Beethoven, Chopin, and Mendelssohn, she reminds one of Hilda, the girl-artist of Hawthorne's Marble Faun, whose life was spent in study of Raphael and Michael Angelo. It is better, thinks this earnest woman, to render vocal the great conceptions of the past, than to win a cheap reputation by fleeting musical mediocrities. Her remarkable memory retains all the music she plays, the orchestral parts as well as her own. Madame Urso's stay in this country is now uncertain. Her latest performances
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2, Chapter 20: Italy.—May to September, 1839.—Age, 28. (search)
rawford, Thomas Crawford was born in New York, March 22, 1813, and died in London, Oct. 10, 1857. He visited Italy in 1835, and studied under Thorwaldsen at Rome. Among his chief works are the Orpheus (1840), in the Boston Athenaeum; the colossal equestrian statue of Washington at Richmond; the colossal statue of Liberty on the dome of the National Capitol; and the designs on the bronze doors of the Capitol, illustrating scenes in the history of the country. Among his statues are the Beethoven in the Music Hall, Boston, and the James Otis in the chapel at Mount Auburn.—Tuckerman's Book of Artists, pp. 306-320; Atlantic Monthly, July, 1869,—Thomas Crawford, A Eulogy, by George S. Hillard, pp. 40-54. Sumner, the day he arrived in Paris, in March, 1857, sought Crawford's lodgings, which he found only after a considerable effort. A fatal disease was upon him. Sumner wrote: The whole visit moved me much. This beautiful genius seems to be drawing to its close. Sumner attended his f
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 3 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.), Book III (continued) (search)
elf, a large part of life. He naturally wrote on Modjeska, Eleonora Duse, A monument of Saint-Gaudens, An hour in a studio, and In praise of Por-traiture as well as on MacDOWELLowell, The pathetic Symphony, A fantasy of Chopin, Paderewski, and Beethoven. He had, too, a love of the Orient,—an artist's love as well as a reflective poet's, —that led him to add In Palestine, and other poems (1898) to New York's considerable body of literature on the East. Yet art was by no means a tower of ivoife came, when after various unfortunate experiences, ever on the verge of that invalidism to which personalities have frequently been subject when possessed by dominating and original ideas from Socrates, Mahomet, and Tasso to Schopenhauer and Beethoven, Mrs. Eddy sought the then famous P. P. Quimby, who, having begun his career as a mesmerist, was ending it at Portland, Maine, as a successful mental healer with a system supplemented by Berkeley and the Bible, and explained before his death in
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 3 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.), Index (search)
, Rex, 288 Beade, E. F., 152 Beadle and Adams, 66 Beadle, J. H., 143 Beau Brummell, 278, 283 Beaumarchais, 448 Beaurepaire, Chevalier Quesnay de, 447 Beauties of Poetry, British and American, 544 n. Because she loved him so, 285-6 Beck, Karl, 451, 462, 463 Beckwourth, James P., 52 Becky sharp, 288, 294 Bedford, Duke of, 454 Bedouin song, 43 Bedroom window, the, 511 Beecher, Catherine, 70 Beecher, Henry Ward, 123, 325, 344, 416, 496 Beecher, Lyman, 69 Beethoven, 49 Beginners of a nation, the, 191 Beginnings of New England, the, 193 Beissel, Conrad, 536, 574 Belasco, David, 266, 272, 276, 279, 280, 281-82, 285, 289 Beldonald Holbein, the, 104 Belknap, Jeremy, 172, 176, 535, 546 Bell, Robert, 535 Bell, William A., 157 Bellamy, Edward, 82, 86, 360 Bellman, 333 Bells, the, 35 Ben-Hur, 74, 75, 86 Benjamin F. Johnson of Boone. See Riley, J. W. Benn, 264 n. Bennett, Arnold, 567 Bennett, J. G., 322, 328 Benrimo, J. H
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 16: (search)
his name; so I went only to the cathedral. But that was enough. I was astonished to find how much has been done towards finishing it, and begin to believe, what never seemed credible to me before, that it may yet be completed. . . . . But enough of the old city; it is in the main a nasty old place. Bonn, on the contrary, is as neat as a new pin. But there, too, except one afternoon's delicious excursion up the river to the Godesberg and the Drachenfels, and a visit to the monument of Beethoven, I hardly once went out of the house. Your aunt Catherine, Mrs. Norton returning from Italy. and the girls, and Charles were enough; but besides these, I had my old kind friend, Professor Welcker, every day, Pauli,—a very active, spirited young man who was secretary to Bunsen,—and Professor Gerhard, the last day, who was among those Lady Lyell wrote Anna she had seen at Berlin, and hoped we should see there, little thinking that he was an old acquaintance, and was coming right to us at
James Russell Lowell, Among my books, Milton. (search)
tering of the canvas. In this he offers a striking contrast with Wordsworth, who has to go through with a great deal of yo-heave-ohing before he gets under way. And though, in the didactic parts of Paradise Lost, the wind dies away sometimes, there is a long swell that will not let us forget it, and ever and anon some eminent verse lifts its long ridge above its tamer peers heaped with stormy memories. And the poem never becomes incoherent; we feel all through it, as in the symphonies of Beethoven, a great controlling reason in whose safe-conduct we trust implicitly. Mr. Masson's discussions of Milton's English are, it seems to me, for the most part unsatisfactory. He occupies some ten pages, for example, with a history of the genitival form its, which adds nothing to our previous knowledge on the subject and which has no relation to Milton except for its bearing on the authorship of some verses attributed to him against the most overwhelming internal evidence to the contrary. Mr
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 3 (search)
to poetry. It is completely modern, and befits an age of consciousness. 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 hal
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 4 (search)
m a stricter copy of their inward life than any other of the expressive arts, will, perhaps, enter into the spirit which dictated the following letter to her patron saint, on her return, one evening, from the Boston Academy of Music. to Beethoven. Saturday Evening, 25th Nov., 1843. My only friend, How shall I thank thee for once more breaking the chains of my sorrowful slumber? My heart beats. I live again, for I feel that I am worthy audience for thee, and that my being would bs but for the time. I know what the eternal justice promises. But on this one sphere, it is sad. Thou didst say, thou hadst no friend but thy art. But that one is enough. I have no art, in which to vent the swell of a soul as deep as thine, Beethoven, and of a kindred frame. Thou wilt not think me presumptuous in this saying, as another might. I have always known that thou wouldst welcome and know me, as would no other who ever lived upon the earth since its first creation. Thou woulds
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), V. Conversations in Boston. (search)
cured at home. Good or bad, it cost a good deal of precious labor from those who served it, and from Margaret most of all. As editor, she received a compensation for the first years, which was intended to be two hundred dollars per annum, but which, I fear, never reached even that amount. But it made no difference to her exertion. She put so much heart into it that she bravely undertook to open, in the Dial, the subjects which most attracted her; and she treated, in turn, Goethe, and Beethoven, the Rhine and the Romaic Ballads, the Poems of John Sterling, and several pieces of sentiment, with a spirit which spared no labor; and, when the hard conditions of journalism held her to an inevitable day, she submitted to jeopardizing a long-cherished subject, by treating it in the crude and forced article for the month. I remember, after she had been compelled by ill health to relinquish the journal into my hands, my grateful wonder at the facility with which she assumed the preparati
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